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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 8 months

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Kidnapped Astarion

I have a very specific thing I can't stop thinking about. That involves Astarion getting kidnapped by Cazador for the ritual and him taunting him over the lie that Tav gave him away. Sold him even.

Tw: Lies, manipulation, mentions of torture, bad times had all around, it's long as fuck, betrayal (or at least the lie of it). Like Cazador is involved so all bad. Very bad. This also has VIOLENCE. Like canon game violence but it is BLOODY. You've been warned. Also happy ending :)

So now let's get to that angst:

It had all happened so fast.

One moment Astarion was laid back in the tent you share, reading a mediocre book as he impatiently waited for your return. He loathed when you went out without him, even if it was for good reason. He wasn't exactly welcome company when it came to solving Gale's problems, especially when it came to the bomb nestled in chest. You both knew his inability to keep his sarcastic quips to himself would not be an asset while exploring a sacred library. Besides, he didn't have much room to complain, not when he accompanied you on ninety-nine percent of your outings.

But that didn't mean he had to like it. Even if it was shaping up to be a nice, uneventful evening. He had set your tent a little farther away from the others, considering the complaints that some....well most had made about the volume of your nightly activities. It was quiet, peaceful even. The atmosphere tranquil enough for him to fully relax.

What a mistake that had been.

When the flap of the tent opened he didn't even look up, fully expecting it to be Shadowheart or Lae'zel coming round to dig about in his darling's things. It made sense, considering how it was one of the few times they wouldn't be risking walking in on something. You had such a bad habit with that "open door" policy of yours. One that had exposed nearly every party member to quite the show. Though in Astarion's view, they were just unreasonable. When you were both loud they complained. When you were quiet and they walked in on it they would whine even more. How could you win with people like that?

Perhaps a sign on the door would have done the trick, but Astarion would be lying if he didn't enjoy the others being fully aware of who could make you cry and moan. The risk was just more thrilling, if not the slightest bit annoying.

But the intruder was staying still at the opening, quiet as could be. It was odd enough to have Astarion glancing upward, his heart stopping in his chest at what he saw.

It was a man, frantically muttering something under his breath. A man that he recognized. The idiotic Petras, trying to cast some kind of incantation. It had Astarion scrambling upward, reaching for his dagger. But it was already too late. The spell was finished and Astarion could feel his senses start to fade away, one by one.

He had gotten sloppy, relying on the safety of camp that had never existed. And now he was paying the price, and what a price to pay. Even as he fell to the magic, one feeling managed to stay in place until the bitter end.

Terror.

And then, he felt nothing at all.

The next thing Astarion knew he was being awakened by a slap of cold water to his face, blinking up into horrifyingly familiar light. He immediately recognized where he was. The torture room, his arms hanging from the ceiling, his toes barely scraping the floor. It hurt to be suspended like this, a pain he was still so familiar with despite going months without. And in front of him was the cause of it all, sneering at him like the maniac he was.

Cazador.

"You're finally awake," He grinned, dropping the bucket that was in his hands, "You've been a very bad boy Astarion. Just what am I to do with you?"

Astarion wanted to answer, to curse at him, maybe even beg to just be left alone, but nothing came out. He was too stunned, too stupefied that he ended up here after everything he'd gone through. Everything you'd gone through. How could it end like this?

"I don't fully know what you were up to with all that time away from your family," Cazador continued, stepping close enough for Astarion to feel his disgusting breath on his skin, "But I think I may have the gist. Galivanting around with your merry-band of degenerates. Seems fitting."

Astarion gave a full-bodied flinch when Cazador started to graze along his collarbones with a gentle finger, his touch freezing and revolting. The gentleness wouldn't last, Astarion was surprised it was even there to begin with.

He should have realized there was a reason for it.

He trailed up his neck, stopping to trace a bruise you had left the night before. If only he had known that it was almost certainly the last time he would get to touch you. The realization was nearly enough to bring tears to Astarion's eyes, but he refused to cry in front of this creature, not if he could help it.

"Seems like you may have even found yourself a favorite amongst them. Tell me pet, who was it?"

"Fuck you." Astarion spat out, his fury managing to shine through his despair.

Astarion expected a hard slap for the insolence, but instead Cazador just laughed, loud and full-bellied, "You've gotten quite the temper since you've been away, haven't you? I wonder where that came about?"

It was a false question, Astarion could tell from the way his eyes were crinkled. Like a child excited to reveal a surprise. Cazador answered it for himself, "Is it that lovely little thing that you've been following around. Gods, what's their name again...Tav, is it?"

"Don't you dare say her name," Astarion growled, his righteous fury overcoming the ever-growing terror and dread, "They have nothing to do with this!"

"Oh but they do," Cazador grinned, stepping back to do one of his famous gloating sessions, "Just how do you think I found you? Luck? No my dear, you were given."

Astarion's answer was as immediate as it was hateful, "You're lying! You know nothing of them. Nothing of us."

He won't believe it, he has no reason to. You...you loved him. And you were probably looking for him as they spoke. You would never betray anyone like this, least of all him.

But Cazador remained unphased. If anything he was looking at him with pity, "Oh you poor thing. You think she cares? You think she loves you? I'm disappointed Astarion, it seems you've learned nothing from our time together. What is there to love, hm? Nothing that I can see. Though...they sure did seem to love the gold. You fetch quite the high price my dear. But it will be worth it."

Lies. It was all lies. It had to be. Astarion shoved his uncertainty back down, bellowing out, "Liar!"

It was forceful enough to even make Cazador falter for the briefest of moments, a split second that anyone else would have missed. But he pressed on, shaking his head, "Darling, don't you find it strange that you were all alone that day? That no one came to your aid? Where do you think you're love was, hm? Wait, don't tell me. I can remember...ah yes! With Gale, correct?"

Astarion swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. How...how did he know that?

"It was a fabulous excuse, was it not?" Cazador continued with a laugh, "We came up with that one together. After a little fun that is. I can see why you fell for their treachery Astarion, they are quite lovely, aren't they?"

No. No, no, no.

"Stop it," Astarion hissed, "Shut your mouth. I-It's not true."

"Oh but it is. I'm not sure if you're aware but you're quite the headache darling, not many can handle it. Not including myself. She even told me of that hilarious speech you gave. About wanting something real. It was just as funny to her as it was to me."

Astarion stared at him, at a complete loss for words. It couldn't be true. It couldn't. But...how else would he know that? In a camp full of people why did no one come to his aid? But the cruelty of it all...it was exactly the type of thing Cazador was versed in.

Setting up the same type of trap that he'd trained Astarion for, that he had used on others countless times. And he fell for it, he lost the game he thought he'd mastered.

His faith was slipping, hard and fast when he asked the horrible question, "How do you know that?"

"Because I sent them to you," He said with that disgusting grin, "It was no coincidence that you met. You were kidnapped, I needed you back, so I hired some help. It's a pity that they were captured as well. The pause to our plans was quite inconvenient. Our Tav just can't help but get distracted, can she?"

"No..." The word slipped out of Astarion without his consent, his mind racing. That couldn't be true. It didn't make sense. T-There had to be another explanation. If he could just think he'd find it. But...what point was there? He was already captured, taken. If anything, all of this being a grand scheme from Cazador was more logical than someone loving him.

He had gone through many, many tortures during his time here. Unspeakable, horrible things that he would never wish on anyone, excluding the man in front of him. But this...this was the worst thing he'd ever done to him. He had tricked him, you had tricked him, and he whole-heartedly fell for it, like the fool he was. The fool he would die as.

He didn't know it was possible, but this would be the greatest pain he ever knew. He was sure of that. Cazador had managed to do it. He had broken him, finally.

His tears were falling on their own accord, plentiful and pathetic. Cazador cooed at him, tracing his cheek with his horrid hand, "It hurts, doesn't it? I missed that expression on you my boy. You were always at you're prettiest when you had given up."

He wiped Astarion's tears away, gently holding his face as he spoke, "If only this was enough. The things I want to do to you for running away... I want to make you scream, make you beg for death. Just like how things used to be. If only we had the time."

Cazador let go, stepping back with a sigh, "How I wish that they had gotten you to me earlier. Though it's too late to pout about it now, the preparations are almost complete. But don't fret my boy, your end will have the meaning that your life failed to posses. Come along now."

Astarion hung there, limp as Cazador unhooked him from above. This was it. He was going to die here, as nothing but a pawn. He didn't even try to fight it when he was led down, deep into the palace to a place he'd never known existed. He kept his eyes closed for most of the journey, simply for the fact that he didn't have the strength to keep them open.

It was...a horrendous feeling to be incased in that red energy, floating in the air with all of his brothers and sisters as Cazador finished his preparations. It forced his eyes open against his will, making him see the hell that had been hiding beneath his feet all these years. He had been wrong about the sacrifice it seemed, it wasn't just them. There were thousands of bodies, barely alive in hanging cages, strewn throughout the place.

It was horrible, but fitting. Where else would something like him die? All he wished was that Cazador would hurry, so he could be done with it all. He has to much time to think in these last moments, too much time to examine your betrayal.

He...hates you. For it all. He hates you more than anything, enough for that same fury to come bubbling back to the surface. How dare you do this to him, after everything you'd been through. He should have killed you while you slept, while you let him drink from your throat. He should have killed them all, the vile sacks of shit.

If his soul ever found it's way back from the hell it was about to be damned too, he'd find you. His revenge was no longer reserved for Cazador, but for the wretched bitch hat tortured him in ways he didn't even think were possible. He'd do worse to you than anyone could imagine.

You were the cruelest thing to ever exist, as heartless and horrid as the monster before him.

So why was he still crying over it?

It didn't matter anyway. Not now. Now, all he could do was wait for the bitter end.

But then...he felt something. A familiar presence tickling the back of his mind. A barely there whisper, no words that he could make out. But it was getting stronger. Clearer.

It...it was you. Calling out to him with your illithid connection, begging for an answer.

My love, where are you? Astarion please, please tell me your there. Help me find you.

He can scarcely believe it. But he wasn't going to wait for his emotions to catch up to what could be an escape. He was screaming in his brain, trying to send out any signal that he could.

I'm here. I'm here. Don't let him take me. Please.

He could hear you in his head, the sheer relief from your mind nearly overwhelming, I'm coming. Hold on, I'm coming.

Astarion didn't even have the time to doubt. Because the next moment you were bursting through the ornate doors, nearly your entire team in tow.

Astarion had never seen you look the way you did then. He was so used to your kindness, the warmth and light that you tried to spread everywhere you went. You were always smiling, always laughing, always trying to share the same with others.

But now you were breathing hard, near feral in your posture as your eyes darted around, landing straight to the shocked Cazador. You looked murderous, vicious enough to send a shiver down Astarion's spine. Your teeth were bared, your whole body trembling with rage as you started to advance, weapons already drawn.

And in that moment Astarion was sure that you were the most gorgeous, perfect thing he had ever seen. Or ever would.

It was brutal, bloody battle. One that ended with you slitting Cazador's throat as Astarion watched in awe. You let the body fall to the ground, blasé before you finally ran to him, releasing him from his prison.

Then he was being pulled into the most crushing hug of his entire life. One that he was helpless to return. He clung to you, uncaring for their rather large audience.

He was too busy burying his face into your hair, breathing you in as you whispered into his shoulder, "Thank the Gods that you're still here."

The pain in your voice was so raw, so real. Astarion needed no other evidence to be sure that every word from the dead man's lips had been a lie. He was also positive that he had never cried this much in his life, but now it was a different kind of sob he was trying to choke back. The flood of relief was crushing, the truth that your love was real was nearly enough to destroy him all over again. Not for cruelties sake, but to make something new. To kill every last doubt he had that he was nothing, worthless. How could he be when you were here? When you came for him?

He pulled back reluctantly, smiling down at you with tear tracks on his face. He kissed your forehead, covered in sweat and blood, and gods knows what else.

It was all finally over. You both turned to the rest of the group, your hands clasped together as you made your way to where Cazador lay dead. It was satisfying to see, but such a shame that Astation wasn't the one to do the deed. A regret he'd have for the rest of his days.

Or so he thought.

But then you were turning to Shadowheart, your sweet face curling back into the disgust from earlier when you ordered, "Revive him."

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as she did what she was told. Cazador came back into consciousness, in what looked to be an extremely unpleasant experience. He was coughing blood, the spell doing just enough to mend his mortal wounds, but not nearly powerful enough to give him a fraction of his strength back. He stared upwards, his eyes wide at the sight of you lording over him.

And for the first time in two hundred years, Astarion saw fear in the other man's eyes. Wonderfully delicious fear.

He felt you squeeze his hand as he stared at him, speaking quietly, "He's yours. To do with what you please. Do...do you want us here for this?"

He could hear the hidden meaning in your words. This wasn't just a choice of what to do with him. It was a choice of what to do with them all. He had taken notice that he was the only one that you had freed, his brethren still suspended in air.

He turned to you, his voice strong for the first time since he'd come back to this pit, "I want you here for this."

You nodded before looking back to the others to tell them to wait outside. They did so reluctantly, obviously without confidence in his decision making abilities. He ignored the especially worried look Karlach sent his way, too focused on the piece of vampiric trash in front of him.

Cazador was still coughing, his mouth forming more vile words, "Y-You don't have to do this. I can-"

"Silence," Astation seethed, partly surprised when it worked to shut him up. But then again, he had never been placed in a position to see his master be the one without an escape, "Your life is in my hands now. Tell me the truth. How did you find me?"

Astarion could see the fury behind his eyes, the humiliation of being ordered around by his own spawn. But his desire for life won out in the end.

"Luck," he spat out, "Sheer luck. Yomen saw you in the city, at Shar's Caress with this one. He followed you, found your camp and reported back. I sent Dalyria and Petras to fetch you, gave them a powerful sleeping scroll to knock out your allies. And then you were mine again."

Astarion shouldn't have been surprised that he had the audacity to glare at Tav, seething, "Or at least you would have been."

"And my memories?" Astarion pressed, "How did you know of us?"

"The tadpole squirming behind your eyes doesn't change the fact that I am your master," Cazador said, "Your mind is mine to shape, to understand. It was more difficult than before, yes. But I had enough to know what to say."

Of course. He should have known, "So that was your last torture then?"

"Yes," Cazador said simply, a sneer managing to appear on his bloodied face, "And you have to admit, it worked wonderfully."

"You can kill him now if you'd like," You piped up from his side, staring down at the vampire like the trash he was, "Or...you can take his place."

You hesitated for a brief moment before steeling yourself, looking Astarion in the eye, "Whatever you choose, I'll be here for you. I promise."

Astarion nodded, weighing his options. It was so very difficult to not just kill him where he laid, like the pathetic dog he was. But then again...the ritual would mean endless power. Power that he could use to protect himself, to protect you. So nothing like this could ever happen again.

Astarion looked up, his eyes searching every last one of his brothers and sisters faces. They looked scared, perhaps even resigned to their fate. Just at the hands of another. Astarion hadn't expected the image to make him feel ill, yet it did.

Could he do it? Sacrifice them all, along with everyone else trapped in the bowels of their personal hell? He could. He knows he could. Yet...

He looked back at you, the only thing he had ever loved. The one person to show him a different way to live, who was giving him the freedom to be his own person. But... he wanted that person to be someone worthy of you. Someone who would make you proud.

And there was only one way to do that. Astarion let go of your hand, reaching for the dagger you kept at your belt before striding over to Cazador. He stabbed him with little fanfare, no warning, no chances to beg. And then he did it again, and again, and again. Until he lost count, until the body of his former master was mutilated, his chest nothing but unrecognizable gore.

He wasn't quite sure when he started crying again. He only realized it when he could barely breath through his own screams, every bit of rage, hurt, and humiliation that had been beaten into him coming straight to the surface. He sunk to his knees as he sobbed, tossing the knife to the side.

The whirlwind inside of him was too much, so overwhelming that he was afraid he'd be lost to it. But then he could feel it, you wrapping your arms around him, kneeling next to him as he broke down.

He clung to you, burying his face into your neck as he cried, desperate for your comfort, your touch. You were crying too he realized, your voice breaking as you gently spoke to him, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I should have been there to protect you. I love you, you did the right thing. I'm sorry."

You had nothing to apologize for, but that didn't stop your words from acting like a soothing balm to all of his internal wounds. But he would get through this. Because for the first time Astarion knew, without a shadow of a doubt he wouldn't have to get through it alone. With you by his side, he would never be alone again.

He wasn't sure how long you both spent there, kneeling in a pool of his tormentors blood. But he knew he felt different when he pulled away, changed.

Free.

He cupped your face, wiping away your tears while only managing to smear the mess about. But it didn't matter that you were both covered in blood and viscera, not when he had you.

"I love you too," Astarion whispered, finally allowing himself to unload the burden of hiding away from you. No more of that. He was yours, fully and completely, "I love you so much. I-I thought that this was it. That I'd never see you again. That you betrayed me-"

"Never," You interrupted, your voice fierce despite how it was breaking, "I never will. You're all I want, all I need. I should have been there, I'm so sorry-"

"No more apologies," Astarion murmered, pressing a quick kiss to your bloody mouth, "No more. We're here. That's all that matters."

You nodded, kissing him again, so sweet despite everything that should have made it sour. Despite his own words, Astarion couldn't help the white hot shame that passed through him. How could he have doubted you, even for a moment? Doubted this, the most beautiful that ever happened to him. Never again would he question what you had together, to let his mind be poisoned by others.

But there would be more time for the two of you later. The rest of your lives if he had anything to say about it. But for now...you freed him. And it was his turn to do the same.

Astarion pulled back, sighing as he looked around the room at his brethren. They were still hanging in the air, all privy to quite the show. He freed them, forgave them even, despite every horrid thing they'd done to eachother over the years.

But that didn't stop him from clocking Petras squarely in the face the second his feet touched the floor. The other man took it well enough, fully knowing that Astarion was capable of much, much worse. Though he was well aware that Petras had been compelled to kidnap him, it didn't change the fact that the punch was very satisfying.

As for the rest of the spawn, the thousands trapped here, he let them go as well. Down to the Underdark, where they could at least have a chance of controlling their feral nature before associating with mortals again.

Then it was time to leave this wretched place, forever. He would never be hurt here again, never controlled. He was free, finally. And with you by his side, what else could he ever ask for?

#astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 cazador #hes such a piece of shit #but I feel like this is something he would totally do #happy ending #but god damn that was rough #angst #a lot of angst #its there #front and center #long fic #you'll pry my long posts out of my cold dead hands #im feeling spawn astarion man #i started this side blog for the ascended version but...#spawn is bae #female tav

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chiropteracupola · 5 months

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Sovay, Sovay, all on a day / She dressed herself in man's array...

#em draws stuff #em is posting about sharpe #sharpe #richard sharpe #teresa moreno #Sir We Do Transgenderisms On This Blog :)#and more specifically I will be (and have been!) transing sharpe's gender every which-a-way #the poses are from thomas wilson's 'analysis of country dancing' from 1811 #and sharpe's dress is borrowed from thomas phillips' 1801 portrait of elizabeth cochrane-johnstone!#which kiran lacomandante reblogged some time ago with Thoughts about the sharpe reminiscence and I have used for my own goblin purposes #continuing in the vein of my own particular goblin purposes There Will Be A Fic. stay tuned do not adjust your set &c &c #caption lyrics are from sovay which fits teresa's side of things a little better...#I don't really know a folk-song that has the Vibes of my large pile of Thoughts on sharpegender yet

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xendoodle · 2 years

Video

Ok!! Unfinished Miraculous Ladybug animatic based on @peachcitt‘s Metamorphosis!

I wish I could have finished the whole song, but I got covid during the couple of days off I was going to do most of the work on it. Almost didn’t post it its so unfinished, but I’m trying to be better about showing stuff that isn’t perfect!

#Miraculous Ladybug #metamorphasis #ml #ladynoir #my art #IT FEELS TONALLY DISSONANT TO POST THIS #WHICH IS SO IN THE THICK OF ALL THE ANGST AND BETRAYAL #AFTER THE FIC HAS GONE THROUGH ALL THE CATHARSIS LOL #for reference i read it before chapter 15 and 16 came out #ALSO sorry to all the gg people who followed this account this is now a Generalist Art Side Blog

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shmothman · 10 months

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Stuck Like Glue

Pairing: Vash the Stampede/Reader Rating: Explicit (18+ only) Words: 8057 Read on AO3

Summary: Vash has always been a little bit more than you bargained for… but that’s just part of his charm.

Excerpt:

He loves you. The thought strikes you anew, and tears prick at your eyes as he mouths at your feverish skin, desire pooling stronger and stronger in your gut. He loves you, and the way he’s holding you, kissing you, shows it; the way his voice trembles, eager and terrified and hopeful and lust-stricken. How can you prove just how much you love him in return? How can you tell him how long you’ve wanted this, wanted him?

A shaky sigh falls past your lips as he leans you back and buries his face in your chest, teeth brushing your skin, hands clutching you tight around the middle like he’ll never get this chance again—and you know him well enough to know that’s truly how he feels; grieving you even with his tongue against your heaving chest. He’s grieved you since the day he met you.

You don’t want him to grieve tonight.

#HOO boy another long one!#'it's a simple kn*tting fic' i said 'how many words could it take?'#eight thousand apparently #side note tumblr has the stupidest tags blocked #sef writes #vash the stampede x reader #x reader #trigun #tristamp #trigun stampede #i used to do excerpts like this on all my fic posts but with ns/fw I’ve been too embarrassed #but this blog has gone to the gutters already so. woe excerpt be upon ye

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delimeful · 8 months

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just a little rush (1)

G/t July Day 2: Bird

patron prompt: patton & remus comforting each other through touch!

warnings: dehumanization, captivity, highly improper handling of a little guy, injury & muscle cramps, mention of past injury & abuse, many remus-typical nsfw & gore-adjacent comments, swearing, lmk if i missed any

Patton wiggled his shoulder through the bars and craned his neck, straining to get a good enough angle to see the other half of the clock across the room.

Enough of the clock’s face was visible that he could guess the time most of the day, except for the stretch of time in which both the hour and minute hands were out of sight. Patton wasn’t usually overly concerned about the loss; Normally, it didn’t really matter either way.

Now, when it had been what felt like ages since he’d last seen Remus, it mattered a lot more.

Of course Remus had chosen the most inconvenient timing possible to stage his latest escape attempt. Patton would smile if he wasn’t so worried.

Heavy footsteps came down the hall, and Patton hurriedly yanked his arm back through the bars, his wings prickling up with nerves at the thought of being caught ‘outside’, even if it was only a single limb.

The door was shoved open heavily, and Patton was greeted by the face of their captor, creased sharply by a disgusted sort of annoyance.

Heart pounding in his ears, Patton flattened his wings against his back on automatic, making himself smaller in the face of the man’s clear anger. He ignored the urge to dart away, find a small place to hide in until the threat had passed.

Even if it wouldn’t only make their captor more upset, there was no point. Their cage didn’t have any hidden-away nooks or crannies; it was designed first and foremost as a display case.

After all, what was the point of having a rare treasure if you couldn’t see it and show it off whenever you wanted?

Instead, he kept himself rooted firmly in place, ducking his head slightly so that he could subtly scan the man’s hands for— there.

His heart skipped an agonizing beat at the sight of Remus’s wings, askew and rumpled— but they were still attached. It was just a constricting hold, clamping the wings together between two fingers so they couldn’t flap around or beat against the hand clenched tightly around the rest of Remus.

Remus was quiet, which was never a good sign, but Patton could see the way his pinned wings were twitching slightly, and knew that he was still alive and hopefully still mostly intact, as well.

“Idiot fucking bird,” their captor muttered, stepping close to the cage and undoing the locking mechanism with sharp, irritated yanks.

He’d had the lock upgraded several times, enough that it was now far more difficult to unlatch, especially from inside, but the unfortunate side effect was that the complexity of it was nearly as agitating to him as it was to his captives.

Patton could see now why Remus hadn’t butted in with a mocking comment to torment the human more: the man’s gloved thumb had been pressed over a good portion of his face, completely concealing his mouth and getting dangerously close to covering his nose, too. Remus had turned his head as far as he could manage to keep his last airway unsealed.

With a final noisy clatter, their captor pulled the door down and wasted no time before shoving his hand inside and dropping Remus into the cage like he couldn’t stand to hold him a second longer. He immediately pulled his hand back out and slammed the door shut, as though he thought Remus would instantly jump to his feet and lunge at the open exit.

From where he’d collapsed into a tangle of limbs on the cage floor, Remus’s mouth curled into something smug even as he took deep, gasping breaths. He’d always enjoyed earning his reputation by getting a reaction out of the human, no matter how negative, no matter the cost.

And this time, the cost was certainly high.

Patton could tell from the way his only friend’s vibrant green wings were spasming that some of the muscles had been sprained, forced to bend just slightly too far in the wrong direction, and they’d be too sore to fold reliably for days.

It wasn’t the worst that could have happened, but it was a bad sign. An injury like this, coming from the human that prized their ability to flutter around so highly? Remus was pushing too far, and soon he’d get burned for real.

“Bluebird, at least try and be a good influence, won’t you? Make sure he stays in there. Next time, I won’t be so nice,” their captor snarled, smacking a hand against the bars of the cage to create a metallic ringing that made Patton cringe away, his head aching slightly from the sound.

Remus’s gaze went dark, and he inhaled harshly, like he had something to say, only to start up a hacking cough as the air went down wrong.

Their captor dismissed the noise with a flick of his head, already turning away to return to whatever he was doing before he caught Remus. Patton hurried forward the moment his attention was off of them, folding down to his knees at Remus’s side and immediately reaching out to grab the thickest muscle of his wing.

They were still twitching, and if they were left as is and Remus reacted too poorly to an uncontrollable spasm, one of those fragile joints could dislocate entirely. Patton dug his thumbs in, massaging the closest knot of muscle as firmly as he could.

“If you’re going to work me over like this,” Remus gasped, “at least— ghng— buy me dinner first, will ya?”

He twitched his head sharply to the side and clenched his fists through the pain as Patton continued working his fingers against the arch of his wings, easing them through the convulsive cramps as he slowly folded them out of their overextended position.

“Why, of course,” he answered a beat late, trying not to let the strain of the work infect his tone. “Only the finest of sunflower seeds for my most pheasant of friends.”

Remus barked out a laugh, the unhinged grin not leaving even as his wing muscles jumped painfully under Patton’s thumbs. “I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever called me pleasant.”

“Not even, erm, in the bedroom?” Patton said, his unpracticed delivery falling a little flat as Remus flinched a little at a particularly painful feeling cramp.

He’d grown plenty used to hearing innuendos of all shapes and sizes over the past few months Remus had been here, but that didn’t mean he was any good at saying them. Not even to distract his friend.

Remus processed the words a bit late, his breathing a bit strained, and then threw his head back a tad and cackled.

The noise briefly turned into something closer to shrieking laughter as Patton finally smoothed out one last twitching length of muscle, but then it was over, the worst of the cramps over and done with, with only the aching and torn muscles left behind.

Patton sat back on his rear heavily, and Remus dragged himself close enough to flop over one leg, still panting slightly.

“Nah,” he said after a moment, waggling his eyebrows. “In the bedroom they call me nasty. And outside the bedroom, really. I’m a freak on the streets and in the sheets!”

Patton laughed despite himself, a far cry from the flushed ears and fluffed out feathers he used to sport whenever Remus said anything remotely… saucy.

“I guess that’s the nast-key to your success, huh?”

“The nastkeys,” Remus echoed. “There’s a BDSM joke about handcuffs there somewhere, I can feel it.”

Patton snorted, and reached over to carefully shuffle one of Remus’s limp wings so that it stretched across his lap. It went taut for a moment before sagging again, the wing spreading wide over his other leg so he could see the extent of the damage.

Patton whistled, his lips going thin the more he looked. “He did a number this time, huh.”

“Bastard’s just jealous he doesn’t have my swagalicious escape artist skills,” Remus replied, glancing over at the many disturbed and torn feathers and averting his gaze sharply. “The nast-key to that particular skillset is lubrication. Lots and lots of lubrication.”

“I think that joke is the opposite of the handcuffs one,” Patton murmured, slowly working his way through the top layer, adjusting and aligning feathers where he could and pulling the damaged and loose ones free where he couldn’t.

“I always manage to work one in somewhere,” Remus said, turning the phrase into an innuendo through tone alone. “I’m just flexible like that.”

Patton’s ears were growing pink now. He hadn’t built up as much tolerance as he’d thought. He opened his mouth to change the subject, hopefully with a pun.

“I wish you would stop,” he said instead, voice so quiet it was barely audible.

There was a pause.

“I wish you would grow a pair and help me, but I don’t ask anymore, do I?” Remus replied, his voice blunt for all that the words were harsh. “I can’t stop. The minute I give it up, I might as well roll right over the nearest ledge and decorate the bougie tiles with the resulting splatter.”

Patton didn’t stop his gentle grooming, but his hands did gain a barely-there tremor. He bit back any possible responses, keeping his eyes locked on his task.

“…Sorry,” Remus grumbled, ungraceful but sincere. “I know you have your reasons. I’ve got mine too, though.”

“I know,” Patton said, bobbing his head in a hurried nod. He hesitated, his wings tucking even further against his back, before continuing. “It’s getting more dangerous, though. If you keep pushing him, he’ll get too mad to remember that we’re… valuable.”

The silence this time was much more charged. Patton smoothed his hand over a patch of feathers that had already been all straightened out, still not looking up.

“That sounds like you’re speaking from experience, Sunshine,” said Remus, solemnly.

That nickname was a lot more welcome than the one their captor had given him. Probably because they both knew it wasn’t meant to replace his actual name.

Some days, he asked to just be called Patton. Just so he could remember the name was real. That he was still a person.

(He was so glad to have someone to say it again.)

“I used to argue with him,” Patton started, and then corrected himself, “I would try to convince him that what he was doing was wrong.”

Remus made a sound that might have been a laugh, if it wasn’t so unhappy.

“Yeah,” Patton agreed, lips twisting to the side in a miserable half-smile. “He, uh. He started to get sick of it, give me warnings like he just did. And I didn’t listen. And, uhh…”

His voice trailed off briefly, and Remus turned to look at him, no pity in his stare.

It gave him the courage to stretch a wing out and stare at the soft blue-grey plumage, finding the two points of his wings that still ached on stormy days. He touched his finger to each spot, one after another. “The bones snapped here, and here.”

There was the briefest beat of silence, and then, “You know this doesn’t really motivate me to stop, right? Now I just want to make a pit stop mid-escape to tear Bastard’s throat out with my teeth personally.”

Patton laughed a little despite himself, his mind shying uneasily away from the gory imagery, but... not quite as much as it might have for anyone other than their captor.

“He complained about the vet bills for a long time,” he replied, softly. “If it happened again, I don’t think he would try to fix us. Fix you.”

Remus gnashed his teeth for a moment, visibly chewing on whatever he wanted to say. Patton continued before he had a chance, fingers still ghosting over Remus’s primaries.

“I don’t want to be alone again.” His voice was nearly a whisper.

Whatever he’d been about to say, Remus swallowed the words with a sour expression, melting further against Patton’s lap with a gusty sigh.

“I’ll take a little vacation,” he finally said, reaching a hand up to card his own fingers through the lower feathers on Patton’s half-outstretched wing.

He couldn’t often preen Patton back, not with his persistent worry of impulsively yanking out feathers, but his touch now was anything but rough.

“Not forever,” he warned, “but I can turn down the heat for a little bit. Let Bastard settle back down to a simmer before I start our little looney-toons game of cat and bird once more.”

Patton felt the little ball of tension inside him unwind a little, sniffling a bit from the force of the quiet relief that washed over him. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't be a sap. Anyways, those old cartoons with the animal chases are actually super fucked up. I’m talking graphic violence, adult jokes, unethical cat-and-dog rivalry stereotypes…”

Patton gestured for Remus’s other wing, keeping half an ear on his friend’s rambling as he began repairing as much of the dishevelment and damage as he could.

As long as they had each other, they would be okay. He had to believe that, just like Remus had to try to escape. So he did.

Around them, their gilded cage continued to glitter.

#if you saw me post this to the wrong blog no you didn't #sanders sides fic #sanders sides g/t #ts remus #ts patton #just a little rush #jalr

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displacedbias · 9 days

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HIII FELIX HIII TEDDY HI HI

[Ted]: Felix says hi too, if ya can't hear him through the window!

#i was gonna put this ask with another one but then i went too hard on the background so now i have to post it by itself :'3c #throwback to when i did full coloured backgrounds on this blog......... hehe it's their room >:3 #the 2nd bg i ever did for this blog <-- wrong wait no it's the 3rd bc i had a side perspective on the 1st bg which counts as Another bg #considering i did that shit from scratch :')#also yeah ted's walking on the ledge outside their house. which is another reference to a different fic hgfdfghdfg #kindergarten 2 #kindergarten ted #kindergarten felix #kindergarten roleswap #ted #felix #visuals.#felix ic;#ted ic;#answered.#wingstobetorn

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zephyrchama · 18 days

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(this isn't a fic or about the games it's just me rambling >u<) My imagination has been on overdrive recently, I filled another whole page just listing out ideas that popped into my head. I feel like I've been posting a lot though and I'm afraid people might see my username and go "oh man, this person in the obey me tag again? chill out" hahaha. I'm used to being the cringe lone wolf and have very little experience interacting with fandoms but everyone has been so lovely.

I've queued up a few things to avoid spam posting! Mostly quick random mini headcanons? I also want to say that I read every single tag and comment and ask and I am SO appreciative every single time. I'm shy and don't know how to respond to compliments (I wind up hoarding them like a dragon) and I want to answer every prompt request but I have to wait until the writing switch in my brain gets magically flipped. (I might not get to them for a long while but some people have asked and my inbox is always open!) I have, like, regulars who seem to reblog and enjoy what I write?? When I see people interact with my stuff I literally say "thank u" to my computer screen because from day 1 I assumed this blog would be obscure and mostly ignored. I didn't expect a thousand of you to follow it in under six months and it blows my mind.

I was gonna ramble more but I got distracted and started rotating the OM characters around in my head again. But basically! Thank you all!! And if you read this nonsensical post? You're really cool! Thanks!

#i don't intend to make a lot of personal posts like this but I didn't want people thinking i was ignoring them either #i'm waving at you all from behind a wall #I've followed a lot of you as well! I'm very grateful! But it's on my main blog because this is just a side blog ><#personal #<- just because I feel like I should have a tag for non-fics and non-fandom posts. did that just automatically turn into an arrow woah #it DID it turned into an arrow!! woah!! <-?????????WOAH? -> it does it the opposite way too! the internet is amazing.

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adhd-merlin · 5 months

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Awake

Fill for @merlinmicrofic prompt 'Awake’, Morgana & Gwen, Gen, 100 words

When Morgana opens her eyes, there's darkness.

At her back, a cold wall. Water trickles down her manacled wrists. Something shifts against her thigh, whining pitifully.

Then stone grinds against stone, uncovering a crescent of night sky.

In the feeble moonlight, Morgana meets the gleaming eyes of a skeletal creature.

She screams.

“Morgana!" A familiar voice — a beloved voice. "It's a dream. Only a dream.”

Later, as she observes Gwen's sleeping face in the moonlight, Morgana savours the memory of Gwen saying her name — not “my lady”.

It brings her a peace she could never hope to find in slumber.

#behold! another drabble #finished writing past 2am. posted immediately. I'm sure it's perfect #ok but listen! morgana in the well #what if she started being traumatised by that ordeal before it even happened #what if once she was trapped there the significance of her dreams dawned on her and she finally understood her sense of dread #just a thought. anyway! goodnight #ps. I hope this shows... I'm shadowbanned 😔#doesn't seem to be affecting this side blog so far except for replies (I can't reply)#merlin fanfiction #merlin micro fic

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writterings · 11 months

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ngl the ao3 thing got me fucked because i've been getting more and more distrusting of the idea that things on the internet will always be accessible and i've been archiving media i like onto cds/dvds and stuff but i just haven't gotten around to downloading fics and i'm actually really upset about the idea of never being able to access certain stories again and the general fear that an online space of creativity would be lost. like the reports all say that it's being managed and the site will only be down for a few weeks at most but like STILL.

#i think this is also hitting me because i read this one fic that helped me break up with my most recent ex #and it wasn't a finished fic and the last chapter just came out and i didn't get a chance to read it yet #because i've been busy #so like. damn!#like i'm actually okay i'm just having some minor anxiety over this #i choose to believe everything will turn out fine but! yknow how anxiety works #i don't talk abt it a lot on here but fanfic was and is actually very formative to me and it's a great way of self expression to me 😅#i don't fandom post a lot on this blog bc i wanna avoid discourse but im balls deep in so many fandoms on a lot of side blogs

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fearcicada · 1 year

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God gives his strongest battles to his toughest soldiers (hating j*nmartin in the TMA fandom)

#words #anti jonmartin #ITS EVERYWHERE ITS EVERYTHING. if i find a cool artist i like or a cool tma person with similar opinions to me on some things there's such #a high guarantee thst they also love and post j*nmartin ...even if a tma person does not actively ship it they at least occasionally reblog #and talk about it #only place where there's reliably no j*nmartin in sight is on the jonelias shipper side of things #🙏🙏🙏#they're always the only mfs with good tma opinions #talking about jonelias shippers as if im not a part of them ha #but its like #looking for fics about a specific ship? side ship with j*nmartin as the main one. or its a poly ship with them. or j*nmartin is endgame #an angel dies everytime i find an artist who draws my fav tma characters really really really well but then i go to their blog and #like 90% of the art is j*nmartin.#^ mostly about having gerry as my fav. the gerry fans are almost always always j*nmartin fans as well #pleaase where are the j*nmartin haters in the gerry loving community #tma #the magnus archives #Jonathan sims #martin blackwood

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bluuscreen · 3 months

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at long last i’m finally starting to post my baby who i have nurtured for several years now [<- slow writer]

here’s the first chapter of my patton-and-logan-adopt-virgil vampire au fic ^-^ hell of a premise but in my defense i came up with it when i was 18

Virgil, at only 8 years old, had resigned himself to never having a real family. To growing up in the orphanage where he was left at two years old, with only his roommate to really talk to.

And then, one rainy day, two kind men show up who want to take him in as their own, and the sun shines just a little brighter from then on.

Or: Virgil gets adopted by vampires. What could go wrong?

#.doc #sanders sides #tss fanfic #how do i even tag this #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #feels weird posting a fic on my main blog but i got nowhere else to put it so #aaah i love making stuff for a dying fandom #well. i’m still here and this is more for me than anyone else anyway #so i guess its okay

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wordsintheatmosphere · 1 month

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The Problem With A Heart

Series: Touken Ranbu Pairing: Tsurumaru Kuninaga/Saniwa (Female) Rating: G Summary: The problem with being given a physical form is all these new complications that comes with it. As a sword, Tsurumaru has never had to deal with such thoughts before, but things are different now.

—

His master had been gone for a long, long time.

She didn't leave without warning; his master was a responsible owner, and she had written meticulous letters about her reasons for leaving and the duties and responsibilities that were to be handled in her absence. She had been quite detailed in her letters, making sure that the swords under her current ownership were well taken care of and would not encounter too many difficulties; as her last appointed attendant, Tsurumaru couldn't help but smile wryly as he read over them. Despite her efforts, sword spirits were more than capable of looking after themselves and did not require the aid of a human to help them settle. There was no doubt that the sword spirits were much older than she was, than any human could possibly be, and there was little she could offer that they would not be able to do on their own. She of all people would know that, as someone with the power to pull spirits from old, historied objects and embody their essence into a physical form. Even so, Tsurumaru thought as he read over her letters for a countless time, she was quite meticulous in her writing. It was the only way she could show her care for them, in her own human way.

And yet, despite all the detail and attention and underlying anxiousness in her written words, there was no mention of her return. When will she be back? Will she ever be back? The questions that lived in Tsurumaru's mind could not find an answer in all of the pages his master wrote, no matter how many times he read them. He folded the wrinkled paper, textured with his constant touch, and placed it back in the wooden drawer. It hurt him to think that she chose to leave these letters behind instead of facing him, her attendant, who had the right to know. In his mind he knew she wouldn't be able to answer the questions that bothered him even if she were to face him then, but the problem with a heart is that rationalizing these thoughts did not help him in the slightest.

There were many things that her swords chose to do; in a way, it was a welcomed break from all the fighting that they had done. Some chose the time to deepen the friendships between each other, some chose to busy themselves with hobbies or training, and all of them dutifully kept with the responsibilities that their master had detailed in her letters to upkeep their citadel. But for Tsurumaru, the days remained unchanging. There was a restlessness in his heart that blossomed when he read her letter for the first time, a feeling that kept growing with the days that passed peacefully. Was it right for him to feel this way, even in times of peace? He'd thought he would accept it, when he'd left to discover himself on that journey that his master approved of so long ago. It turned out he was still bad at accepting this unchanging landscape—at least, without his master. When he had made his mind up to settle down, it was because he thought he'd be able to be by his master's side, not like this in a place without her. Not like this, alone by himself.

He spent his days wandering the citadel grounds, finding ways to bide his time, and every late afternoon to evening he took to sitting by the front gates alone. When he was asked what he was doing, his answer was that he was bored and simply wished to observe the changing landscape outside of the citadel that was frozen in time without the presence of his master. It was not entirely a lie, but it was not entirely the truth either; his eyes wandered several times down the paths where his master could've taken on the day she decided to leave. It was unfair, the way it was so easy for her to choose to walk down those paths alone, when it was so difficult for him to be stuck here, unable to follow.

It was a clear summer day when he finally saw his master walking down the dirt path. At first he couldn't believe it; many times people had walked down those paths, traveling to their destinations and back, and many times he had watched each of them, each figure of a lady making him hold his breath quietly before releasing it in disappointment. But this time he recognized the style of her clothes, the colour of her hair, and most certainly the way she carried herself with determined purpose, even if her eyes held the weariness of a person that shouldered a heavy burden. When her eyes met his, her steps freezing in surprise, Tsurumaru pulled his hood over his eyes and waited.

He waited. What else could he do, when he had been trapped waiting all this time? When he could hear her hesitant footsteps drawing near him, he rose to his feet. She was so small; he towered over her, the hood that covered his gaze no longer veiling the sharpness in his eyes.

"You're back," he said, and though he was smiling there was an edge to his voice he couldn't contain. She darted her gaze nervously at the sound of it, and if he was in a better mood he would've kicked himself. This was the problem of owning a heart: the absence of a master couldn't bother him when he was simply a sword, but now things were too complicated and he didn't know how to handle these strange and unfamiliar feelings.

"I'm back," she agreed in a quiet, apologetic voice, then added, "how were things while I was gone?"

"While you were gone?" He echoed, the smile not leaving his face though his mind was in a mess; how were things, he had not bothered to keep track despite being her trusted attendant. He only knew of the way her absence had made him feel, how it felt to be left waiting and wondering in a place without her.

"I was dead," he said simply; there was no exaggeration in his voice, because as far as he was concerned it was the truth. "If nothing changes, then it's the same as being dead."

She looked at him then, and the pained look in her eyes melted the ice that frosted his heart ever since the day she left. He pulled her close, his arms enveloping and folding her body against his. She was so small; had anyone ever told her that? It made her look so harmless, but he knew she was anything but. No harmless person could ever leave him feeling so helpless at her absence, or drain the petty anger he'd held onto so tightly with just a look, leaving him feeling pathetic for speaking so coldly to her when she was all he could think about while she was gone.

"I'm sorry, Tsurumaru," she said, voice muffled against his clothes.

"Welcome home," he whispered, when he could finally trust his voice.

#touken ranbu #tsurumaru kuninaga #tsurumaru/saniwa #my fic #oh hey I'm back #Been writing mostly OC stuff then got busy with life #This is actually pretty old #but I haven't posted this before and I thought I should at least keep my writing side-blog updated with my writings #mostly for myself tbh #Anyway this is about the english server's Tsurumaru absence line #The eng server is long gone btw #that is how old this fic is

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kulapti · 9 months

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Cover construction for The silent isle imbowers, July-Aug 2023.

Finished binding here.

Materials shown: metallic gold and matte black heat transfer vinyl with cricut-cut designs, cricut-cut paper stencil, acrylic paint, bookcloth made of cotton + drawing paper backing + Lineco PVA glue. Calligraphy by quillingwords, flower art and cover construction by me.

————-General tips on how to make smth like this:

Steps in order were (1) have bookcloth, (2) cut and paint stencil, (3) cut and weed both HTV layers, (4) apply black HTV, (5) apply gold HTV, (6) add paint detail with paintbrush over the vinyl, (7) apply bookcloth to cover board.

This is not a beginner-friendly design LOL. Be like me and try most of the steps by themselves on other projects first.

I drew this design knowing how the sections would be layered, and which materials (and therefore colors) would go with each layer. Achieving a similar result with a premade design will likely require editing in a digital art program.

Test how your materials will layer before committing to a complex design. In this case I discovered that the type of bookcloth I made actually helps conceal the adhesive spread under the black HTV.

Layering HTV over small sections of acrylic paint works! Cannot confirm the result if you were to use large painted sections.

PSA This black layer with many very small pointy bits is at the extreme limit of what I think is possible to weed from machine-cut HTV. A different material might work better, and I got a lot faster at weeding the second copy than the first one, but some of this is just a technical limit. The gold section worked great but I would not recommend this for the black.

Layering HTV is much easier to do uniformly with a heat press! Check if your local library or maybe an art class studio has one you can use before doing smth like this with your iron.

Paper stencils are easy to make with the cricut but don’t try to use them for anything with small details. The above example is pushing it despite being very simple shapes. Stick-on stencils are better.

Tiny HTV design tip: designs with jagged sections and very thin lines are hardest to weed successfully. Smooth curves are much easier.

Scale all pieces of a stacked design on the same drawing program and within the same canvas in cricut so they layer precisely.

Cut tiny HTV designs with the washi paper setting on a cricut. I did not find this out myself but I can confirm the results! Using the HTV setting will cause the blade to catch on and pull up small sections of the design while cutting, ruining parts of the design.

—————-Tiny HTV design weeding tips:

For the love of cheese do not try anything this complicated the first time you use a cricut. or the second. you will cry

Seriously consider trying both HTV and cricut stencils before doing anything complicated like this. I wish I had at least attempted the black layer as a stick-on stencil.

This isn't a weeding tip but again you better cut this with a washi setting.

Use a very sharp weeding tool, good lighting, and consider a magnifying glass

Be prepared for this to take several hours, especially if you have never done a tiny piece before.

Important! The cricut does not perfectly cut out designs, leaving very small connected sections around the design at various locations. This is almost unnoticeable on large designs but can ruin tiny designs very easily. Be prepared to hold down the “keep” sections of the design with tweezers or a fingertip while pulling or trimming off some of the “remove” negative space.

Do NOT attempt to pull off all the negative space in a single piece. Either add dividing lines to your design for the machine to cut, or use a sharp tool to scrape them yourself. You are much less likely to accidentally remove part of your design if you weed the design in distinct sections.

#my art #bookbinding #work in progress #fanbinding #art tips #artists on tumblr #here there be fandom #long post #weeding the black layer was so. lol. I started the first one and was like I may have made a terrible mistake #renegade chat lighting candles for me #worth it!! also would hopefully come up with a more efficient stencil strategy instead next time!!#I normally post wip stuff on my side blog but figured this might be worth going on main #also the first wip photo looks neat so #only the vision of this fic being a Really Hecking Badass Book could sustain me thru 12 hours of weeding those black layers #my Learn Bookbinding Skills strategy is basically to choose an extremely ambitious project that excites me enough to keep me motivated #and then to just work on it for months because I am stubborn as all hell and genuinely find this fun instead of frustrating :D #tailfeather binding #id in alt text #described #update I have added ids!

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