Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Name: Connor Morrison
Age: 19
Earth - 1979

Let’s do this one last time.

My name is Connor Morrison, and for the last two years, I’ve been Toronto’s one and only Spiderman.
And somehow, even when there’s barely any city left to protect,

I love it.

It started deteriorating way before I got bit. First, the people changed- Most of the population turned into these.. Creatures. I don’t have a name for them yet.
Second, the buildings started to fall apart. Almost all of them are deserted, abandoned, stuck in a time where people could roam freely and not have to worry about death.
Almost everyone’s gone now. But I still live here, trying to get rid of these things that seem to multiply when one of them dies.

But sometimes, a couple times a month, I’m not alone.

There’s this other guy, this other Spiderman, who visits me. He even helps.

He has a nice accent, and he’s real pretty. Says he’s from a different dimension. It’s all super cool.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Appearance: Pale skin - Slight scarring on thighs - Black hair - Rodrick Heffley ahh haircut - Mostly peeled black nail polish - 8g septum piercing - Snake bite piercings

Height: 6’0 / 182cm

Weight: 130lbs / 58kg

Suit description: Mostly dark brown - Thin rings slightly lighter in colour going down arms and legs - Spikier spider design - Same colour as rings around eyes - Made to resemble a dock spider - Almost always paired with a darker ushanka, snow pants, a jacket and winter boots

Additional info: He keeps a photo of him and his little sister at an arcade with him at all times, along with a coin from that arcade. He doesn't want to forget about her. - His voice is sort of soft, and a little raspy. - He doesn’t know many positive emotions anymore. He’s forgotten what love feels like, and now it’s hitting him hard. - Sometimes he finds himself missing Hobie, wishing he’d come by more often- But he never expresses it. Maybe one day he’ll have enough courage.

Chapter Text

Name: Xenrir
Age: 75 (equivalent to mid 30s for a tiefling)

How in the hells did I get here?

First, I get abducted by some humanoid octopus. A damned mindflayer.
Then, the thing puts a fucking worm in my eye.
Then I have to escape this.. Living ship with a strange Githyanki, who doesn’t seem to like me very much, finally getting out only to find more strangers who also have worms in their heads. Doesn’t that sound lovely? Doesn’t fucking feel lovely.

Shadowheart is nice enough. She’s a little odd, but I don’t care much as long as she keeps healing us.
Karlach is great. It’s nice to have another tiefling, especially such a strong one. We’ve developed quite the friendship.
Gale is.. Hm. If you ignore the eating books, he’s pretty okay. A good wizard, and a good cook. Funny, too.
Lae’zel is a great fighter, I’ll give her that- But gods, is she rude.
Wyll is nice. I don’t often bring him with us on our adventures, but he seems strong. You’d have to be if you were named the Blade of Frontiers.
Then there’s Astarion. Don’t tell anyone, they’d tease me until my last breath- I’m starting to like him.

I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s really quite charming. Troubled, but charming. And handsome. Very handsome.
He’s not just a pretty face though- He’s more than that. So, so much more. I’d give him the world if I could. He deserves it, after everything he’s been through.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Appearance: Dark purple skin - Same colour horns that curl back and then up again at the tips - Completely white eyes with only pupils - Sharp tattoos on cheeks and jaw - Nose and eyebrow piercings - Earrings - Fur boots - Leather armour (for now) - Leather gloves - Prehensile tail with a sharp tip - Mostly healed scar across cheekbone

Height: 6’0 / 182cm

Weight: 160lbs / 72kg (he’s malnourished yet somehow buff. Don’t ask)

Additional info: He is very very traumatized. While this didn’t result in paranoia or depression as one might expect, it did make him incredibly touch starved and very reluctant to open up or show strong emotions. Also he’s the stereotypical tiefling rogue who got kicked out at a young age. I made him before I read the honour among thieves prequel book please don’t cancel me

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Name: Ossifrage
Age: 19 (around 20-30 for a harpy)

Even with these.. Parasites, this is much better than being alone.

Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how this happened. Why a mindflayer would choose a harpy as a target in the first place.

I mean, many people have made it quite clear that my kind is undesirable for most things.
The hags of nature, is what they call us. But these companions don’t seem to hate me.. At least, not too much.

Gale has been nice, but I have a hard time eating the food he makes. Maybe I should ask him to keep the bones in for my bits.
Karlach is wonderful. I think she understands me more than the others do. We’re both outcasts.. But she can be a bit loud sometimes.
I think Shadowheart is scared of me. I suppose that’s understandable- My kind is known for being predatory. I can’t blame her. Despite that, she’s nice.
Wyll is great. He’s also kind, but I have a feeling he’s suspicious of me. I hope I can gain his trust soon. He’d be a good friend.
Lae’zel is.. I don’t like her, really. She’s mean, and she’s not very subtle about her suspicions. She’s always blaming me for everything..
But Astarion is by far the best.
I can tell most of it is a front, but he’s just so kind and charming- It’s hard not to like him.

He understands me the most, no doubt. He even brings me bones sometimes. I’ve started to leave some parts of my prey for him, so he can have the blood.
Two predators. Funny, isn’t it?

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Appearance: Grey-ish brown red skin - Bearded vulture eyes, legs, wings, talons, and tail - Black markings similar to that of a cheetah on his face - Long white hair, braided at the sides with two black streaks continued from the markings on his face - Lithe, only slightly muscular frame - Wears only a patterned loincloth and many, many necklaces - There are also necklaces and chains and other trinkets around his waist and hips that drape over his thighs

Height: 5’5 (the average height for a harpy is 5’0 don’t flame me) / 165cm

Weight: 115lbs / 52kg

Additional info: Also very traumatized, mostly for the same reasons. Got kicked out of his tribe lived alone for 16 years blah blah blah ANYWAYS this has resulted in him being basically the opposite of Xenrir. Overly paranoid, easy cryer, painfully short temper. Because his particular species of bird isn’t supposed to be out at night, he doesn’t have nightvision, and therefore the only time he can peacefully hunt is also the only time he is essentially blind. OH HE’S ALSO A DRUID

A/N: Holy fart man I haven’t updated this in a MINUTE. Honestly I think I might’ve forgotten half of the characters I meant to put here. Anyways- I have a lot of stuff going on now (I’m graduating in a month, for one) and I don’t exactly have a lot of time to update. I’ll try- If anyone actually reads these, I hope you like them. I tried to make them a little cleaner than the first version because that thing was HORRID. It was really just me ranting for a whole chapter. I’m not very good at writing actual fics so this is my contribution and if anyone would, for some reason, want a fic about any of these characters just comment and I will try my best. OKAY GOODBYE GO LEAFS GO

Chapter Text

Name: Cooper Woods
Age: 17

I fucking hate it here.

The only good thing about living in this godforsaken place is my friends- And even then, most of them are a bore. Especially Darry- Good God, do I hate hanging out with Darry.

I like Two-Bit. He’s funny, but sometimes he’s just too much.
I hate Steve- Don’t tell Soda, but he’s an annoying asshole with an ego bigger than the whole damn country.
Speaking of Soda, he’s nice. Not as funny as Two-Bit, but we’re pals.
Ponyboy is.. I don’t know. He’s like a little brother, I guess.
Johnny is Johnny. I can’t say anything bad about him. Even if I wanted to, Dallas would probably beat the tar out of me.
Dallas. My best friend, if I really want to get sappy. He’s a little rude sometimes, but I don’t care. I’m the same way. I think that’s why we get along so well.
I used to sleep over at his place when we were kids. If both of our parents are no-shows, who cares? I practically lived with him. Still do.

He’s real charming. I get why so many girls like him, but then again, he is kind of an asshole. I don’t get why so many girls stay liking him.

He’s nice to me, though. Most of the time. He patches me up when I get my ass beat- Which is way too often- But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know he cares. Which is nice.

I really like Dal. I’m not gay, though. That’d just be silly.. I’m not a pansy.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Appearance: Pale ginger hair - Light green eyes - Very frail - Pale skin - Too many scars to be normal - Bruises all the time

Height: 5’10 / 177cm

Weight: 115lbs / 52kg

Additional info: Always wearing clothes that are too big for him- The only things that ever fit are pants. He also wears rings. So many rings. Too many rings. He needs them, with how many fights he gets into.
He’s been shot because why not, had to get Dally to get the bullet out of his leg
He doesn’t cry often. Only if he’s horrifically injured or too out of it to realize that he’s let his usual toughness go.
His hair is too soft to be normal. He doesn’t know why. Nobody else does.
Sometimes, if again, he’s badly injured or out of it, he’ll cuddle up to Dally if it’s possible. Does he get pushed away half the time? Yes. He’s usually too out of it to care, let alone remember.
Doesn’t get with girls. Refuses to admit that it’s because he’s gay.
It’s the 60s man leave him alone
SPOILER + TRIGGER WARNING HE IS ABOUT TO OFF HIMSELF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! After Dally dies, he spirals. (in my mind dally never died but I’m delusional don’t listen to me) anyways he kills himself maybe a few days later. Shot right in the head. His note is mostly an apology to Ponyboy, for traumatizing him further.

In another life, if Dally and Johnny both end up alive, he continues living out his life. Still a greaser, but happy. With his best friend.

Chapter Text

guess what. guess what. IT’S TRAUMA TIME
yes we are sort of back to the ranting format but I will try to keep it at least a little toned down and/or out of the way so it’s not just me yelling at you the whole time
warning this is much longer than my usual basic info chapters so if you don’t want to read my frankly terrible writing for longer than five minutes click away

This chapter will be my two bg3/dnd characters’ trauma and possibly nsfw details if I feel like it but idk I’m tired

Xenrir:
As you might expect from a tiefling rogue, his (extremely not tiefling) parents did not like him very much. An elf and a human- You’d expect their child to be half-elf, no? No. Exactly. When he popped out of the old oven with purple skin and budding horns it was quite apparent that he was, in fact, not a half-elf.
Obviously I had to go with the abandoning backstory that many, many other tiefling characters have. Because I have never had an original thought in my life. Let me keep going actually I need to shut up
Because he was very clearly not what they wanted, it was basically immediate curtains for my boy Xenrir. Toss him in the corner for a good seven years, throw him out into the wild (warrior cats reference) once he’s at least learned to cook. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.
He was not fine.
Well, in terms of being alive, he’s doing pretty okay at that. In terms of trauma, I’m not so sure.
He never knew love from his parents. They taught him basic skills, like hygiene and cooking, but that was just preparing him to leave. They were at least clear about it- Didn’t leave him wondering why his once doting parents left him. They were never doting to begin with.

He ended up finding a hill, a short walk away from a small human town, with a good tree to set up a shelter on.
So he set up a teepee (I still laugh at that and it makes me feel like a two year old) and tried his best. For three painful years, he tried and nearly failed to live. He would eat any berries he could get his hands on, learning the hard way which ones were actually meant to be eaten, somehow gaining enough strength to start catching living prey.
Prey.
That’s not what he’d like to call it, but with how his small legs sprinted to catch even the smallest of rabbits in such desperate attempts to fill his empty void of a stomach, there wasn’t much else to refer to it as.

For three painful years, he sprinted out of breath through the nearby forest, often leaving empty-handed.
For three painful years, he earned injury after injury, scar after scar, with only his own imagination to help him.
For three painful years, he lived like a rabid dog, desperate and violent and scared.
For three fucking years.

Alone.
Until one day, he wasn’t.
And it did not end well.

He didn’t die- But sometimes, he wishes he did. Sometimes, he wishes he heard that cruel laughter, those pathetically loud footsteps, the approaching danger.

But he didn’t. And you can’t change the past.

That day, he awoke. Not to the peaceful sound of birds chirping, but to the stinging pain of a knife being dragged across his face.
When he came to his senses, he saw three human boys, around his age. One was kneeling close to his face. That was the one who was manning the blade.
The two others were holding him down. With how weak he had become, how malnourished, he couldn’t do much of anything to fight back. He had to lie there, screaming and thrashing and even begging in pathetic attempts to get them to stop, tears rolling down his face and into the fresh wounds, stinging the bare flesh.

They didn’t stop. Not until there was an ugly gash on his cheek, a slash on his collarbone that was bleeding just a bit too much to be safe, and enough fear and pain built up to leave him with trauma that would last for decades. Maybe even a century, if he managed to survive this.

After that, he fled to the forest. He knew they’d be back, they told him they’d be back, with a more serrated knife to saw off his horns next. He wasn’t exactly sure if they were bluffing or not, but he wouldn’t be sticking around to find out.

He didn’t build another shelter. No, that would draw too much attention. For the next decade (or two), he flitted around the forest, barely getting by on scraps. Eventually he had climbed enough trees, eaten enough already rotting meat, to grow stronger.
Strong enough to actually catch whatever he was chasing.
Strong enough to fight off most threats.
Strong enough to live, to leave the forest.
Though, he wasn’t sure he was ready.

It would be a long time before he got used to the presence of humans. Any humans. Anything that even resembled a human. If it didn’t have a clear indicator that could be seen in one quick glance that it wasn’t human, he was suspicious.

He’d travel to different towns in the same worn-out cloak he’d made himself all those years ago, doing his best to conceal the deep purple skin and the too-long tail.
Sometimes he’d get found out, and he’d be chased out of whatever town he’d infiltrated. He didn’t care much- By that time, he had already snagged enough shit to keep him fed for at least a week.

And that was how he lived for the next few decades. Instead of a forest, he was flitting around different taverns, sleeping where he could for at most a few nights at a time before slipping away to the next town.

Then, one night, in the middle of stealing a very valuable looking necklace, he was taken.

quick interruption YO THAT WAS GOOD…. guys am I good at writing please DROP YOUR ANSWER DOWN IN THE COMMENTS LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE
I should probably stop myself before I write like 500 more words but GOD DYAMN THAT WAS GOOD AM I RIGHT OR AM I RIGHT
yo I got a miku figure a few days ago. she’s on my desk behind this laptop rn everyone say hi miku or she’ll be sad

Ossifrage:
So, obviously, as I’ve said literally the line before this, Ossifrage is a harpy. From the sources I used creating him, harpies live for around 25-50 years and reach maturity at age 3. Which is a little crazy, but I have to keep in mind that this is literally just how most animals work and us flesh bags are just really weird.
As you may know, if you have any knowledge of harpies, they live in sort of packs. I will call it a tribe for the sake of my own sanity because if I hear the word pack too many times I will be reminded of alpha wolf omegaverse stories and I will go into a depressive state.

Ossifrage was normal enough. Not a runt, not exactly bad at hunting, but there was one thing about him that made him a black sheep among his tribe. A scapegoat, even.

He was too anxious. Too paranoid, looking around at any small hint of a noise. It was ruining his hunting trips, the click of his stolen jewelry scaring away potential prey.

He was also quiet. That made him ridiculously undesirable, even to the most desperate of females.

Since he was considered too much of a nuisance to the tribe, they kicked him out. Not after one last fight, though.
He was actually quite useful in fights. His talons were long, sharp, and being as thin as he was made him quite agile.
Thing is, being so anxious, fighting scared him. Being thin might make him agile, but it also leaves him vulnerable. Not to mention the lack of armour, not even a single trophy bone on his person to cover him.

So obviously, he got injured quite heavily during said fight. All he could remember was some human wearing purple blasting him with ice before he blacked out.

When he woke up, he was lying there, right on the cliff where the fight had taken place. His head was throbbing, but when he tried to stand, his feet felt unnaturally heavy.

Of fucking course.

His tribe was known for being cruel. They often just killed people if they wanted them gone- No hassle. But apparently, he deserved more than a quick death.

There were some.. Odd metal boots, covering his talons. It was heavy. He already had trouble picking himself up off the ground to fly (bearded vultures, the bird I based him off of, need to jump from high ledges to fly), but now he just couldn’t. He probably couldn’t fly at all, actually.

At least his jewelry was intact. At least he was intact.

He’d figure this out, somehow.

He managed to get off of the cliff, making his way into the forest nearby. He was still paranoid, even more so now, with several injuries that had yet to heal and no way to escape should he run into something he couldn’t fight off.

The boots made him slow, and he couldn’t get them off himself. He was just a tad bit too weak to pry the chains off.
So he was stuck. And he stayed stuck for the next week.

He was lucky that there was a camp nearby.
One night, after he heard everyone settle, he snuck as best he could into their camp.

Lo and behold, that same human that hit him with the ice, laying right there. He wouldn’t try to get revenge- Not now, at least. There were too many people. And they had proven themselves to be strong, since not even all of them had easily beaten him and what used to be his comrades. No, he wouldn’t take that risk.

But that didn’t matter. He hardly even paid attention to anyone else, not even checking to see if they were truly asleep before practically lunging at their leftovers.

In his defense, he had hardly eaten anything for a week. And what he had managed to get his hands on wasn’t even what he was meant to eat.

Clearly, in his desperation, he hadn’t been careful enough.
Within seconds, he was caught, an axe slung over a strange woman’s shoulders, ready to kill him.

“N-No, wait, please, I can- I can.. Explain, I can explain,” He pleaded, trying to back away without startling the woman into swinging. He barely even knew the language they spoke- Trying to reason with someone he had literally been attacking just days ago in a language he wasn’t completely fluent in would prove difficult.

“Explain, then, you overgrown bird.” She muttered. He wasn’t sure what to say. He knew enough to understand that she was saying that for her own amusement.

“I was.. Hungry, yes, I was hungry. I- You, you were one of the people they m-made me attack, yes, I saw you.” He rambled, dropping the bones he had been trying to eat and bringing his talons to his chest. “Please, listen, they- They.. Left- Left me, yes, and- And- I..” He trailed off, very clearly struggling. Although, she didn’t seem to notice nor care.

“Quit it with the stammering, would you? Explain why you’re here or get out.”

Being honest, he wasn’t exactly sure why she hadn’t swung yet. Her arms must be getting tired, holding that axe. It looked about as heavy as his stupid fucking boots.

Speaking of his boots, that’s what she directed her attention to next.

“Fuck are those? You didn’t have them last time I saw you.”

“Oh, yes, yes, I- After, the um, the f-fight, they left me, you understand? And they put- They put these on me, so- So that I couldn’t fly. Please- Please, I’m just.. Trying to eat.”

“..Hm.”

..What? That’s all she could say? No, she didn’t even say anything- She just hummed.

Is she putting the axe down?

She’s putting the axe down.

She’s sparing me.

“..You sure don’t look dangerous, that’s for sure.. Huh. Well, it’s.. A bit late, but I won’t be sleeping. Eat your.. Bones, and I’ll keep watch. Don’t try anything funny.”

yo that actually sucked I mischaracterized poor karlach so bad I’M SORRY I’M NOT FAR ENOUGH INTO THE GAME FOR THIS

I don’t have anything else sorry chat I am ridiculously sleep deprived and I’m trying to watch caseoh okay bye hope you maybe sort of kind of enjoyed

Chapter Text

Name: Grim
Age: 25

“..Is he alive?”
“...Is it even a ‘he’?”

The two security guards argued, standing over a presumably dead body. Maybe. They hadn’t actually checked yet, and they certainly weren’t trained to do so.

“What even is it? It looks like a guy, but it’s got wings, man.”
“Yeah it’s got fuckin’ wings. I have eyes, Brian.”
“Jeez, calm down. Listen, shouldn’t we check if it’s actually dead?”
“...Yeah.”

One of them, the one who hadn’t been named yet, knelt down to check the body’s pulse. Unfortunately for the both of them, it had woken up too soon.

The glint of metal and a flash of white feathers were the last thing they saw. The man (who had actually been unconscious at some point, just not long enough to spare the two guards) stood, tutting at their shot and bleeding corpses.

“..Pity. One of you actually seemed reasonable.”

Great. Now my clothes are covered in blood, and I made too much noise. Where the hell is my mask?

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Appearance: Short white hair that goes up at the sides and back - Blue eyes with white pupils - Blue shawl with white fur at the neck and hem - White heeled boots with fur at the tops - White bell bottom pants with fur at the bottoms - White undershirt - White buttoned gloves - Aquiline nose

Height: 5’10 / 177cm

Weight: 140lbs / 63kg

Additional info: Grim is technically a serial killer- I say technically because, legally, he is. But... From a moral standpoint, I would categorize it as just doing a good deed. He kills bad people, basically- People who are really just monsters. Think Diddy. He’d kill the fuck out of Diddy.
He is based off of a lucerne pigeon (specifically the white variant, PLEASE look it up they’re so pretty) so he does have wings. That is also why his hair goes up at the back, as it mimics the sort of crest the actual bird has at the back of its head.

Now, I don’t play hsr. I’M SORRY I DON’T HAVE ENOUGH STORAGE I WOULD IF I COULD BUT I do love Boothill and I’ve been obsessed with him ever since I saw his trailer in an ad. That being said..

I made my character a cyborg too. AUGHHHH IM SORRY DON’T KILL ME HE ISN’T A FULL CYBORG TECHNICALLY I THINK HE STILL HAS SKIN AND ORGANS I GUESS

To explain more- Because of the dangers he experiences every time he sets out to go kill someone who could very well be a priest, he has been shot/injured countless times. Whenever he gets an injury a little too serious to properly repair naturally, he’ll replace it. With metal. Because he is also just a tad bit insane, he has replaced other parts of himself that didn’t need it at all.

He’s done it to his voice box. Pros, it still sounds like him and his voice can’t go out. Cons, his voice starts glitching out whenever he gets too loud or experiences emotions that are too strong.

He’s done it to his eyes, which explains the pupils. Yes they do change shape. I wanted to. LET A MAN HAVE HIS FUN OKAY

He’s actually done it to a good amount of his own organs and bones, so now he can’t break bones and most of his bodily functions can’t go wrong but he’ll start twitching and glitching if the outward metal bits get too damaged.

So part of his thigh has been replaced, and his hip on the opposite side. If either of those gets hit a little too hard (say a really heavy bit of debris falls on it or it gets shot in the same place a few too many times) he will start spasming, basically. He should be fine for a little bit, just twitchy, but it will soon become practically impossible to function properly without a repair. He won’t die, though.

To summarize, he’s a British bird dude who shoots pedophiles. And he likes a robot cowboy. Great.

Chapter Text

Hello… this is a revised version of the chapter I posted only to delete it like ten minutes later because it was genuinely awful.

I am going to say this now- I suck at actually writing. The info logs might be decent, but real stories? Good God, I can’t do shit when it comes to that

So this is your warning- This won’t be good. Like at all. It’s gonna be out of character, cringe, and very obviously written by someone who has never experienced anything even remotely similar to what happens in the story.

TW: SA is mentioned. The guy who did it dies like two sentences in, and the crime isn’t discussed in detail, but it’s clear that the crime was SA.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“I can’t believe people like you even exist,”

He was practically yelling at a corpse at this point. With the sheer amount of stab wounds and blunt force trauma right to the head, the man tied to the chair beneath Grim was certainly at the very least unconscious.

“You’re a monster. A monster , do you hear me?”

Now he was leaning over the body, a ridiculously well-kept gun pressed to its head. He was far too lost in his own rage to care about the fact that it had gone limp hours ago- Hours? Minutes? Seconds? How long had it been again?

“Do you fucking hear me?”

He hit the gun against the man’s forehead, adding another bruise to the already countless amount scattered across him.

No, the man could not hear him, because he was fucking dead.

Grim could certainly hear the gunshot as it echoed throughout the empty warehouse he’d dragged the man to mere hours ago. It rang in his ears, giving him an immediate buzzing headache.

Worth it, just to see that monster’s guts splayed all over the room.

Although, he would definitely do without the headache. Or the inability to hear, because in his weakened state, he didn’t quite catch the click-clank of footsteps approaching.

After a far-too-long couple seconds, Grim sort of regained his hearing. And he heard shuffling. Not from himself- He hadn’t moved. No, there was somebody behind him.

He turned, gun held out in front of him, barely ready to confront whatever threat had snuck up on him.

When he registered exactly who it was, it certainly didn’t help. This man was dangerous. Hell, his bounty had to be in the millions by now. He’d seen the posters. Wanted dead or alive.

“You’re.. You’ve got quite the bounty on your head, tin man .”

“Do I? ‘Cause I seen you before, birdie . Your bounty’s ‘bout as high as mine, ain’t it?”

“..Maybe. Shit, that doesn’t matter- Why are you here?”

The metal cowboy standing in front of Grim raised his hands in a sort of ‘ I mean no harm ’ stance, but Grim knew better than to trust that.

“Listen, I ain’t here to hurt’cha, birdie . ‘Ya see, I been studyin’ up on ‘ya. I know who you kill, and I know why you kill ‘em.”

“..Do you, now?”

“Mhmm. And, I gotta say, ‘yer doin’ a real good deed. Say.. Whadd’ya think about joinin’ me on a little mission?”

“A.. Mission? What- What kind of mission?”

“Oh, It’s right up ‘yer alley. Y’see, I’ve been huntin’ down someone for a good while. I could use some.. Assistance, don’tcha think?”

“Depends. Who exactly are you going after?”

“Man by the name of Oswaldo Schneider. Member o’ the IPC.”

“The IPC?”

Grim had heard of the IPC before. He didn’t exactly align with their ideals- He thought the whole thing was pretty stupid, but he didn’t have a reason to go after them just yet.

blah blah blah robot guy explains the bomb thing but not in too much detail because bird man is still a stranger and bird says woahh thats fucked up man and metal says yeah it was fucked up wanna go kill that guy and bird says OHHH YEAHHH end of story WOOHOO!!!

so uhh drop a comment or whatever subscribe to the channel logan paul OUT

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hey guys.. I’m back again... with more boothill... AUGJHH I’M SORRY I LOVE HIM TOO MUCH AND I GOT THIS IDEA BECAUSE I SAW THE DALLAS WINSTON DEATH SCENE TOO MANY TIMES TODAY. OR ACTUALLY YESTERDAY BECAUSE I’M WRITING THIS AT 12AM. SO GRIM DOES GET SHOT BUT HE DOESN’T DIE IT’S FINE HE’S FINE

so obviously tw he literally gets shot but also I don’t know how to write someone getting shot and I don’t care enough to research anything more than a quick search.

It’s better than AI at least I think

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Fuck, this hurts.

I should’ve been more careful. Should’ve checked. Should’ve done something, anything to prevent this. Why didn’t I think the guy could’ve had a damn gun?

I didn’t even have time to put my cloak back on. Now I’m just staggering outside a warehouse like a fucking fool , bloody and far too noticeable.

I fumble in my pocket, reaching for the phone I’ve been forced to keep on me at all times- Now I was actually grateful for it- My hands shaking as I try to press the buttons.

I nearly dropped it, with how bad my hands were shaking. The adrenaline had faded a long time ago, leaving me to deal with the burning of a hot bullet lodged in my leg.

Eventually, thankfully , I was able to get into the only app I had on the phone. I didn’t bother to type out a message. Immediately, I was pressing frantically at the call button, pleading to nobody in particular for him to pick up.

Him . I’d been working with Boothill for a couple months now. I think. My train of thought is a bit too jumbled to really tell.

He was.. Eccentric . But he was helpful. And good with a gun. Good with two guns. I wonder if he could use three at once. That’d be a show.

I didn’t have much time to distract myself more- Pity, but he did pick up.

“You ain’t usually a caller. You alright?”

“No, I’m not alright . There’s a bullet in my leg. I need- I need your help.”

“Help? Shit, birdie, I’m on a whole different planet right now.”

“I don’t care, get your tin man ass over here and help me .”

“..Fine. Be there soon, birdie.”

“Stop calling me that.”

There he goes. I’ll have to wait another half hour. The bloody bullet will probably have cooled down by the time he’s here.

Time passed achingly slow, each second fueled with burning pain and the horrific lack of adrenaline.

When I did eventually hear footsteps, I thought I had been caught. I’d be hauled off, never to be heard from again- Until I bothered to open my eyes, and I saw that idiot standing over me with that dumb fucking grin.

I didn’t even know when I had dropped. Or when I had closed my eyes. It still hurt like hell, but somehow, I was delirious. I knew I looked like it too, because I could see the worry in his face. He wasn’t a worrier.

“..Do I look that b-bad?”

Damnit. I hate stuttering. I already look weak, why do I have to sound like it as well?

“Well, ‘ya look pretty damn bad.”

“..Just help me.”

All of a sudden, I was being lifted up, having to lean on him so I wouldn’t fall again. I could barely walk- I was practically just hopping by now.

Then, some sort of fabric was being draped over me. Is that my cloak? Where in the hells did he get my cloak?

“Wha..Where’d you find this? I thought I hid it.. Pretty well this time..”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head ‘bout it, birdie. You’ll be just fine.”

“I.. I told you to stop calling me that.”

Then, I was out. Maybe I fainted, maybe I just forgot. Boothill says I fainted, but he could be lying. I hope he’s lying. I don’t want him to think I’m weak.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

yo yo yo what is up logang do we like this chapter yes or no

I feel like whoever bothers to read this is probably bored of the boothill shit by now so I’ll switch it up next time trust

GOOD NEWS!!! I might be able to go to a ghost ritual when/if they come to canada!! very excited

also I’m graduating in 23 days. WHAT THE FUCKK

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It’s me again. international best selling author dallaswinstonlover. IT IS PRIDE MONTH OH YEAH OH YEAHH

currently watching macdoesit while my miku figure towers over my mini deadpool and megumi figures and draculaura and clawdeen tower over all of them

pretty gay if I do say so myself

so is my terrible writing excused now because it’s pride month and you can’t be mean to me because I’m gay? no okay you’re still gonna judge me great

anyways guess what. this chapter isn’t about boothill WOAHH are you proud of me

no it’s about drumroll please you already read the title.. DAISUKE FROM MOUTHWASHING!!!

now I do know that this game and some of the other fans are just a tad bit controversial but I’m not that much of a freak. I can appreciate the game for what it represents and I can restrain myself from shipping a literal RAPIST with someone who DIDN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT SAID RAPIST… people who ship anyone from mouthwashing are actually weird. It’s not a game where you should be shipping the characters anyways I should shut up

I will however be shipping daisuke with my OWN character because that’s not weird.

sooo here he is!! I really hope I remember everything about him I might just make up shit I made this character several months ago

TW: he dies. he’s just dead, much like almost everyone else in this game. I do talk about how it happens.

I also talk (vaguely) about what happened to Anya, just to give a reasoning to why Marko doesn’t like Jimmy after the crash.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Name: Marko

Age: 20

This place stinks.. But I’ve made a friend, I think?

His name is Daisuke. He’s the other intern, but he’s doing maintenance, so we don’t really interact unless we’ve both got free time. Or he’s injured, which seems to happen a lot.. Says he’s ‘ clumsy ’.

I’m.. Essentially a glorified assistant. Anya is the one who does everything, really- Well, sometimes Daisuke will ask for me specifically, but otherwise she does almost everything else. She’s really nice, too, and she’s funny. I like working with her.

Curly seems a little stuck up, but otherwise he’s fine. I guess. I don’t really talk to him unless I have to.

I don’t like Jimmy. He’s just rude, and something about him makes me feel weird. I try not to interact too much.

Swansea is a little scary, if I’m being honest. Sometimes I can hear him yelling at Daisuke all the way across the ship, but it’s always about some stupid shit he somehow managed to mess up. So it’s mostly funny. Otherwise, he’s nice enough.

I did manage to sneak my eyeliner on board.. I know I shouldn’t be breaking the rules on my first internship, but I can’t help it! I want to look good, man.

Anyways, everything seems to be going well. I’m just excited to get off of this thing.. Maybe I’ll try to keep contact with Daisuke and Anya.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

AFTER THE CRASH:

This.. How did this even happen?

It crashed. We’re stuck. I’m stuck on this.. This stupid ship with these stupid people doing this stupid job that doesn’t even pay me.

I can hardly stand being in the med bay anymore. With Curly in there, with the sounds he’s making.. I just can’t. Anya hasn’t been the same for a while.. I’m sure whatever it was, it happened before the crash, and Jimmy had something to do with it.

Speaking of Jimmy, he’s the ‘captain’ now. It’s really showing just how much of an asshole he really is. He keeps threatening me because I won’t follow his outrageous rules.

Swansea is probably the most reasonable one here. I can tell he’s worried, but he’s keeping his head up. I’d rather he be captain, really. Although.. I think he knows what happened to Anya. She won’t tell me, but I think she told him.

Daisuke is still stupid and optimistic. It’s a breath of fresh air in this shithole, but it gets sort of annoying at times. I still like him, though. At least I can talk to him.

Now, this is the least of my worries- But I’m running out of eyeliner. We’re supposed to last months in this place.. I should’ve brought more.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Appearance: Black hair - Big, dark brown eyes - Pale skin - Small tattoo of a skull on his hip - Sharp canines

Height: 5’10 / 177cm

Weight: 140lbs / 63kgs

Additional info: ..Nothing really. He wears eyeliner. I guess. He’s literally just your average Joe I do not know what to tell you... 

ANYWAYSSS BYE GRADUATING IN 22 DAYS

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fuck okay we’ve gotten to the point of the alastor tag. let me tell you right now I like this guy unwillingly. I don’t WANT to like him I just DO and I HATE IT

like I’m being so serious I don’t know why I like him. dude he’s so insufferable and annoying I think I fell for the pilot version (because the pilot is so much better than the show and I genuinely can’t stand watching the show it’s so terrible) and it spread to the show version.

“I’m going to end your fucking life” SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU BITCH I HOPE YOU GET SHOT AGAIN

anyways lets talk about the TWO FUCKING CHARACTERS I MADE FOR THIS GUY. THATS SO MUCH CREATIVITY I COULD HAVE USED FOR OTHER THINGS WHAT WAS I DOING (I made one of these characters like two months ago. This is recent.)

okay we’re going with the less sans fangirly one first

Name: Agneau

Age: 29 (plus however many years between 1778 and whenever hazbin is set in)

Am I.. Not holy anymore?

It was only a mistake.

I had never agreed with those ‘exterminations’.. I believe they’re just an excuse to kill off those who were imperfect. But I never asked questions. I knew what happened to those who asked questions.

I ended up being recruited for that awful thing. They wanted me to kill the sinners. And I did. Well- No, I never actually killed anyone. But I did do something. And.. I feel awful.

I hurt one of the angels on my side. I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t. I just- I saw the horns, and I thought she was a sinner. I didn’t even want to kill the sinners in the first place, I just had to do what I was told.

I tried explaining it to Adam- It was a mistake, but he didn’t listen. Now I’m in the infirmary of some hotel, my wings cut off and disposed of, my appearance mangled. Why do I look like a lamb..?

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Appearance: Pale skin - White, short, curly hair - Blue eyes - Lamb ears, tail, and pupils - Visard mask - 1700s French style clothing - Mother Mary esque veil with fabric on the sides to mimic lamb ears - White gloves

Height: 6’8 / 203cm

Weight: 180lbs / 81kgs

Additional info: He refused to speak for the first five months of living in the hotel. The first thing he said was thank you, after receiving a glass of wine from Angel Dust (which he was very suspicious of, and only drank after heavy reassurance)

He also refused to take his mask off for the first year. He did take the veil off though. It did still take him a month, but it’s less than the other things I guess

He’s scared of Vaggie, because he knows she used to be an exterminator.

He likes Charlie (I don’t I think she’s annoying but it’s whatever)

He thinks Niffty is “entertaining”

He doesn’t mind Husk

He seems to like Angel Dust. Maybe even considers him a friend. Won’t admit it though.

sigh he does like Alastor sigh yes he thinks he’s charming FUCK he likes listening to the radio show FUCK I HATE THIS I HATE TALKING ABOUT HAZBIN HOTEL THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING

If there’s ever another fight against the extermination he will most definitely fight on the hotel's side and he will most definitely try to fight until he dies. idk where he’ll go when he does but he will definitely fight until he goes there

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Name: Roy

Age: 28

What in the hells was he up to? Does he know how worried I was? Not that I’d ever want him to know something like that- Those details are far too personal, but he didn’t even apologise after being absent for seven years. He’s forced me to stay in this dingy hotel, and now I have to support the dreams of the princess of hell. Why do I have to do this? He’s the one with more power.

I can’t complain too much, though. He is back. And he did spend time with me when I asked, which is probably his way of apologising. Maybe.

And the hotel isn’t that dingy. Not with little Niffty running around. And the company isn’t so bad. The hooker makes me a little uncomfortable, I must admit, but he can be entertaining too.

I’m just.. Glad that he’s back.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Appearance: Slightly pale skin - Cream coloured hair - Large deer ears - Large antlers - Black eyes - Sharp teeth - Gothic 1930s style clothing - Cream coloured deer tail - Black hooves

Height: 7’0 / 213cm

Weight: 200lbs / 90kgs

Additional info: He’s British. Yes I deliberately used the British spelling of apologize for his POV section. I like to be realistic in very specific sections only to defy the very laws of the world a few sentences later

He doesn’t like when people touch him. In any way. There are a few people who are allowed to put their arms around his shoulder or something, but not much else. The most he’ll do with a stranger (or just anyone he isn’t extremely familiar with) is shake hands.

He doesn’t smile often. He only does if Alastor pesters him enough, or if he’s laughing at something. Or if he’s happy, which doesn’t happen very often

He rarely takes his coat off, but he does sometimes. Unlike red deer guy. He doesn’t really care if someone knows that he has a tail. His image doesn’t matter that much to him.

If he is gifted something by someone he really cares about, it will be one of the best taken care of things he owns. If he manages to forget about taking care of it, he might almost panic.

He knows his strength. He knows who he can beat, who he would need help with beating, and who he should avoid.

He uses weird slang.

AGAIN I DONT KNOW WHERE THIS CAME FROM. I DONT KNOW WHY MY ALASTOR CRUSH LINGERED FOR YEARS AFTER I STOPPED BEING A FAN. it actually made me a fan again which is heavily embarrassing but I am also very critical of the show (because it’s just not a good show, let’s be honest) so I think it’s ok. I also hate viv

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I’M BACK IN THE FUCKING BUILDING AGAIN

dear lord we’re back with the traumatized vampire elf. I don’t want to put this guy in the other chapter because there’s already two and I don’t feel like doing the whole process of adding to something that’s already there

anyways I made a severely traumatized drow guy so here he is

tw for sa and abuse

Name: Ascala

Age: 156 (around 20s-30s in human years)

It’s cold.

I’m in my tent. I have a proper bedroll. I shouldn’t be cold. But I am.

It’s summer. It’s not supposed to be cold. Why am I cold?

Maybe it’s because I’m alone now. I got away. Well- Not without the help of that nautiloid ship, but I don’t think I want to thank the thing that put a worm in my eye.

I suppose that doesn’t matter, for now. I don’t know what the worm does. I don’t know a lot of things. I don’t know how to live outside of the Underdark.

I don’t want to die.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Appearance: HORRIFICALLY long white hair - Traditional drow skin tone - Black eyes - Slightly sharp canines - Clothes similar to Astarion

Height: 6’0 / 182cm

Weight: 120lbs / 54kgs

Additional info: His backstory is semi-similar to Astarions. He’s a male drow, so he’s already fighting a losing battle just by being alive. He was sold to someone who abused him, and that person also sold him (temporarily) to clients who would also abuse him and, more often than not, sa him. At some point, after around 60-70 years, he managed to escape the underdark. That didn’t seem to end up so well for him, because he was immediately captured in the nautiloid. After he escapes that, he ends up hiding in a forest with stolen supplies.

He lives in fear of anyone who is physically stronger than him. He’s scared of female drows, too, so if you have Minthara in camp with him he will leave.

He often has panic attacks, struggles with depression, but refuses to elaborate on anything regarding his past if questioned.

If he was a real companion, he would have a storyline (just like Astarion) where your party goes to the underdark to end the organization that tortured him for so long. He does end up freeing all of the victims, and he is just the slightest bit less anxious/depressed afterwards. It will take him a long, long while to heal.

also he will end up insanely clingy at random times if he develops a relationship with Astarion. He relates to him, and he thinks the nearly constant flirting is funny. He can relax, with him.

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hey so I just graduated also I got tired of the regular format so I wanted to make most of it a mini fic explaining this guys backstory or whatever

1. guess what. IT’S ASTARION AGAIN

dude I cannot even begin to explain how much I love astarion and how much hatred I have for those who don’t even like his character and just sexualize him all the time like SHUT UPP

also ascended makes me want to kill myself like I’m sorry but oh my god he’s so infuriating he’s literally just a better looking cazador. All my homies hate AA

TW he has an ed!! Not the penis ed the body issues ed

anyways, here comes the inevitable catboy

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“..Mama?”

A child stood alone in a field of long grass. To a human, he would be described as no older than 10, and he looked to be some sort of hybrid- Tabaxi was certainly part of it, and due to the length of his ears, the other half had to have been some sort of Elf.

A high-pitched trill, seemingly another call.

He was calling for his mother, most likely lost. It’d be hard to find such a small child in such long grass, even if his mother was taller than the average Tabaxi woman. He was growing increasingly worried, looking around more frantically now.

His ears went down.

Tail between his legs.

He and his mother had lost track of time- The sun was beginning to set.

He was too young to know the way back to his home by heart.

He was lost.

Of course, he did attempt to look for his mother. Key word attempt . He was not successful.

He decided to sleep under a patch of trees for the night- Keep to the shade, so he wouldn’t get too hot during the night. He’d look for her tomorrow. 

He did look, the next day. And the next. And the next. Until he was too hungry, too thirsty, too tired to go on. His father had taught him about survival, but he hadn’t truly listened. He knew the different kinds of berries he should or shouldn’t eat, and that he shouldn’t sleep under trees during storms, but that was really all he had managed to store in his memory.

He tried following her scent. It faded halfway through the field. He tried everything he could think up in his little mind, trying to find his mother. But he never did.

He never saw her again- Not truly. He saw her in nightmares, saw her being ripped away from him, reliving the moment he realized he was lost for years.

Eventually, he managed to get out of the field. It took many weeks of his small muscles aching, unbearable thirst, and awful nightmares. He managed to escape. Not into his hometown, no- He walked right into a horrifically loud and overwhelming city, nearly getting trampled by a rather tall Dragonborn who wasn’t looking where they were going.

There, he slept in alleys, forced to use manipulative tactics to feed himself. Nobody with enough resources could refuse a poor, hungry, and incredibly persuasive child.

Manipulation was all he knew for many, many years. Decades. Being a half-elf meant aging slowly, which, in his situation, was terribly unfortunate. Once he got older, around his teens (although by then he was already nearly 100), he had a more difficult time persuading people to give him resources. Of course, he had grown smart enough to store food he didn’t need right that second, but his stash was hollowing out quickly. Skulking around taverns had given him the knowledge of a different, bigger, more populated city. Baldur’s Gate, they called it. Some said it was far, but he didn’t mind. He had gotten better at surviving. He was stronger. He could walk for miles without working up too much of a sweat.

Turns out, Baldur’s Gate was more than just a few miles away.

It took him nearly a week.

This time, he didn’t struggle as much, but he was still left just a bit more desperate than before.

He lived there, hidden in the shade, for the next couple decades.

Now he had turned to stealing his food. And when he had a hard time doing that, he chose a different form of manipulation. He would charm people- He was handsome enough, and he knew how to get people to like him after hanging around taverns for so many years. He’d flirt, slowly make advances, until his target was distracted enough for him to grab whatever he needed from right under their nose. Sometimes they would lead him upstairs, and he’d have to go further than he wanted just to stay alive.

Surely that wouldn’t give him any lasting trauma.

He lived like that for 100 years. Lying, stealing, cheating. He’d do nearly anything if it meant money or food or somewhere to stay the night. He knew the rules. Stay alert, don’t let other people fool you, and don’t go out after sunset. He followed those rules, stayed alive.

He even learned how to play the lute. He ended up quite popular, actually. He reveled in it. He loved the attention, he loved knowing that other people saw him as superior. It gave him a massive ego, but it also gave him terrible insecurities. His hair was suddenly too messy, his ears too long, his muscles not defined enough. If he didn’t look good, who would want him?

Being wanted was something he couldn’t leave behind, now that he had it. He did whatever he could to stay attractive, to stay perfect.

It worked- Until a tentacle swooped down faster than he could run, capturing him and putting him in some sort of ship that seemed to be alive.

A mindflayer put a tadpole in his eye, a painful process that had him screaming curses in Catfolk before he passed out once more. When he awoke, the ship had crashed, and he took the opportunity to run. He escaped the beach with minimal injuries, the only sign he had ever fought being a jagged scar going from the bridge of his nose to just under his eye.

He ended up wandering into a small village, stealing some gold and a new lute, and then making his way to the nearest tavern- Some place called Waukeen’s rest. He stayed there, playing his “borrowed” lute for gold, finally gaining his popularity back, right up until the place caught on fire as he was performing outside.

The lute he had just obtained a few days ago quickly caught fire as well, and he had to step away to avoid meeting the same fate. He tried finding some sort of entrance, some way for him to get in to help the people inside. For once, he did something good, and he actually managed to herd some people out of the flaming building.

However, having no way to cover his nose made it difficult. He inhaled too much smoke. On his way out, just after he dragged a man much heavier than him out of a broken window, the combination of smoke inhalation and exhaustion rendered him unable to continue.

Just as he passed out in front of the tavern, he saw a tall, strong-looking Tiefling woman, a stern looking Githyanki woman, and  a shorter Human man at the entrance to the square.

He remembered hitting the ground, and his vision going black.

He remembered gaining consciousness a few times after the fact, only able to render the feeling of being picked up, then set down near the fountain in the middle of the square, only to be picked up again a few minutes later and painfully jostled around in someone's hold. He recognized the deep red skin of that Tiefling woman, but he could hardly make out what she was saying.

Once he fully regained consciousness, he found himself in a tent with nothing but a worn bedroll and a few potions he couldn’t recognize stored in the corner opposite him.

His arms hurt from the strain of carrying so many people, his head hurt from hitting the hard ground, his throat and eyes hurt from the smoke. But other than that, he was alive.

He immediately tried to stand, stumbling a bit but eventually finding his footing and leaving the dimness of the tent. Immediately, he recognized the same three people who had supposedly saved him. The Human man noticed him first, hurriedly whispering something to a dark-haired girl. She nearly whipped her head around, quickly standing to approach him, but he backed off. Not that she looked like she had bad intentions, but he was weak, and he couldn’t truly recognize someone’s intentions just from looks. He knew that. He looked back at the group, all sitting around a campfire. He saw a man with dark skin and large horns, and once he looked around the camp, he saw yet another man- This time with white, curly hair and the telltale pointy ears of an Elf. He could tell that the woman in front of him was another Half-elf, based on the more human-sized yet pointy ears.

The horned man sitting at the fire had the ears of a Human, not a Tiefling- Which confused him, but that wasn’t his main concern.

He wanted to know what had happened to him.

“Where am I?”

He questioned the girl in front of him, voice strained.

“Who are you?”

“Calm down, I’m not trying to hurt you.”

She sounded off- Like she was trying to comfort him, but she was irritated about doing it.

Since nobody else had stood, he decided to relax. Just slightly. He must stay alert, still.

“We found you taking a nap outside of a burning tavern, Tabby.”

He turned to look at the person speaking, recognizing the Tiefling again.

Did she give him a nickname ? What in the hells- She’s a complete stranger!

Suddenly, his head hurt more than it did before. Much more. It felt like something was wriggling behind his eye- That damned tadpole. He tried to focus, only to find that the Half-elf was also struggling. All of a sudden he was squinting at.. Himself? Gods, he looked rough. But he was seeing through her eyes. Just as he realized what it was, he was back in his own mind. Seeing through his own eyes.

“..Do you... Do you have it too..?”

He questioned again. She only nodded.

He heard the Tiefling laugh, but not in a mocking manner. She sounded almost joyful.

“Well, this certainly changes things, doesn’t it?”

The Human laughed, too.

He was left confused, but somehow, some way, relaxed. He felt he could trust these people- Well, most of them. That man standing outside of his tent was still eyeing him suspiciously, as well as the Githyanki. He figured he’d simply use his charm on them, too.

He let the Half-elf girl, who he’d come to know as Shadowheart, continue to heal him. He’d figured out that she was a cleric.

She told him the names of everyone else- The Tiefling was Karlach, the Githyanki was Lae’zel, the Human was Gale, the horned man (who was actually a warlock who had been turned into a demon by his patron) was Wyll, and the Elf was Astarion.

He was also introduced to the camp pet, Scratch, when he woke up to the large dog sleeping on his chest.

He was allowed to leave the tent after a couple days of drinking bitter potions, and he quickly began talking to the different people in camp.

Gale was funny. He had a big ego, but he cooked good food and he was strong.

Wyll was nice. Humble, strong, but nothing to write home about.

Lae’zel was obviously unimpressed by his attempts to get her to at the very least trust him. She stayed suspicious, but during battles it was quite clear that she at least didn’t want him dead.

Karlach was loud, and it took a few days to get used to her booming voice, but she was fun. Strong, trustworthy, and kind.

Shadowheart was nice when she wanted to be. He had to be careful- She wasn’t very impressed with Astarion, so he had to make sure not to try too hard with her.

Speaking of Astarion- Gods, he was jealous of Astarion. He was charming, more so than himself, and he was handsome. Irritatingly handsome. He had wit, he made good jokes, he was good at flirting, he was everything (yo excuse this I’m using his name because it’s too hard to figure out a way to say this without it) Kivessi had tried to be.

He tried to find a way to make the party trust him.

Maybe if he got one person to fall for him, he could get the rest of the party to see him as trustworthy.

The only problem was, everyone who seemed easy to manipulate already had something going on.

Shadowheart kept sneaking glances at Lae’zel.

Karlach and Wyll had impeccable chemistry.

He didn’t even consider Gale, because he just seemed like he would be insufferable.

The only person who was free was Astarion- And Astarion was very clearly not easy to manipulate.

Hells, it seemed like Astarion was trying to manipulate him .

He had an idea. If he played into Astarion’s flirting, if he let him think that he was interested, maybe making it seem like they both trusted each other would make the other party members trust him.

He even let Astarion drink his blood when he asked, just to make it seem more convincing.

All he had to do was make sure he didn’t fall for him.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Name: Kivessi / Quick Mask (Mask)

Age: 190

Appearance: Slightly tanned skin - Curly, pale ginger hair going down to his shoulder blades - Long ears, same colour as his hair, with darker orange tufts at the tips - Thin fingers - Sharp nails - Long tail same colour as his hair & ears - Tabby markings slightly darker than his skin all over his body (including face) - White fur on the front side of his torso - Small brown vest (basically a crop top that ends at his ribs) with a gold button - Regular ass darker brown pants with a bunch of belts and pockets and patches - Brown leather boots with a slight heel (yk what I’m talking about. Not the shit Tav gets at the start with those flat ass feet)

Height: 5’7 / 170cm

Weight: 105lbs / 47kg

Additional info: He has major attachment issues. He pushes himself to be perfect so that he won’t be left alone again, and if he is ever split from his companions he will panic and will sit there and cry and hyperventilate for hours if he isn’t found quickly.

He also has major body issues. Once he got to the camp and had a basically guaranteed supply of food, he was able to skimp out more. He will retreat to the forest and make himself sick if Gale makes him eat a normal portion.

He knows Astarion is manipulating him at the beginning. Astarion knows Kivessi is manipulating him as well. They both end up falling around the same time, but neither of them admit it until the confession scene.

OH MY GOD 2563 WORDS. WHAT THE FUCK

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I had to add a whole ass self-harm tag for this chapter specifically. That should explain everything if you are currently struggling or just don’t want to read about someone harming themselves I suggest you skip this one!!

This one also goes into a little more detail with Kivessi’s ED so if you are in recovery/trying to recover, I would also suggest that you skip this.

I know this sounds silly coming from some random guy on ao3 writing stories about his gay dnd characters but you’re not alone. I wish everyone well in your current or future recovery. My issues ruined my life and I do not wish that upon anyone. Please, for your own health, do not interact with SH/ED communities like I do. dude twitter is literally hell never go on that app like sorry I love my oomfs but it made me spiral into having like 600-800 cals a day

sorry about the rant lol here he is again because I forgot to include this in the other chapter!!

this will not be in any specific format just imagine it’s part of the additional info category or whatever I don’t care

Also I have updated his outfit to include little leather arm sleeves or whatever they’re called due to this

writing astarion saying literally anything is so hard. how do you do it. making him say darling is so embarrassing EUWWWHHGGHH

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ 🕸 ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

He struggles HEAVY with self harm. Cutting, hitting, dude he’ll resort to biting if he needs to. To him, as long as he can hide it, it isn’t truly doing him any harm. It’s just a release, and in some cases a form of punishment for not performing well or eating too much.

The main areas are his wrists and thighs. He has a few faded scars on his hips, and since his pants are quite low-waisted they are irritatingly obvious. He always says they’re just from a fight, but to those who look closely enough, the scars are too uniform for that to be plausible.

(I am going to use shtwt terminology here so if you’re not in that community, which is great, I’ll explain it here- the fat layer is called beans because it looks like beans, wow great explanation, dermis is called styro because it’s white, and skin layer is called cat scratches because.. It looks like a cat scratch. We’re not very creative, evidently) He mainly cuts to deep styros and beans- Sometimes fascia, but that’s reserved for “punishments”. Like, if he really went over his limit.

On a more wholesome note, he sings! wow! that’s great and totally won’t connect to his self-loathing at all! SIKE he often sings in Elvish so he can talk about wanting to skin himself without people looking at him like he just decapitated himself and stuck his newly detached head up his rectum.

He’ll sing his little songs in taverns, most having improvised lyrics about whatever destructive urges he’s experiencing at that moment. However, he only does this when the crowd is small and he can get a proper look at everyone, just to make sure there’s no other elves.

Astarion finally getting mentioned here-

At some point, somewhere during act one because we totally find a tavern that isn’t burning down during act one, he’s performing one of said songs in a tavern and doesn’t notice a particular patron walking in.

Which, for him, is odd. Usually Astarion is the first thing he looks at whenever he’s around.

Just. whatever it’s for the plot okay

cool little fact here that you definitely didn’t know! Astarion is an elf! And he most definitely speaks or at least understands Elvish!

So, obviously, when he walks into this tavern and the guy he’s been seducing for protection for the past month is singing about slicing himself open he’s a little concerned. Maybe. I don’t actually know. He probably would be- I mean, if the protection kills himself you don’t really have protection anymore amiright

He decides to brush it off. Even as the ideations get increasingly more worrying, surely Kivessi isn’t really doing these things. I mean, what could a handsome, charming bard have to worry about? did I mention that Kivessi doesn’t utter a word of his past to anyone until the confession scene (honestly probably after that because he’d rather slit his throat than make Astarion’s moment about himself). no I didn’t okay cool now you know

That is until a few nights later, after Kivessi had actually eaten a full portion (and ran off to the woods for a few minutes afterwards like he always did) during mealtime. Astarion peeked out of his tent, expecting to see Kivessi awake in his bedroll, only to find it empty. The now familiar scent of his blood hung thick in the air, and for a moment, Astarion wondered if he had gotten hurt- Surely not. He would’ve made it known if he was. He’d usually complain about a small scratch. Still, Astarion followed the scent, finding Kivessi hunched over with his back turned. He heard something that sounded suspiciously close to skin being sliced, watching as Kivessi’s hand came into view- And with it, a knife.

So he was hurt, but not in the way Astarion expected. The sleeves of his camp shirt were rolled up, showing other cuts in the process of healing and new ones dripping fresh blood down his pale inner wrists.

Astarion hovered for a moment, wondering if he should help. He had never seen this before- Heard of it, yes. But he never thought anyone actually did it.

Eventually, he took a step, and Kivessi paused. His ears went up, twisting slightly in Astarion’s direction, and he shivered.

It was like a rabbit trying to hide from a predator. He froze completely, slowly craning his head to look at whoever had caught him.

Nearly all the blood drained from his face when he saw Astarion- He could manage with any other person, maybe even use it as a way to make them pity him, but Astarion? He was starting to like Astarion, as much as he hated to admit it. And he knew that being like this, vulnerable and weakened, made him insanely undesirable, especially to someone who saw him as a way of protection. He quickly rolled his sleeves back down, bright red blood already seeping through the slightly dirtied fabric, trying to cover his legs, but it was too late.

He knew it was. Astarion knew it, too. Immediately, his ears went back down, pinning against the top of his head the same way a housecat would when frightened. Should he run?

He should run.

Running was always the safe option, for him. He knew how to get out of trouble. But now, he only had so much space. He didn’t know this forest well enough, and getting lost would mean terrible panic attacks.

Still, he took that risk, and ran, bringing his knife with him.

Astarion stood still for just a moment before chasing him. Why? He didn’t know. Maybe- No, he definitely wasn’t thinking clearly, but he had to make sure his ensured protection didn’t, you know, die.

Now- Tabaxi are fast. It’s something they’re known for.

But even a Tabaxi would be slowed down by actively bleeding gashes on his legs.

With rough, unfamiliar terrain to go with his building pain, he was significantly slower than he should’ve been- Although, still not slow enough, because he quickly outran and hid from Astarion.

Once he thought he was hidden well enough, he stopped. Stopped to cover himself up properly, stopped to think.

Running definitely was the dumb option- He’d have to explain it sooner or later. Why prolong it? Why make it look worse? His mind was clearly muddled. Maybe the blood loss had made him hazy. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Evidently, he wasn’t hidden well enough, because Astarion quickly found him. Perhaps it was because of the literal trail of blood he had left while running.

“..It’s not what-”

“No, I think it is what it looks like, darling.”

He didn’t have much to say to that. Not like he could argue- Astarion had clearly seen exactly what he had been doing. And clearly, he knew what it was.

Kivessi could do nothing but stand there, trying not to pant, blood soaking through his clothes and dripping down to his hands and calves.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at the man in front of him. He was ashamed, and scared, and trying to do anything would cause instant tears. That’d only make it worse for him.

“What were you doing?”

A confusing question, to say the least. Didn’t he know that already? Either way, Kivessi didn’t answer.

“..Why?”

..What? Kivessi finally looked up, his suspicions proving true as tears began to well up in his eyes (holy cringe bro). He could’ve sworn he heard Astarion’s voice shiver, just for a moment.

He still didn’t answer.

“Tell me why, Tabby.”

He laughed at that. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to, but he saw Astarion’s face soften, so it wouldn’t get him into any more trouble.

“..You’re seriously using that stupid nickname right now?”

“That’s not the point.”

..Party pooper.

okay oh my god I’m sorry but holy shit I can’t write this I’m getting second hand embarrassment from my own words.

blah blah blah cat guy explains comfort ensues blah blah blah confession blah blah blah they’re gay we get it

thank you, if you read this far. you are one hell of a trooper for actually reading through this nearly 2k word jumble of shit I call a chapter

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yo yo yo since I’m pretty limited on tags here and I have MANY characters that haven’t been written about yet I’m going to make a series instead of having everything in just one fic.

This also gives me the opportunity to name each fic using song lyrics or whatever I associate with my character.

I will disclose that they’re not really fics in a technical sense, because it’s all basically just a big info log, and I don’t want anyone being disappointed by my shit writing skills

so yeah!! if you actually enjoy this, it won’t be just one fic anymore. This one will be in the series though, so you don’t have to bookmark or subscribe or anything!! Just search up the name of this fic and you can visit the series from there. TOODLES