#brokeassgoing

Astarion was nowhere to be seen. At least, not from what Nico's been able to track down on his own. All he has to go on is a title;

The Pale Horror.

Pointed ears, pale skin, dark leathers. All you will see is the gleam of red in the dark before you're butchered and drained alive. Sounded like his father when in killer mode, which would only make sense with his kidnapping. Roberto will be furious when he finds out.

He hopes his old man at least was okay. He hadn't heard a damn thing about him.

It's your fault I died, kid. It'll be yours if I die again.

"Ugh, shut up." This must be what the moss felt like. But he's showing no signs of infection. He hasn't seen any black moss either. No pulsating red, no war, no-

Gunfire rips him out of his thoughts, making him jerk back into the street he was in prior. He peers from the corner, noting a familiar figure hauling ass away, cursing at his guns it seems. Jammed, or out of rounds by the sounds of it. Damnit, if only he-

Light bloomed beside him, a pillar slowly prying open just shy of his instinctive reach. Cloth slipped from it, familiar and inviting.

When he rounded the corner, fabric fluttered around him, clasps latching on to one another before clipping to his belt in a rippling mass. He grunts as the massive cross thumps on his hip, a familiar weight as he braces himself. The long end hissed as it sprung open, dark eyes flashing down at the red head behind cover.

"Get your ass moving before you owe me more than a drink." He flashes a grin to the broker before his hand twisted in the skull trigger system.

The machine gun ripped into the street, making the gaggle of cronies howl and scramble to flee. Getting involved in gang business wasn't on his list of things for the day. But if anyone had intel on this place, it was probably the broker himself.

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Botanical HC 𓅭𓅭𓅭𓅭 @brokeassgoing

asked: Lily ( how does your muse view their mother ? )

Probably pretty well all things considered. Unfortunately, in the show, there really aren't that many details about Donald's (and Della's) relationships with their parents.

What we mainly know is that both the twins were absolutely troublemakers when they were young. So much so that Hortence (their mom) sent them to stay with Scrooge for a bit after a prank gone wrong with their dad.

It seems like after that, the two of them spent most of their time with Scrooge, who really could have become a father figure for both of them - at least when I think of how Scrooge is one of the few people who really understand Donald, that's pretty clear to me that he had a major impact his life in particular.

the bear prompts / @brokeassgoing / accepting ! ╰┈➤ "What kind of insurance coverage do we have for people falling through the fucking wall??"

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 , 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐒 not the question that thor would have asked. nor how he was bound to say it. and yet , as thor rose from the debris of drywall , wood and concrete , a twinge of sheepishness still rose within him.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ TINK MADE BUILDING things always look so easy . sure , fawn had a knack for building a knick-knack here or there when it came to helping out an animal friend . . . but she'd never realized exactly how many supplies she needed on a daily basis. this time , it was trying to figure out how to make a wagon out of leaves , branches and acorns.

and so fawn sat with some rudimentary supplies plucked and laid flat on a smooth stone as she sketched out what a wagon was supposed to look like. she only looked up when a BIG SHADOW cast onto her work — only to smile brightly at the familiar face.

"Mister Badou." It felt as if it had been a while since they'd last seen each other. Oh man, he must have witnessed the chaos from when she first had her telekinesis returned.

Astarion had been on edge, haunting the festival since he'd brokered Badou to find Steven. Chaos, insanity, pain, all plagued his mind, enough that even Jeremiah was writhing in discomfort.

Right. Jeremiah. He wonders if the distance from his homeworld is what kept the little guy from being so chaotic as he had been before. Must be all the Mind Flayers and cult shit or something.

Eyes draw him to a stall, he swore it was a Tiefling behind the counter but he wasn't sure anymore. He smiled from behind the pain, trauma instincts making him play the part of a handsome young man that eagerly flirts. Eyes drift over the wares as he chatters along, they were all from his world, old fabrics with familiar markings, tinctures, potions, spell scrolls. Oh how Gale would have loved to read the books on magic beside them.

What he doesn't expect, is to find a plushie of a Displacer Beast. Vicious things, so he's heard, but someone took the time to make it cute. Soft round muzzle, big pleading eyes, gentle smile around the paw stuffed in it's mouth like a kitten suckling for comfort.

Delicate fingers lift the toy, eyes softening as he looks into the large, rounded eyes, the soft glossiness to the orbs reflecting red back.

The world swiftly fell away, pain ripped into his left eye. It took everything he'd learnt not to scream in agony as one hand shot up to grip at his skull.

What was it now? Was someone trying to control Jer? Was he in danger? This felt like whenever he connected with the others. With a held breath of hope he closed his eyes, gripping the plush close and opened himself to the messages of the worm.

What he got shattered everything, his whole world ripped upside down, memories zipping by faster than he can process, blinding him to the world he stood in. A pained whimper left him, unable to hear the woman ask if he was okay as he staggered a step.

Darkness, wings, a tendril, rotten fleshy meat, a man so desperate for his family, immortal, Sharran trials, a forge, told to detonate for consideration of forgiveness, time's running out on the infernal bomb. More as he tilts his head; the dream visitor is a mind flayer, the idiot bard ate the fucking worm and veins blackened. The next fight he'd exploded into a Displacer to protect the people, the changelings, book shop, Mystra, prayers, a cat, a general pigeon?

"Ah, fuck. Stop, Jeremiah!" He snarls the words through the pain and the fear. It was too much, it was all his vision, his thoughts, his actions, his friends, and yet-

Baldur's Gate. They were home, they were-

"No!" He backs up into the tent without meaning to, hiding in the corner even as he moved forward in the memories.

The manor, his siblings, the kennels, Godey, deeper, deeper, the catacombs, the ritual, he finally understood, he knew what the scars were, only ever a body for someone to use and throw out when they were done. Enraged he stood over pale skin, glared down, old red met the scarlet inferno that was him. A choice to make, sacrifice or slaughter, power or vengeance, to have all that the bastard desired, or to be better than him.

To kill thousands, or just one.

"NO!" He screams the word in terror, reminded all over again of the horror of the moss as he's ripped back to the present by a scent. By warmth. Jeremiah had gone dormant again, taking the brunt of the trauma of the sudden rush, too tired to do more than murmur soft assurances.

Red snapped around and honed in hard on the source of that scent, meeting those familiar eyes, no longer filled with terror, no longer empty and void of life, right beside the man meant to bring him there, witnessing a panicked meltdown in a tent clutching the plush for dear life.

Never before has the color of honey looked so good.