#free camping sites with power
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Electricity Free Camp : The Only Good ways for camp!
With more and more people finding the appeal of spending time in nature, there are plenty of options how one can do so. Camping, glamping, hiking and backpacking are some. A lot of campers go outdoors to take a break from their daily routines and modern c
With more and more people finding the appeal of spending time in nature, there are plenty of options how one can do so. Camping, glamping, hiking and backpacking are some. A lot of campers go outdoors to take a break from their daily routines and modern civilization and to beat stress.
But to be able to successfully do so, more campers are trying their hand at traditional camping or camping…
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#Beginners#camp#camping#Electricity#free camp sites with power#free camping sites with power#free electric camp#free electric camping#how to register for free eskom electricity#is electricity free#no electricity#no electricity after short circuit#no electricity air conditioner#no electricity camp#no electricity camp food#no electricity camp hacks#no electricity camping#no electricity camping food#no electricity camping hacks#no electricity in camper#no electricity in car#no electricity in my area#no electricity in one room#no electricity light bulb#no electricity meme#no electricity near me#no electricity today#no electricity water pump#no power camp list#no power camping list
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Another thread by Senator Ben Ray Luján here.
A book on the subject (haven't read it myself):
One of the sources in another one of Alisa's furiously impassioned twitter threads have been debunked, so I didn't include that. But she claims that her own family was caught in the fallout zone when her mother was a baby, which eventually led to her and large numbers of her community developing cancer. It's human for that kind of grief to be caught up in inaccuracies. People are already being ghastly and racist to Hispanos and Indigenous people criticizing the hype for the movie. They're not attacking Oppenheimer for being Jewish, they're criticising the erasure of the human cost of these bombs and the continued valorisation of the U.S military's actions in World War II as some kind of moral saviourism.
While Oppenheimer himself believed that the nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were morally justified (they had planned to drop them on Germany except they surrendered before they could), he also felt had blood on his hands and regretted his role as the "Father of the Atomic Bomb". He spent the rest of his career vehemently opposing further development of thermonuclear weapons and the hydrogen bomb accurately predicting the concept of mutually assured destruction. This eventually made him a victim of Senator McCarthy's Red Scare and his clearance was revoked. I haven't seen the movie (Christopher Nolan is the kind of casual white racist I avoid on principle) but people who have seen it say that it doesn't glorify nuclear weapons and depicts the man himself with the complex moral nuance that seems to be accurately reflective of his real life.
The backlash to Indigenous and Hispanos people's criticisms and to people pointing out that Hiroshima and Nagasaki were genocides is also frustrating because...both world wars were a clash of genocidal empires. The reason they were world wars is because the countries colonized by Japan, China, the European powers and the US were all dragged into it, whether they wanted to or not. Jews were one of the many colonized peoples that suffered in that time, who were left to die by everyone until they could be used to frame the Allied powers as moral saviours, establishing a revisionist nostalgia for heroism that powers the US military industrial complex to this day.
As early as May 1942, and again in June, the BBC reported the mass murder of Polish Jews by the Nazis. Although both US President, Franklin Roosevelt, and British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, warned the Germans that they would be held to account after the war, privately they agreed to prioritise and to turn their attention and efforts to winning the war. Therefore, all pleas to the Allies to destroy the death camp at Auschwitz-Birkenau were ignored. The Allies argued that not only would such an operation shift the focus away from winning the war, but it could provoke even worse treatment of the Jews. In June 1944 the Americans had aerial photographs of the Auschwitz complex. The Allies bombed a nearby factory in August, but the gas chambers, crematoria and train tracks used to transport Jewish civilians to their deaths were not targeted.
(Source)
Uncritical consumption of World War II media is the reinforcement of imperialist propaganda, more so when one group of colonized people is used to silence other colonized peoples. Pitting white Jewry against BIPOC is to do the work of white supremacy for imperialist colonizers, and victimizes Jews of colour twice over.
Edit: friends, there's been some doubt cast on the veracity of Alisa's claims. The human cost to the Hispanos population caught downwind of the nuclear tests is very real, as was land seizure without adequate compensation. However, there's no record I can yet find about Los Alamos killing livestock and Hispanos being forced to work for Los Alamos without PPE. There is a separate issue about human testing in the development of said PPE that's not covered here. I'm turning off reblogs until I can find out more. Meanwhile, here's another more legitimate article you can boost instead:
#Youtube#colonialism#colonization#genocide#oppenheimer#nuclear war#nuclear testing#indigenous rights#racism#new mexico#american imperialism#world war ii#hispanos#tw: animal cruelty#loyda martinez#white supremacy#military industrial complex#generational trauma#worker exploitation#colonial trauma#hiroshima#nagasaki#war propaganda#knee of huss#twitter
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On the 19th, the Kamal Adwan Hospital was bulldozed by the Israelis while injured patients were still inside. They were buried alive. Now their decaying bodies, crushed beneath the rubble, feed starving cats.
The end of the year is in sight, but there is no rest for those trapped in Gaza, millions forced into an open-air prison camp with no food, water, power nor medicine. They are ravaged by disease and bombed by the 'Most Moral Army in the World'. Their hospitals are collapsing and no aid is being let in by the fascist Israeli state
They are packed in like sardines, at a density of 6000 per km2, six times as many as in Beijing and fifteen times as many as in Sydney. It is one of the most densely populated places in the world and there is no way in nor out.
Since October, over 20,000 people have been brutalised and slaughtered by the self-righteous and western-backed State of Israel. That's more civilians than the years-long war between Russia and Ukraine. And half of these are children.
Australia, the USA, the UK and other governments of the so-called free world are ardent in their support of Israel. They do not represent the will of the people. Governments never do.
It is up to us to force their hand. Our siblings, our brothers and sisters in Gaza have no choice but to resist. It is up to us to show up and be there for them.
Here is how to help them:
Attend rallies and protests. Show your discontent with your government, which needs to keep up the lie that it represents the will of the masses
Organise within your union. This has the potential to be the most devastating to the Israeli State. International industrial action in the way of boycotts and refusing services to Israel will quickly cripple and cause the State to fold
Boycott Israeli products. Check out Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions Palestine. Search it up or click the top link in my Carrd
Donate to the Red Crescent and other organisations providing aid to Palestine
Educate yourself. An excellent site is Decolonize Palestine. Second link in my Carrd, or just search it up
Educate those around you
It's the least we can do.
From the River to the Sea!
It is important to remember that Israel does not represent Jews or Judaism, despite how hard Israel has worked to blur the lines between the Jewish identity and their extermination project. Zionism=/=Judaism. Anti-zionism is good, antisemitism is not.
#gaza#palestine#free palestine#merry christmas#artists on tumblr#digital art#illustration#blood#blood cw#gore#gore cw#death#death cw#implied death#guns#tanks#jets#2023#draakart#my art#fully prepared for this to be censored#idk how tunglr has been with palestine lately#anyone being antisemitic in my notes will be blocked and reported. you are not welcome here scumbag#same goes for zionist bootlickers#fuck off
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The Spirits that I summoned (Young!Tommy)
[Masterlist] [Taglist]
Summary: Where Arthur sees danger, Tommy sees a quick way to make some money and use people's prejudices against them.
Note: This is my participation for Chi @little-diable 's 15k celebration - what an accomplishment, and what an incredible, versatile body of work. In typical student mindset, I'm scraping the deadline, but I hope you enjoy all the same. The quote I drew was: Even as a child I felt it, and marvelled at the power of this woman who, though veiled, could electrify a room
All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.
Warning: Stereotypes of travellers (in line with what is shown in canon)
Wordcount: 1588
He twirled the coin between his fingers. It was a habit of his he knew he better ought to shake.
Though his hand was hidden deep in the pocket of his brown worn trousers, Tommy knew one glance would give away his restless nature, his nerves. His weakness.
Lucky for him, his counterparts weren’t always as perceptive.
They were young, younger than he was, but not by much. And they were playing dress up, the same way the children were doing down at the fair, picking up wooden sticks and calling themselves knights.
Oh they had chosen well, he had to give them that - sturdy boots made for walking, weatherproof coats, and thick scarves to keep out the cold.
But the leather was polished to a shine, the shoes free from any scratch. And the coats had never seen repairs, at least none that were visible to the eye.
The scarves matched the boots and the boots the purse and the purse the coat. All a little too perfect to be accidental.
Besides, the shorter one of the two had forgotten to take her earrings off.
Pearl, he could easily tell, even in the fleeing light, with a little gold stud.
Tommy knew money when he saw it, and he saw it now in the shape of these two newcomers.
“Go-good evening.”, one of them said, looking from one to the other.
Arthur only glared at them suspiciously.
“Are, ahm, are you one of the-”, she gestured to the illuminated camp site behind them.
“Who’s asking?”, Arthur wanted to know, building himself up to his full height.
He had a strange look in his eye as if he wasn’t sure whether to scare them off or take them to bed. Either one. Or both.
“We, ah, well, we-”, the one stammered again, nervously fidgeting for words.
“We want our fortunes told.”, the other one said sharply. “They say you people know how to read palms and teacups. We want to know our future.”
Do you now?, Tommy thought, his eye-catching the reflection of the moon on those earrings, those pretty, expensive earrings. Peal and gold.
“Yes.”, the first one, the shy one said. “Please.”
“Oh I can read palms alright.”, Arthur said, running a hand through his hair.
“Arthur,”, Tommy said, cutting off his older brother, who glared at him as if Tommy had slapped him.
He gestured for his brother to take a few steps away.
“What are you on about, Tommy?”, Arthur demanded to know. “I like the look of the tall one. You stay out of it.”
“Shut up and don’t think with your cock for once.”, he sneered.
His brother’s face hardened.
“You can either get your end wet, or…we can make a sweet little something off of them.”
Arthur shifted on his feet, humming under his breath.
“You think?”, he said. “Bringing them to Aunt Pol? Or Queen Boswell?”
Tommy shook his head.
“We’re not bringing them anywhere.”
Birmingham was too far away, where Polly was haggling with the baby and Ada, and that Boswell hag would only take more than her share of a cut.
Besides, these girls weren’t kin. They didn’t know what they were asking for. So they wouldn’t know what they would receive either.
Arthur didn’t seem too convinced.
“Mother said not to mess with things we didn’t understand. That if we disrespect the traditions, there’d be punishment.”
Their mother had said that. Their mother had also had most of her visions when she had drunk a gallon of rum or whisky in a single evening.
Tommy was already thinking about how much those earrings would buy them - food, or new winter shoes for the whole lot of them. Maybe even a horse they could train to race.
He’d like a horse, but those shoes would have to come first.
“Just let me do the talking, eh?”, he told Arthur before turning back to the women.
“So what made you come to us?”, Tommy asked, after bringing them into Polly's wagon and telling Arthur to stand guard.
He could see the girls' eyes dart around it, picking up in little details. The crochet curtains, the Black Madonna, the framed pictures of the family. The countless candles.
The girls exchanged a look, then one glanced down while the other squirmed in her seat.
“My brother thinks it's all a hoax.”, the first told her lap. “But he wasn't there when…”
She took a deep breath.
“Our mother used to hire a woman to tell their fortunes. A traveller woman.”, she said.
“We weren't allowed to be there, but we saw her enter. Even as a child I felt it, and marvelled at the power of this woman who, though veiled, could electrify a room.”
She dropped her voice to a whisper.
“Everything she said came true.”
Tommy nodded solemnly.
“It's good to know you have a respect for these matters.”, he said. “Oftentimes those that are not learned in these arts underestimate the forces at play.”
He tried his best to choose words as ceremonious as possible.
“Are you sure you want me to read your palms and tell your future?”
The girls nodded eagerly.
“We have money!”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a few coins. Tommy knew at a glance it wasn't a stingy offer, but the pearls would be worth more and so he shook his head.
“Knowledge of the future cannot be bought with coin. It has to be a trade.”
“A trade?”, the shorter one asked.
Tommy hummed.
“Sometimes they'd tell the farmers the days weather and get a few apples for their worries. A fair price for something trivial. Are you asking about something trivial?”
He already knew they weren't, that was why he was telling these lies.
It wasn't long before one urged the other and she took off one of her earrings.
Just like he had hoped.
“I want to ask about women.”, she said, slipping off her gloves and handing her hands to him in a show of surprising determination.
“On the continent there are whispers of a woman's emancipation, of votes for women and equal rights to men.”
Tommy nearly laughed.
“Will that happen here in England too?”
She looked almost eager, like a child desperate for sweets.
Tommy took her hand in his, squinted, then ran his fingers along her palm.
Just like he had thought, a soft hand that smelled of expensive ointment, probably lavender.
“I can see you think highly of the value and purpose of your sex.”, he said, before contonuing. “Others will come to realise it's indispensability in a more clear, more distinct way.”
Poor brother, father or lover to deal with the consequences of his words, but Tommy wanted that earring, so he decided to add just a little more.
He took a deep shaking breath and nodded.
“And yes- don't let the distance to the continent discourage you. What happens there will spread.”
He lowered her hand gently.
“Me now.”, the other one insisted.
“A moment.”, Tommy asked, dabbing his dry brow with his sleeve. “Tis not an easy task for me, nor was it an easy question.”
He bit back his smirk at the look of sympathy in the woman's eyes.
Finally he cleared his throat and urged the other woman to give him her hand. Gently, he stroked her palm while glaring deeply into her eyes.
“I'm getting married soon.”, she said. “Or I may be. I'm not too sure about him.”
“Do you love him?” Tommy asked.
“I do, but…”, she sighed. “He is a soldier, training to be an officer.”
“And?”
“I'm not sure I want to be married to a young Officer in His Majesty's army. But it's a thankless business being a soldier's wife.”
“And now you have come for insight to clear your doubts.”, he asked, before glancing at her palm.
He took more time now, running along the lines of her palm, shifting and squinting and making a right show of it.
“I can tell you one thing.”, he said. “It will not be thankless.”
“No?”, she asked.
“Oh no- if you think your intended is set for a dull career in the forces, you are much mistaken.” He said. “I see service, yes, duty and courage too, but it will not be thankless. It will be celebrated and honored and remembered for generations to come.”
“My George?”, she asked surprised. “You can see that just in my hand?”
“That and more.”, Tommy promised her, picking up in the glint in her eyes. She may not like the idea of being a soldier's wife, but she seemed to enjoy the thought of being a hero's ons.
“Medals, marches, hymns-”, he nodded, trying to piece together what little he knew of soldiery, most of it what he had picked up from pinched newspapers.
“And the pride of our whole nation.”
Wasn't that what they said soldiers were? Those soldiers at the races certainly thought they were- as if all of England should bow before them just because they put on a sense of importance along with their uniforms.
But those words made her beam from ear to ear- both now without their earrings, as they left, clearly content with their visions of heroism and women's rise.
Tommy let them go gladly, his fingers toying with the earrings in his pocket. They were worth a pretty penny and could stretch far.
Easy money, for once. He didn't even pity those two for their ignorance. Of course he had never learned to read palms or cards or dreams, why should he?
He had never shared Polly's conviction or Arthur's fear. Why should he? It was all just smoke and mirrors, nonsense, and charlatanry. Nothing to lose sleep over, he thought, as he tossed one of the earrings up in the air and caught it again.
~
Thank you for reading - I'd love to hear your thoughts
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@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @shelbydelrey @mrkdvidal1989 @raincoffeeandfandoms @midnightmagpiemama @adaydreamaway08 @kmc1989 @trixie23
Tommy
@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul @lothbrokcore @rangerelik @elenavampire21 @evanore
#valentineswritings#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby x reader#young!tommy shelby#young!tommy#the spirits that i summoned#little diable15k
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Darkest Minds dash simulator
🐢 greenandproud follow
Literally unfollow me if you’re pro “cure”, as if this isn’t just another way to control us. You guys are cowards and playing into the idea that there’s anything wrong with being Psi
⚡️electronicwarrior follow
Posts clearly made by someone who’s never struggled with control over their power in their life. Of course you’re Green. Some of us have accidentally hurt the people in our lives and don’t want to have to worry about doing that ever again.
🐢 greenandproud follow
And of course you’re Yellow. Way to feed into the anti Psi rhetoric that we’re all inherently dangerous. You’re doing PSF apologists a service
🔋 memoryholed follow
The way I know greenandproud hid out with her grandparents and was never in a camp a day in her life.
🩻 forcedamage follow
I mean, she’s not entirely wrong. I at least think we shouldn’t call it a cure.
#and why should whether or not she was in a camp matter? #i was at black rock and i don’t think the people that hid had it that much easier
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🪬 kinclub
Just heard about some cool alternatives to the color categorization system!
Green = Prodigy
Blue = Kin
Yellow = Spark
🔑 lightningstrikestwice follow
okay op I love the energy but if you start calling yourself a kinnie the olds on this site are NOT gonna think blue
#btw what about reds
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➕ superwhounlocked follow
Really not sure how to feel about the surge in popularity in this site with teenagers…
🔋memoryholed follow
“with teenagers” please teens from the rest of the world have been here the entire time. just say you hate psi and leave it at that.
#literally you aren’t subtle
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🧢 freshouttacaledonia follow
Y’all do not in fact have to hand it to the Children’s League.
#i can’t believe i have to say this
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🦚 unforgettableunforgiveable follow
Starting a discord for Thurmond survivors feel free to dm for a link. Like and reblog for visibility!
#thurmond #psi #tw camps #tw thurmond
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🐾 jewish-psicychic follow
Friendly reminder that you never have to disclose your power, what camp you were in/if you were in one, and if any one is asking you to, they’re part of the problem.
🦋bluelikethetardis follow
ok but what if I dont want to get burned by a red or mindcontrolled
🐾 jewish-psicychic follow
Did I fucking stutter.
#what part of you are part of the problem is hard to understand
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🌈 psipositivity follow
- You are valid if you were at a camp!
- You are valid if you were hidden!
- You are valid if you were on the run!
- You are valid if you can control your powers!
- You are valid if you can’t!
No matter how you survived or what abilities you have now, you are so valid and loved!
#psi positivity #camp ment #camp survivor positivity
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🔸viddygameliker-deactivated20158021
The way you can tell most of the new users on this site haven’t graduated middle school lmaooo
🔑 lightningstrikestwice follow
you know i didnt think there were ratios on this site but damn if op did not get ratio’d to death
#also fuck you so much
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🐬aquamarina follow
I’m looking for the people who were in Cabin Seventeen (girls, blue) at Thurmond! We got separated after we got freed.
PLEASE SIGNAL BOOST
#psi #camp survivors #thurmond #thurmond ment #cabin 17 Thurmond
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#darkest minds#the darkest minds#tdm#Alexandra bracken#never fade#in the afterlight#fake posts#I have more ideas but this is too long as is
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Fate written in blood
I have a doubt, do you think the narrative is running? Something very shallow? Please tell me that I will improve the writing.
Thank you @tragedybunny for beta-reading.
Summary: The blood has always been her way until the day that fate changed, After being kidnapped by mind flayers and the fall of the Nautiloid Calamity had a new opportunity for freedom and strangely her fate crossed with that of Astarion when the elf put that dagger around her neck.
Their fate until now was written by others, but now they would write with their own hands in blood.
Warnings: Violence, blood, game events, mentions of trauma, distress/comfort, mention of abuse, flashback of torture. (That’s it for now)
Ship: Astarion and Calamity (Tav), Shadowheart and Carniex (Tav), mentions of other characters.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2 - Pleasant cold
They got up early and left the camp to continue their search, Calamity had previously planned their actions and done it in a way that they could readjust quickly if something during the day changed the plans. It was something she learned in her work. Never rely on a single plan, always have options and anticipate possible setbacks.
So first she decided to go behind the place that had the letter she found in that hidden Kagha chest. The Grove didn’t seem to be a bad place to have as a "resource" and it was a safe place, so it would be very bad if it was closed because of that ritual of thorns. Doing so earned them a fight with some guardians, but that was no big deal as the answers were worth it.
"Oh, apparently Kagha was really getting involved with who shouldn’t be." Calamity hummed with a satisfied smile on her lips.
"So... what are you planning?" Astarion asked, annoyed.
"Something that benefits us in the long term until we find this Halsin." She replies holding onto the letter. "Now let’s continue and take a look at the temple that was infested by goblins. It would be good to take a look to make sure what we will face when the time comes."
They were relatively close to the site so it wasn’t a problem, just before entering the ruined village they found the group of adventurers who were in the Grove before whose leader was the same guy that Calamity had punched. After a little dialogue with him and getting the information about a reward for a treasure called "Night Song" they made their way to that temple. The first time she used the tadpole’s powers was in the entryway with the goblins by reading one of their minds and using that to get in smoothly.Then in a few steps before crossing a bridge they fell to the ground being crushed by a terrible power and a voice that oppressed them demanding obedience. They managed to get rid of it thanks to the artifact that Shadowheart carried.
Shadowheart was revealed to be a follower of Shar at this point Being honest, Calamity didn’t really care much for it, only worried about the artifact. What was he? Why did Shar want him? Because he could protect them? Who were those people in the vision they had? What did it all mean? Without these answers she could only rely on the cleric oath to keep this artifact safe even if it cost her life.
They passed through the party and the guards, the temple desecrated with the goddess statues broken and destroyed, that yielded depressive and sarcastic comments from Shadowheart now that she felt more free to express her beliefs. A goblin was branding the followers with hot iron and turned to them with a certain enthusiasm. She called them "True Soul" and offered the brand - something that was immediately denied. Then a familiar sensation, darkness seems to swallow the temple, leaving them with a vision of the goblin priestess, receiving instruction from a handsome young man. One of the Chosen… The vision dissolves away. They stand before the goblin priestess in the temple once again, Calamity severed the connection abruptly, now she knew that this goblin also carried the parasite.
She said something about shadows in her mind and offered to help.
"That’s a bit particular..." Calamity replied.
"Of course we go to my chapel, where it is private, we don’t let others interfere in the dealings between us True Souls."
They followed her to the place, the door was closed and the priestess called them closer.
"Ready to clear your mind?"
Until that moment everyone thought that Calamity would make the stupid decision to trust this goblin, Astarion himself was rolling his eyes at the situation.
"Actually, I changed my mind..." Calamity smiled sweetly saying these words calmly and in the blink of an eye her hand moved and the goblin’s throat was cut. "I’m gonna kill you now."
The priestess fell to the ground,blood gushed, and everyone was staring at the atrocious scene. And when she pulled that blade? The most disturbing was the smile she kept on her lips, a sweet and innocent smile that became disturbing in this situation. Astarion was perplexed by the way she hid her murderous intent, none of them realized, HE did not notice.
"True Souls, they’re infected like us but think they’re thinking talking to a god." she commented, rifling through the goblin’s body.
"Was this the intended destination for us? Blessed in ignorance to think we could talk to a God? What joke of bad taste..." He mocked angry in the end.
When the priestess tadpole abandoned her body everyone was disgusted, but this power... her body moved on its own from the influence of the tadpole. Calamity just accepted it and kept the tadpole for now. She knew she should not trust this, should not accept, but at the same time, something within her wanted this power and desired more. Unfortunately they could not go very far after finding the secret passage, they began to feel some symptoms and preferred to take a rest at the camp. The heavy air, the sweat and the sore fingertips.
That was not good.
Lae'zel attacked Calamity by putting a dagger around her neck saying they were transforming. Everyone told her to put down the blade and stop it. Tempers began to flare, mixed with pain, fear, despair and distrust. Calamity’s head hurt again... she hated this atmosphere, this feeling. She was drowned in the same for many years and now everything could end up that way. No, she wouldn’t let me.
She used the tadpole to spy on Lae'zel’s mind and felt the uncertainty and disgust. She used it to convince her that it was just a fever and that it would pass with a rest.
"Gah, I don’t trust my own mind. So I think I should trust yours. I will wait. But know this I will be watching. If the sickness does not pass, come dawn... I will end us all."
That threat was a beautiful knot in the stomach for everyone and that night was difficult. But then a figure appeared in her dreams... with the face of her brother.
The dream visitor was wearing his face and said he was protecting her, this was a very low blow to her as she only trusted him briefly because of the face he was wearing. He promised that when she woke up she would be better and... really he did not lie. More questions hit her mind and when talking to all her companions the stories hit, same dream same message.
Unmasking Kagha was easy and quick, getting rid of the shadow druids was simple and with that they ensured the Grove as a safe point. Calamity talked to the druids about Halsin who had not yet found him, but did not believe he was dead . Her suspicions were that he would be stuck somewhere in that lair since if they had killed a druid who could turn into a bear the least they could do was have his head was stuck on a spear and displayed as a trophy.
Astarion remembered the scene from the previous day, the way she kept that same pleasant and calm expression while slicing the goblin’s throat. The slight smile drawn on her lips, the smile she was now using to be friendly to the druids and the tieflings... he was impressed how vile she could be and still maintain the appearance of "good girl".
"We chose a wolf in sheep’s clothing as leader." He commented.
"I don’t think it’s bad, I even like this side of her is practical and makes people lower their guard easily." Shadowheart argued, watching her too. "And she doesn’t really seem like a bad person."
"No?" Astarion questioned.
"Look at her well." Gale said watching her talking to the children. "She saved that girl from Kagha, that boy from the harpies and was being kind to the others Look into her eyes, see the compassion reflected in her and that’s something you can’t fake Astarion."
Astarion said nothing more, really she had this compassionate look at that moment while interacting with the children and he became even more confused. How could a killer like her have such a side? Be so ruthless and at the same time so kind.
The village seemed to have good resources and while exploring ordinary conversations became natural.
"So Calamity, do you have some love waiting for you in the city?" Shadowheart asked humorously.
"I don’t have time for romance." It was an anticlimactic response for the group.
"Really? So who were you looking for?" Astarion asked curious. "It was impossible not to notice you scouring the rubble of the fall."
"I was looking for my twin brother, we separated before I was kidnapped, and maybe he was taken too, but after not finding him I think he was lucky not to have been taken."
"Or in the worst case, he is one of those ignorant people we meet." Astarion replied, hardly interested.
"Hope that’s not the case." Calamity warned. " My brother is as skilled as I am and much more brutal. Even I would have trouble facing him in a fight... and I would hate that." Her voice became a weaker tone and had a lot of regret, her feelings were clear.
"It’s understandable, twin ties are often very strong I can only imagine how painful it must be for you to be in that position." Gale laid his hand on her shoulder and even though it was barely noticeable, Astarion saw the way she trembled even for a second in aversion to touch.
"Thank you, Gale, well let’s hope he’s had better luck."
Unfortunately not everything was quiet after all. A devil appeared, playing his game with rhymes of a poem and dragging them to a banquet hall.
"Great now I have a devil in my pocket? Continue with your rhymes and offerings, I will never accept." Calamity was firm in her words.
"Still, I’ve a feeling you’ll change your mind before it’s changed for you. Try to cure yourself. Shop around - beg, borrow, and steal. Exhaust every possibility util none are left. And when hope has been whittled down to the very marrow of despair - that’s when you’ll come knocking on my door. Hope. Hahaha! Such a tease."
"Keep dreaming about it, no matter how much despair I’m in, even if it’s death before me, I’ll NEVER make a pact with you." The certainty she had in her words and in her eyes made everyone be impressed, even Raphael.
"Hahahaha, I’ve heard those words before and only one was true to them... hum." He approached her and held her chin to better see her face.
The way Raphael looked at her, that he looked in the back of his eyes as if he were spying on his soul. Calamity pushed him in disgust.
"What an interesting twist."
"Are you done with your silly little game?" she mocked.
"I believe your words, but what if it was to save someone else? Your brother perhaps?" Calamity was losing patience to the point of moving her hand to pull her sword.
Astarion was faster and held her wrist.
"Are you crazy?! Think well before you act." He warned as he received an angry look from her.
" What a sad situation perhaps I should do a little favor."
"Leave him out of this devil! You made your offer and I denied it!"
"For now." Raphael, with a gesture, teleported them back to the village and the group looked in.
Calamity was very upset, that devil quoted her brother and he was right... If it were for him, she would make a pact without hesitation.
"Now there’s a bloody devil trailing after us? This gets better and better." Astarion commented angrily.
I think he wants something from us. Badly. " Gale commented thoughtfully and worried.
"Sure he does, but apparently he’s devoted special attention to our dear Calamity."
"No matter. We’ve dealt with every other oddity thrown at us lately - we can handle this one too. Now, as for this “Raphael”... He knows our secret, he claims he can help… what do you make of him?" Shadowheart asked.
"We don’t trust him, simple!" Calamity responded adamantly.
"No doubts at all? Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. He’s clever, my order uses the same tactic when dealing with enemies of Shar. You don’t need a scourge or a rack to break people. Fear and self-doubt are sufficient. When actual pain comes, the victim’s already done the heavy lifting for their torturer. There were no right answers with that devil. He was toying with his food - us."
"I didn’t realise you were so… well-versed in mental and emotional torment. It’s a good thing to know."
"And it seems that you are very familiar with this, did not doubt and did not hesitate even though you lost the line by having your brother cited."
"What can I say, part of the trade. I just... Never mind, we need to focus on the current goal and prepare to kick a devil’s ass if we have to."
Back at the camp after an exhausting day, Raphael returned to Calamity’s mind. Her concern was turned to her brother but maybe Raphael is the least of the problems, two days... she had been missing for two days. What would they be doing with him now?
Were they torturing him? Or worse?
The best chance is he’s chained up in his room... Shadowheart is right, fear and doubt is sufficient. She was too thoughtful even now in front of the fire listening to the conversation of her companions, her attention was not really there.
"So we’ve all talked a little bit about ourselves at least enough for this group to work." Astarion said looking at Calamity. "But our leader hasn’t said much yet Sorry darling, but I think it won’t hurt to say a little bit."
She stared at him but without any hostility and sighed.
"Well, what can I say? I’m an assassin in Baldur’s Gate... I’m part of the Assassin’s Guild, being more specific."
Astarion raised a puzzled eyebrow.
"Are you referring to the Assassin’s Guild of underworld city? The one that clashes with the Thieves Guild over business?"
She agreed with a nod.
"Me and my brother... well they called us Black Dogs."
Silence.
Astarion stared at her in shock, even he had heard of them. A pair of terrible assassins who accept any job, the nickname came on account of their unwavering loyalty to the Guild Masters. Without question, without hesitation, they did the work, and it was always so bloody that even the cultists of Bhaal were impressed.
"You are very different than I imagined." Astarion broke the silence.
"I don’t appear to be someone with blind loyalty? Of course not, I was bound to be so. They recruited us when we were very young, we had no other option to survive and they took advantage of that. They trained us, tortured us, they no longer wanted subordinates with ambitions and opinions of their own." She laughed. "No... They wanted dogs that would obey any order without complaining or hesitating. And that would be happy with it, well that last part we learned to pretend very well. Funny, it was thanks to all this confusion I finally managed to think more clearly for myself after years... I ruined the night apparently, I’m going back to my tent." She got up and left.
It was dark, she was back in that place, chained to the wall. She was facing the floor... what are they going to do with her?
"Hello little girl." A dark-haired elf entered the room and stood in front of her. " Look at me!" He ordered and she obeyed. "Much better, you know you’re going to be punished for letting that child escape, right?"
Right, they were ordered to kill a noble family of the city... all of them without exception, but when she saw that crying child cowering in a corner felt pity and guilt, she helped that child escape.
"Can we get started?" A Drow entered the room dragging her twin brother with her.
"B-Brother? Wait! I WAS THE ONE WHO MADE THE MISTAKE! I SHOULD BE PUNISHED! PLEASE LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE!" She pleaded, begged in tears.
"Oh my dear doll..." the elf bent down and held her face. "It wouldn’t be an effective punishment if I just beat you or tortured you, no... it hurts you much more if he suffers." She was trembling in despair.
The Drow chained the half-elf boy facing Calamity so that she would be able to see his face perfectly while he was tortured in her place.
"Caly, don’t worry, it’s okay." Her brother tried to comfort her, but then he screamed in pain as he felt the flesh of his back being torn by Drow’s blade.
The first cut was made slow and very precise.
"NO!" She fought, pulling the chains that bound her arms. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!"
It did not help, the Drow continued cutting him slowly and agonizing. He screamed at every cut scratching his back while his sister was forced to watch and see his face in pain.
"See? Your brother is suffering because YOU made a mistake! You are to blame for his suffering, every cut of his back is your fault!" The elf grabbed and pulled her hair, forcing her to keep her eyes on the scene.
"Brother... Carnifex... Carn... forgive me..." She cried his name as she watched the torture. "FORGIVE ME PLEASE!"
Calamity woke up with a suffocating a scream. It was just a nightmare... a nightmare and a memory.
She wiped the sweat from her face and sighed heavily... hell. He may be suffering again that same way alone now, and it’s her fault... it’s always gonna be her fault.
"Carnifex my brother... You forgive me, don’t you?"
She got up and left the tent. Looking around, it seemed that everyone was still sleeping. She walked quietly to the river near the camp and felt that near the shore, the water reflecting the night sky was a calm sight for a disturbed mind.
After that day that she watched her brother being tortured she never dared to have mercy on anyone... even if it was a child.
She was tired, but didn’t feel like sleeping anymore, so she just took off her boots and put her feet in the water, it was cold but pleasant. Calamity hugged her knees and took advantage of the calm and cold sensation of the water against her skin.
"Oh... I didn’t expect you to be awake." It was Astarion’s voice, but she didn’t move.
Astarion had gone hunting and decided to come down to the river to wipe his face that could be stained with blood. But he did not expect to find Calamity huddled by the river.
Honestly, he didn’t know what to think about her, but he had thought a little about what she said. She was shaped to be someone without opinions or ambitions of her own, practically an object so to speak... it irritated him. Now seeing her shrunk there without saying anything, out of curiosity he approached her and saw her eyes full of tears.
"Are you crying...?" he asked, surprised.
"Me? Crying?" She hadn’t even noticed the tears running from her eyes. "Oh... It’s been years since I’ve cried."
Shit... she looked so helpless.
The expression so sweet and sad, but her eyes were empty and cold as a doll... it could drive someone crazy.
"Astarion... Are you a vampire?" He froze.
"Why the question, dear?" He was sweating cold.
"Well... I don’t see your reflection." She replied tone innocent, as she pointed to the water.
Unbelievable, he was caught by such an oversight because he lowered his guard to this vulnerable face?! He had to agree with Shadowheart, Calamity had a knack for keeping people off guard.
"Don’t worry, I won’t kill you." She declared at last.
"Excuse me?" he continued, perplexed.
"I have no intention of killing you, Astarion." She stated again with the same empty look and innocent expression.
He just laughed it off.
"Hahahaha, gods... you really are a figure, dear Calamity." He sat next to her. "What will you have in return?"
"Pardon?" she tilted her confused head.
"Well, you’ll lie secret in exchange for what?"
"Nothing." She answered automatically.
Shock again, impossible! She wanted something, everyone always wanted something!
"Don’t be shy, darling, I know you want something." He insisted.
"I don’t want anything." She replied again.
He looked into her eyes and saw nothing, ulterior motives, malice, lies... nothing but emptiness.
"You..." He held her face and kept looking into her eyes.
Was that it? She was broken?
"Do you really not want anything? Even after being free?"
"I want to remain free, and I want my brother to be free too, I want nothing more than that." This could not even be seen as ambition.
"Gods below... I really thought you’d have some ambition, apparently I’ll have to teach you to be a little more ambitious." Her eyes lit up with these words.
She looked like an innocent puppy.
Calamity leaned back a little from his touch and wet her hands in the water and then wiped his face.
"Your face was a little bloody." She explained quickly, and then she held his face gently. "I like the touch of your skin, it’s cold and pleasant like river water."
Was she serious? Few would say that the skin of an undead is something pleasant, but her words were so genuine and innocent. What was that feeling? For some reason he wanted to take care of her, why?
Well that’s it! Thank you for reading the second chapter.
@spacebarbarianweird @spacesquidlings@thechaoticdruid @vixstarria
Who wants to be tagged in the next chapters please tell me in the comments.
#astarion x tav#oc tav#tav bg3#my tav#bg3 tav#baldurs gate 3#astarion x oc#astarion bg3#astarion romance#astarion x f!tav#astarion/tav#tav x astarion#tav#astarion fanfic#bg3 fanfiction#bg3 astarion#bg3 oc#oc tav calamity#oc tav carnifex#bg3#FatewritteninbloodFic
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The Phantom Martian: Chapter 3
Okay I don't think you guys FULLY UNDERSTAND that I decided to use hydrogen fuel cells for water generation because I stumbled across it while researching atom ionization (so, ya know, I could be sure I wasn't destroying the whole camp) and THEN like 2-3 weeks into me doing this, I was getting math help from the internet and since most "educational" sites are not free I had to browse Quora's answers, and in one of them someone had posted a link to an old NASA article all about how they used hydrogen fuel cells for power/water generation on their Apollo missions.
I was. SO PUMPED.
Anyway, here's chapter 3! This is a crossover between Danny Phantom x The Martian, but you do not have to have read/watched The Martian to understand the fic.
xxxx
Summary: When Astronaut Mark Watney went to Mars, he knew there was a chance he'd never come home. Now, though, he's determined to last long enough for NASA to save him because this whole dying for science thing is not as fun as it sounds.
Meanwhile, Danny Fenton is just trying to keep his identity a secret amidst a potential crisis with his powers. Seriously, what's up with that weird current under his skin? Why is he having so much trouble controlling it? And why does it feel so familiar...?
In a fit of determination (and possible stupidity), Danny goes to Mars to save Watney, only to add to both their crises when he arrives and can't get home. Will NASA save them? Will Danny have a home to return to if they do?
Chapter WC: 4482
Fic Tags: Danny Fenton & Mark Watney, Canon Divergence, Ecton AU
excerpt under the cut
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“So, what's the issue?” Valerie asked, leaning against the counter.
“What issue?” Danny wrapped his hands around the mug, his fingers tingling as the heat reacted to the strange cold of his skin. This was one of the mugs she'd nicked from her dad's office, judging by the Axiom Labs engraved on the side.
Valerie drummed her fingers against her own mug. “You wouldn't be so antsy if there wasn't an issue.”
Danny frowned, suddenly realizing that he had no clue where to start. How to voice what he was feeling. It was just…so strange. The power that seemed to constantly flow right under his skin.
Or, rather, on his skin.
“Well?”
He flinched, blinking as he'd realized once again that he was spacing out, as he had seemed to do all too often the past few weeks.
“Um…I'm not sure how to explain it.”
“It's a ghost thing?” Valerie guessed.
Danny guessed it was a half-joke, as it's a ghost thing had become a universal “just trust me, bro” over the last few months, developing into somewhat of an inside joke between the two.
But this time, he couldn't manage the smile. Instead, his brows furrowed as he turned his attention back to his steaming mug. He opened his mouth, closed it. Then opened it again, taking a shuddering breath as he choked out, “It's about how I died.”
#danny phantom#invisobang 2023#phicc#my writing#the phantom martian#eeeeeee so excited to finally release this chapter
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Terrible Fic Idea #58: Percy Jackson x Criminal Minds
While perusing the PJO tag for the first time in ages, I stumbled across yet another crossover I never would have thought of trying - and which, naturally, hasn't escaped my head. It managed to mash together the worlds of PJO and Criminal Minds... and so, naturally, I thought: if I were going to write this crossover, what would I do?
Just imagine it:
Everything follows canon - until MoA. There Percy plays off the judo throw in New Rome to avoid starting a war with the Greeks, but after they're alone on the Argo Percy tells Annabeth that he doesn't appreciate 1) being blamed for his disappearance, as if Hera had asked him if he wanted to lose his memories and half a year of his life, and 2) being physically attacked by his girlfriend outside of weapons practice.
Naturally, Annabeth doesn't take this well and doubles down on her position, and the two fight like cats and dogs throughout MoA and HoO. By the time they reach Akhlys, Percy is hardly inclined to listen to Annabeth at all, and so doesn't stop poison-bending.
It's not obvious at the time, but not stopping fully unlocks Percy's divine powers. He's now immortal, like Chiron, but not a god. It's also rather the final straw for Annabeth and Percy's relationship.
Because he doesn't immediately realize he's immortal, Percy goes on with normal human things like high school and college - attending both at Camp Jupiter, which is better equipped to handle demigods than the average mortal school. It's only after he starts grad school at nearby Stanford University and gets a lot of comments on how young he looks does anyone start realizing what's happened.
Fast forward to about 15 years after HOO, when Percy has joined the BAU - because even immortals have to pay the bills somehow.
In my head I picture this to be S8/S9 of CM, largely because I enjoyed Alex Blake's character and think she'd be a good outsider POV for the story I want to tell, but dealer's choice.
Percy proves to be the BAU cryptid. His primary and secondary school records say unsub in the making... then he double majors in marine biology and classics in college (because everyone who survives four years in the legion or slays a particular number of monsters gets a classics degree when they graduate by default). Then he goes on to get a doctorate in psychology from Stanford... and swim twice for Team USA in the Olympics. He once went on vacation in the Keys and found the wreck of a lost Spanish galleon free diving. He's polite and mild mannered and goes nowhere without at least three knives on his person and a week's worth of survival gear. When he's tired, his reports sometimes slip into Ancient Greek or Latin. He may be a Hellenist and speaks of Hell as a place that he's been.
Percy is, in short, unfathomable to his profiler colleagues. They like him, but every new thing they learn about him only complicates the profile they're definitely not putting together.
He's been in the BAU for about 18 months before they receive reports of a serial killer's dumping ground in the Oakland Hills, not more than a mile from Camp Jupiter. The victims are all in their late teens and signs indicate all were killed in a ritualistic way. Most of those the investigators can identify are runaways.
Once the BAU is on site, Reid determines that someone is trying to recreate an obscure Ancient Roman sacrifice.
More importantly, Percy realizes that, yes, these are definitely the bodies of Roman demigods - and not one of them was killed by a monster before they could get to camp. In fact, he's pretty sure there's a secret entrance to camp not 100' away from the oldest body.
It's this last point that causes Percy to lead his team to Camp Jupiter. This is a revelation in itself and should answer many of the team's questions about Percy but give them twice as many new ones.
It should also be perfect timing, as they arrive just as praetors Frank and Hazel were thinking of reaching out to Percy, as he's the only real investigator either camp has. They're not aware of most of the murders, as it's not unusual for one or two demigods every year to be killed after leaving the safety of camp, but the last three victims went missing in the last three months under odd circumstances.
(One was a granddaughter of Apollo who'd talked about wanting to join the Hunters of Artemis, and when she disappeared everyone assumed that's what she did, only for the Hunters to visit later claiming she never showed. The most recent was a daughter of Bacchus who hated the regimented life of the legion and wanted to transfer to Camp Half-Blood where things were a little more their speed. Most the others were legacies or the children of minor gods.)
They set up shop in Percy's house - in part because CJ has no police force beyond the legion, which houses their main suspects - in part because Percy's house is built like a Roman temple on the edge of the temple district and no one would dare sneak into it.
(The demigods have been actively treating immortal Percy as a god, because if deification worked for Nero, they can make it work for Percy. And a deified!Percy could only be good for them.)
In the end it comes out a grandchild of Hecate/Trivia was sacrificing other demigods to their ancestor in hopes of obtaining more power - they should be just powerful enough to disguise their actions with the Mist but not much more, and intensely jealous their ancestor handed already-powerful Hazel more power during the Giant War.
Bonuses include: 1) Thalia and the Hunters showing up to help, as do Nico and Will. This should be an intensely confusing family reunion to watch from the outside given that two are immortal. Extra bonus points if the BAU recognize Nico from some wildly successful paranormal investigative channel on YouTube and are shocked to find out all the ghosts are real; 2) Will calling Percy "mom", on account of the fact he's been dating Apollo for the last five years now - Apollo's longest relationship ever - though Percy refuses to consider marriage or children until fifty years have passed; and 3) One of the BAU being tangentially involved with the mythological world already - Hotch had a relationship with a disguised Justice before meeting Hailey and their child is at Camp Jupiter? Reid has just recently met a disguised Athena at a conference and is now worried he'll arrive home to a baby on the doorstep?
And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back to me if you chose to do anything with it.
More Terrible Fic Ideas
#plot bunny#fic ideas#percy jackson and the olympians#heroes of olympus#percy jackson#pjo#hoo#criminal minds#crossover#percy x apollo#trials of apollo#toa
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How do you think alucard would react to a gen z humor? For example: would he enjoy tiktok and vine? Would he be confused by our memes? How would he react to our self-deprecating humor?
This will be a running theme in my fanficiton, so I'm all for this. Also, I am barely Gen Z, and continuously learn new slang from my students, so excuse the cringe 😅
In my personal opinion, Alucard very much gives supportive grandpa vibes.
He's happy to view whatever "KidToks", "YouViews", or "Bumblr" memes you shove in his face. He's not going to understand it, but he's happy to watch if it makes you smile.
He really loves BookTok for reading material when he's chillin in the dungeon, especially murder mysteries and modern fantasy.
When he first got a taste of your Vine-Vocab, he legit just thought that was the way you spoke.
Seras delivering you a birthday gift: "so you just gonna bring me a birthday gift on my birthday to my birthday party on my birthday with a birthday gift?"
Giving the Hellsing taskforce driving directions for their next mission: "Road work ahead? Uh, yeah, I sure hope it does."
Joining him in the shooting range for target practice: "Don't fuck with me! I have the power of God and anime on my side!"
When you eventually informed him it was from a dead meme-site that defined your generation, he was very impressed that you young-folk have such an extensive reference log to communicate with each other.
Like I said, grandpa vibes.
His favorite moments are when your Gen Z slang is directed at him. He has no idea what you're talking about, but he loves it cus it's you. You love it too, because you can use it to your advantage and flirt with him incognito.
"Alucard, I admire the 40s coat and sunhat drip, but it's a little camp these days. We really need to give you a glow up."
"I saw the footage from your last mission, and I have to say, you were an absolute snack. Totally bussin'."
"You high-key live in my head, rent-free, Alucard."
He enjoys your silly words. Such admirable youth.
But when it came to your self-deprecating humour, it was kind of 50/50 for him. He understands it with no issues, and as long as it wasn't too hurtful towards yourself, he thought it was hilarious.
"Sorry, demons! There’s no room inside me because I’m self-possessed." Hella relatable for him.
"I question my sanity a lot of times. Every now and then, it replies." He's like, "same."
You'd think he would enjoy it all, given his dark-humour streak. However, when you talk too poorly about yourself, it really puts a damper on his mood.
Even though he's a grandpa, we have to remember that Alucard is incredibly intelligent. So whenever you're shitting on yourself, he plays your game to his advantage.
You: "I'm the human equivalent of a typo."
Alucard: "But you'll always be my type."
Wait. What?
You: "If I remember correctly, the last time that I was someone’s type was when I was donating blood in the blood drive."
Alucard: "I had it for my dinner last week, it was one of the best bags I've ever drank."
Motherfucker. There more you try to put yourself down, the more creative he gets. It's like a ping-pong game of put-downs and affectionate counter-attacks.
You: "My life’s purpose is to be a cautionary tale for others."
Alucard: "I'll just have to be your happily-ever-after."
You: "I wouldn’t even settle for me, so why would you?"
Alucard: "Because we could be settling together in my coffin when we sleep."
You: "When I’m ready to sleep, I don’t bother checking if my foot is hanging off the end of my bed anymore. Come get me, demons."
Alucard: "Is that a proposition?"
You finally admit defeat, as your red cheeks and blood pressure could only handle so much.
Damn that sexy old man.
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Please please tell me your ideas I will be so normal about it I am not at all desparate for Broken Masquerade content
Boy I have so many ideas I actually need to put this in a draft to list all of the brainrot things I’ve had circling in my head!! This does include some negative things so feel free for me to ask to tag.
All of the colleges (Particularly Harvard) adding Thaumaturgy to their classes is extremely cool in the canon and I think there should be many more schools
Site-43 College beloved I want to go there so badly please be real c’mon :[
Those Facebook mom groups…oh boy there’s so much drama
Lord help all the poor kids with minor anomalous power
Segregation with schools, even restaurants
A lot of anomalies end up in homeless shelters because not many jobs are willing to take the backlash of anomalous employees
Shitty parents faking their kid having a dangerous anomaly so they can send them away
Because they think the foundation would just kill them because of all the propaganda
You know that the cults are gonna take advantage of this to try and grow their numbers
Chaos Insurgency propaganda against the foundation
A flag that shows your support for the foundation, GOC, anomalies hanging outside your home
New Genders from the tumblrinas like us
Twitter DNI’s are a genuine hell
‘DNI IF YOU SUPPORT SCP’S/THREAT ENTITIES/OBJECTS’
‘Block me if you call anomalies SCP’s that’s a slur’
Speaking of slurs there’s probably a lot more
COTBG members constantly calling the Nälkan’s Sarkics just to piss them off
And Maxwellium members getting real pressed over internet drama
Someone trying to make the nicknames the Serpents Hand has into a slur
Dr. Glass walking down the street and just has someone scream ‘JAILER’ at him and he is desperately trying to not commit a crime
Also Twitter being Twitter
‘Is it wrong to kin SCP-076-2? I’d murder too if I was under the ocean.’
Extremely dangerous TikTok trends involving anomalies that makes both the GOC and SCP have collective heart attacks
Some girl posts a video from a foundation site doing Macarena during a breach and is just immediately cancelled on every platform
You know there’s gonna be dumbass teenagers trying to find some real dangerous shit to seem cool
‘Oh a lake full of bodies that makes you enter through mind control??? Sounds cool and not totally dangerous I’m gonna find it and go swimming’
Gonna readmore this it’s getting long lol
Five missing teens later the foundations getting slandered even though they did nothing
Articles with the ‘How to tell if ‘X’ is an anomaly’
Of course they’re bullshit and usually offensive
Charities to support anomalies
An actual cult around 2662 that didn’t spawn anomalously
You fucking know that the Christian’s will either take 343 well or absolutely horrifically
There’s also two sides of people when it comes to Cain and Able
The ones who hate Cain and think Able is reasonable and the people who think the opposite
Cain’s also not allowed to leave site-17 for more than just the fact he’d kill plant life it’s for his own safety tbh
Meri does get chances to wander the woods! Just..not in public because they rampage that would happen with the amount of broken phones and cars would be horrible
Iris gets to go home because she deserves it
I feel like Gerald would become a meme in general and people pay his hospital bills for him lmao
Parents keeping their kids out of school and switching to online or homeschooling to keep them away from anomalies
Conversion camps to send your kid to so people can ‘release them from their curse’
Those got the serpents hand real heated
Speaking of them they have the snarkiest Twitter account ever and just roast the living hell out of every word that comes out of the foundations mouth
Podcasts
So many fucking podcasts
There already is a writing on the broken masquerade hub of the foundation making a video with outdated slang to appeal to kids
But I think Dr. Gears should just stare at a camera and say swag with a straight face it would be beautiful
Kondraki, Clef and Gears get called dilfs and not a single one of them knows what it means
‘Kain’s the goodest boy’ even though he’s morally corrupt as fuck is very common
But he will Fuckin run if you even try to touch him he does not need his fur messes up
Ok I don’t want this to be a mile long so I’ll stop here but!!!
If you want more dm me so we can talk 👀👀👀 I need SCP friends
#scp foundation#SCP#broken masquerade#dr. kondraki#Dr. clef#Dr. gears#Dr. Gerald’s#Dr. glass#scp 073#scp 076#kain pathos crow#serpents hand#church of the broken god#sarkicism#scp 105#scp 166#SCP 2662#SCP 343#SCP 2316#chaos insurgency
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ATG 4 - Dream? Nightmare.
In which a devil dances through Tav's sleep.
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Summary
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Pairing: Raphael/Tav
SPICE Rating: 1.5/5 (teasing, tension)
Content Warnings: No sex, implied power play, some intimidation, implied manipulation (implied only, free will and consent are my priority), alcohol (mild)
Spoilers
Set in the middle of Act 2, there is a hint of a character who doesn't appear until Act 3, however no name or details of them.
Canon Compliance
Canon Whomst? - There is a very slight mention of canon material, with Raphael and Mol in Last Light, as well as a little of the Dream Guardian, but this is largely filling a hole (not literally) that I feel we deserve. I tried to keep close to character attitudes, though, and how they might be reacting.
Other Notes
Self indulgent and slow burn - one does not simply lay with a demon. But it's laying some groundwork, and I love the back and forth sass. It was also fun to play with Tav in a "dream" where consequences don't matter to her. And of course: Free will, darlings, it is important, and in this House of Hoes we lean hard into that sexy consent.
Song/Mood
Paralyzed by Aviators and Lectro Dub
"Wicked traps are set around you,
Not a lantern lit in sight to guide you home
you've been looking for the danger
and you sense my presence chilling in your bones
Take your stance, I will give you one fair chance,
So let's make this dance a bloody masquerade.
Understand how this ends, and what I am,
You're against the night itself so be afraid.
That adrenaline rush when weapons fly,
It's the fear that brings out that body high
So you know that I'm stuck here paralyzed with you."
-----
FULL CHAPTER BELOW THE CUT
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Tavylia was exhausted, or perhaps something several levels past simply exhausted. The sheer effort of staying conscious was an insurmountable task after all the last few weeks had brought. At least they'd found the Inn, one small piece of safety in the cursed Shadowlands, a haven of light and well supplied with alcohol. Thank the gods for small blessings , she had thought as she casually swiped multiple dusty bottles from unattended shelves.
Of course not everything in the Inn was peaceful. That smug bastard Raphael had made himself known once more, another tempting offer and another battle of wits between sharp tongues had followed. Tav hoped that young Mol was as smart as she claimed, she would need to be if she truly wanted to outsmart a literal devil and make a contract with him. Tav ruefully took another swig of wine. It had soured a little, but it was better than nothing. Raphael , she practically spat the word in her mind, what the fuck do you want with ME?
It was truly baffling. Here was a cambion who could easily step in and out of Avernus just to…what? Annoy her somewhat? Get under her skin with false promises? He had already tried to strike a deal to remove the mindflayer tadpoles from her brain, and her companions' too of course, but she had held out hope that perhaps the druid Halsin might heal them or that Lae'zel's fellow Githyanki could solve it. Instead, they'd found the Githyanki solution was to sacrifice themselves to the Lich queen hoping to become a god to the gith, a fate which only the strange dream guardian had saved them from. Halsin also had no answer for them, but at least he stayed around to help regardless. His huge form was hardly an unwelcome site to several wandering eyes in camp, her own included…
So. The tadpole deal wasn't going to cut it, there felt like a catch… Besides, as long as they had the Guardian and the strange object that held them, they were safe from that. Some of the tadpole's powers were also proving useful, and Rule 1, of course, is to survive. Another riddle, there. Why was Raphael interested in their survival anyway? This new deal hardly seemed to be that beneficial to him, unless there was a loophole she hadn't spotted yet. A shiver ran down her spine. They had already accepted the terms: defeat the devil's old enemy sealed beneath a temple, and he would tell them the meaning of the scars on Astarion's back. The supposed "poem" carved by his vampire master Cazador. But surely if he wanted to, Raphael could defeat some old enemy, and Tav doubted that the campion bastard would send them to their deaths either. There had to be something else, some other reason…
Another swig of bitter wine and she let the empty bottle fall to the floor with a gentle thud. Her eyes weren't going to stay open any longer like this, and she was far too tired to simply meditate through her rest as elves often chose to do. No, tonight the wine would suffice as a potion of sleep, given that she was immune to the real thing. Darkness closed in as the last candle in the dim Inn room winked out.
---
Tav knew she was dreaming. Probably. These were no longer the cursed Shadowlands around her, nor the battered coastline they had traipsed across, or the dank Underdark that stood as their path between the two. This was…home? As close to one as she could recall. The Lower City of Baldur's Gate, close to the docks where the sound of the sea echoed through the numerous cracks in the walls.
"Hardly a mansion, is it? Is this really how you lived?" The snide voice could only have come from one mouth, the corners already curling in a derisive smile beneath deceptively disarming raised brows. Raphael laughed. "No wonder you weren't complaining about that pitiful hovel you're actually sleeping in, Little Mouse."
Tav began to feel that his dream likeness was a little too unnerving for her taste, but this was her dream, so she had control. "If you don't like my house, the door is right there. I wouldn't expect a spoiled devil brat to understand, anyway. Home is what I make of it, it is wherever I decide it to be. And yes, for a time, this was my mansion. "
"Well pardon my dreadful manners, though this is hardly the same hospitality I offered you when you visited my home." His voice kept treading the fine line between derision and allure, something which felt entirely too natural.
"Then you'll just have to excuse me for not enchanting a loaf of stale bread and some stagnant water to appear as a feast to trick you into some infernal deal - if you wanted luxury, you chose the wrong elf."
"Luxury, Little Mouse, I have plenty of at home. And as for the feast, well one can have an appetite for more than just food - I'm sure you've learned this well from your little fanged fling." His eyes travelled up and down her form, making Tav feel even more under-dressed in her own home…dream…whatever this was meant to be. Raphael's human form was, as always, immaculately well dressed and groomed, chestnut hair swept neatly back just barely grazing the edge of his ruffled collar. "So, perhaps you might reconsider what you might put on the table, hmm?"
Tav gave the thought more consideration than she otherwise might have, had she not partaken of quite so much overly-vintage red so close to bed. Curiosity, they said, killed the cat. But according to Raphael, he was the cat, and she was simply a Little Mouse . Which meant, perhaps, that curiosity was not the trap being set for her, but instead might ensnare the demon himself. Turning the tables could be an interesting dream, after all.
Raphael simply sat back in his chair, watching, waiting, while Tav cleared away the few chipped bits of crockery that were strewn across the table, wiping away the dust with the edge of her ragged sleeve.
"Well, perhaps we could do a little better with your outfit, at least." With a snap of his fingers, Tav felt the fabrics change from the rough and ill-fitted cotton taken from some hapless fool's washing line and into something far more…fitted. Silk draped over her curves, enhancing her form and showing every line of her body in what she assumed by the low whistle from the uninvited guest was at least a little attractive. For a moment, she applauded her self confidence for imagining this, before cursing it for spiking her curiosity more.
First a vampire, now…a devil? Hah, in my dreams, I suppose.
"A soul coin for your thoughts, Little Mouse?" Raphael had his boots on the table now, making himself quite at home.
"If you must know, you bizarre figment of my imagination, I am wondering exactly why you have such an interest in some pitiful peasant elf who just happened to get stuck with a bloody tadpole in her brain." She sat on the table itself, pushing his all too fancy shoes back off her furniture and earning another derisive laugh.
"You're fascinating . Full of surprises and contradictions. I thought perhaps you were desperate to survive, ready to take my first deal. But that would have been too easy, now, wouldn't it... So now you get a taste, agreeing to a simple task to help your toy, and that's exactly what I'm doing. It is such fun to watch you scurry about, Little Mouse, stealing some cheese here, yet baring your little teeth at evil over there just to do the smallest amount of good, even if it won't last. In the one moment, you're selfish to the core, serving your needs first, but the next you're putting your very life on the line for some hapless fools once more! How could I not be intrigued by the possibilities? Like right now, there you sit speaking to me as if I am beneath you, and yet in the same breath vastly underestimating yourself."
"I'm glad I'm proving to be so amusing to you, demon, but I was hoping for more pleasant dreams. So if you wouldn't mind-"
"Ah, were you expecting another chat with your so called Guardian, hmm?" He laughed, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. "A tiefling, aren't they? Is that more to your liking, then, the horns and the tail?"
"They're a useful tool, nothing more." She paused. "Though even a tool can be attractive, I suppose."
"So you do understand how I see you, then." He sat forwards now, face and body growing slightly and warping to his demonic red form, wings unfolding behind him. "I cannot wait to put you to use. "
His true form's eyes looked like lit fires burned within them, gaze piercing her soul, almost as if it were a real fire heating her body from within. Had the drafty old house by the sea always been this warm?...
Raphael's hands enveloped Tav's, pinning them to the table as he rose above her, glowing eyes looking down with an unexpected curiosity, as if he wasn't sure what he was planning himself.
"For a dream, you seem…vivid. Normally by now this scene would've shifted to some nightmare dredged up by my memories, or perhaps of late to my Guardian's domain for one of their midnight chats…"
"Little Mouse, I can be either a dream or a nightmare, that choice is yours to make. But rest assured, I shall let neither memories nor Guardian intrude on our little Soiree tonight." The pressure released from her hands as he stood fully and instead extended his fingers towards her, a gesture born of high society etiquette. A song she had never heard began to echo in Tav's ears, the haunting melody that prickled that sense of danger deep within her. A sense that had begun to feel more enticing than perilous, thanks in no small part to her time with Astarion. "Well, would you care to join me for a dance, Little Mouse?"
The room grew and shifted as she stood from the table, a shiver of anticipation running through her entire being as she took his hand, accepting the invitation. The surroundings became like nothing she had ever seen before, a vast ballroom with shadows waltzing around them, yet none getting close enough to make her feel crowded. The decorations felt as unreal and shifting as any dream, becoming more like feelings than clear details. An atmosphere just suited to dance with a devil.
“You surprise me,” Tav said, as they began to move around the ballroom to the hauntingly beautiful music, “you’re surely more than powerful enough to take whatever you want, and yet you always ask. ”
“Free will, Little Mouse, is far more interesting than a simple spell to compel you to follow my orders like a mindless beast.” His arm curled around her waist, pulling her closer, and she felt as if their feet barely touched the floor at all as they continued their dance. Both literally and metaphorically, she might’ve thought, if she wasn’t listening between every word and line seeking for his real meaning.
“Free will?” she echoed, still unwilling to break eye contact.
“Free. Will. Where is the game, where is the challenge without it? How little you understand of the thrill of catching someone in your web and drawing them ever closer, knowing that every step they take has been on of their own choosing.” As if to emphasise his point, Raphael allowed her to spin lightly away, one hand still entwined with hers, but did not pull to draw her back in.
Tav felt herself dancing back into his embrace once more, his arm on her waist ensnaring her even tighter this time, a slight sound leaving her lips unbidden at the feel of their bodies pressed more closely together. The vibrations of his low chuckle resonated through her ribs.
“See, Little Mouse, here you are, entirely of your own accord. And why? Hoping to learn a few of my secrets, are you?” The smug look on his face was becoming almost unbearable now, but Tav drew on the deepest parts of her courage to respond.
“Everything is of my choosing, isn’t it.” She mused quietly, an idea forming quickly in her mind, not breaking eye contact for a second. “I could simply choose to leave, or ignore you, or let my dream take another shape. Or instead I could follow whatever whim I like.”
She unlaced their fingers and took her other hand from his waist, reaching up on the tips of her toes and taking a firm grip of his horns to pull his face down towards her. If she had been paying attention, she would’ve seen the smug look melt away to be replaced with something between utter confusion and unexpected anticipation, but she wasn’t wasting a single beat of the melody that still swirled around them. She caught his lips in a kiss, pressing her body against his, taking a tentative taste of his lips.
If fire had a flavour, that would’ve been how she described the taste, with a hint of the same cherry that lingered in the air around him wherever he went. Blissfully the sulphur was masked by this, though she assumed that her dream would give her everything she imagined in the way she wanted it most. And, Gods, was she now painfully aware of what she wanted.
Intoxicating. That was the only way to describe the feeling when Raphael began to return her kiss. Different to the heated passion and whispering words of love that Astarion pressed to her lips… No, this was greed. A far simpler riddle to solve than any of the devil’s other motivations. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her body perhaps a little too firmly against his own, wings encircling the pair now as their latest dance began.
The music shifted, swayed, the unseen orchestra swelling with new chords that should’ve alarmed Tav…but her own choir was already singing to the tune. A casual observer might begin to wonder if what they saw in that formless ballroom was a kiss or a battle, but both answers would be correct.
Rogue and Demon were stubborn to a fault, each seeking to out-do the other, each probing the other for answers even though their questions were vastly different. For Tav, it was “how far can this dream go before I wake?” , yet for Raphael he wondered instead “why can I not get this infuriating Little Mouse out of my head…what is it that’s keeping me here?”
Unfortunately, perhaps for both, only one would get their answer, as the music swiftly subsided just as they might have gone further.
“Pity.” Raphael hissed, as he broke away from Tav and allowed them both to drift back to the floor. “It seems we will have to put this little thought on hold, it seems you have another caller on the line.”
“What?” Tav couldn’t keep the confusion from her breathless reply, the taste of burning cherry still dancing across her tastebuds.
“Your supposed Guardian is requesting an audience, I don’t think they’re willing to indulge you in another moment’s peace.” He frowned, reverting back to the more human cambion form in which he had first appeared that night. “Perhaps some other time, Little Mouse, you might care to sample a finer meal.”
With one final snap of his fingers, the scenery melted away into smoke, as Tav felt her dream lurch unsettlingly into the Guardian’s domain.
---
The rocks Tav stood upon floated through space, the sounds of distant battle echoing across the stars around her. She silently cursed the timing of her secretive “saviour”, and wondered for a fleeting moment how much they might’ve seen. They appeared beside her, stepping from a shadow, their golden armour now sparkling in the light. Their voice was soft, warm, a strange kind of comfort in all kinds of times. It was now that Tav realised, much to her relief, that her appearance had reverted to her simple camp clothes that she slept in. A silk gown didn’t feel fitting for the serious look on the face before her.
“Sit, please. I do not know how long we will have, but I would like to talk.” Two-toned eyes peered at her face, filled with concern. “Your heart was racing, but your mind…was closed to me.”
“Oh, that - I was just sleeping. Nothing but a dream, I’m fine. Really.” Sitting now beside them, Tav laid a hand on their shoulder. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Are you certain that was all there was to it? A dream?” They shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through the long hair that flowed down to their shoulders, parted slightly around the horns that curved around from their forehead to their ears like those of a ram. “I…do not like to pry, we all deserve our secrets, after all, but usually if I so wished I could see your dreams.”
“You do seem to have more secrets than most. But that’s strange… Why might that be closed to you? You’ve been able to see through my eyes plenty of times in the waking world without issue, and if dreams are the same…” A thought was beginning to occur to Tav, one that she was extremely willing to shut down before it could take root and expand into startling and terrifying realisations.
“Only powerful magic could prevent the connection we share, our bond is one that cannot be easily overcome.” The Guardian tilted their head quizzically, seeming to assess Tav as her thoughts began to sprint down the forbidden path to the uncomfortable truth. “What is it? Are you sure there isn’t something wrong?”
“Oh. Oh fuck.” Tav’s conscious mind had run directly into a large stone wall, and the writing upon it was crystal clear. She continued, mumbling more to herself than as any kind of response to the tiefling warrior by her side. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. How did I not realise that it was possible? What was in that wine? Is that what he did?...”
The Guardian remained silent, simply laying a quiet hand upon Tav’s as she processed the horrifying culmination of each of her actions, one after the other.
“Spoiled devil brat, I called him, right before falling into his seductive little game as easily as if we were playing Lanceboard. Shit…SHIT! Bizarre figment of my imagination, I called him that too, right before suggesting he was an attractive tool and-”
Her mind was reeling, turning over every word in detail, knowing they were not in fact spoken to an apparition but likely all too directly to the one devil she could not afford to cross. The Guardian stayed with her still, a strange comforting presence, even as she sank even deeper into her thoughts, speaking them in barely a whisper now.
“Gods, I actually danced with a devil…I kissed him - what the fuck was I thinking?! The signs were there, how did I not notice? My mind can’t conjure images I’ve never seen, music I’ve never heard…”
A look between amusement and confusion coloured the Guardian’s features, but they remained with Tav. They didn’t leave until the dawn woke her, staying right beside her, a few tentative gestures attempting to soothe her worries. Not that she noticed, of course.
In fact, the one key thing in all her panic that Tav had completely failed to notice, was how Raphael had reacted. It wasn’t some dream of her own that had conjured his actions, and neither of them had a single clue yet of what that might lead to.
---
Meanwhile, in Avernus, a shimmering door made of pure magic managed to slam shut, despite having no corporeal form. Raphael didn’t enter with his usual confident swagger, but instead damn near stormed into his lavish bedchamber with a fury hotter than all the Nine Hells.
A familiar voice called out to him from where its owner reclined upon silken sheets, awaiting his return. “Did you enjoy your little trip?”
“Shut up, Harlot. ” Raphael spat back at his companion, earning a dark laugh from the latter.
“My my, name calling, is it now? She must have really got under your skin this time.” Another laugh echoed from the walls, an edge more of cruelty slipping into the tone now. “How about you stop your whining now, I’m sure we would both rather have you moaning instead. And with my proper name, if you please, Archduke. ”
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ENDING NOTES
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The end section there will be back, I left it as a nice little setup and introduction. It was also my first time writing any lines for Haarlep and that dynamic...I have since become addicted to it, obviously...
Ever since I met Raphael in game, like so many others it was one eyebrow raise and his speech patterns and I was done for, down for the count, a bad case of Devil Fever and no wish for a cure~
We also get more insight into Tav's past here. I don't have a huge amount of detail into the specifics, but surviving alone from the age she did was never an easy thing. Desperation could've brought him to her door sooner, but she held her own better than even she expected.
In terms of those details, honestly I am happy for you all to insert whatever headcanons feel right to you for Tav as a character. She's headstrong, wilful, and hedonistic, but all of that came at a cost. She had to learn to make and enforce her own choices, and to seize what pleasures in life she could before they slip away again. Everything is only ever temporary in Tav's world, she's truly going one day to the next, because the whims of Fate never give her a chance to do anything else.
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Fandom Gripe #19: ok this one is kinda shocking to me since I used to love them (before I read the novel) but I apparently now have a viscerally negative reaction to prisoner!wwx who surrenders himself as captive to any of the great clans, but particularly the Lan.
Excuse me for asking, but what fucking right do any of the clans have to take Wei Wuxian, who had committed no offense against them, prisoner??? In what world would that not just be broadcasting their own corruption to willingly imprison a man who has literally done nothing to them except win them a war??? “He uses himself as leverage to save the Wen” is not a good enough excuse to argue that him being prisoner is a “good” or even neutral thing, that the clan imprisoning him wouldn’t automatically be evil by default after that point, because nobody thinks the Wen remnants are a threat. (If they truly thought this, they could’ve easily followed wwx to Qiongqi Path to see the labor camps but 🤷🏽♀️) What’s funny is I’ve never seen a fic argue that the Jin imprisoning wwx, even after Jin Zixuan’s death, would be a moral or justified thing, but if anyone else is written to do it, it’s suddenly fine and dandy??? And this especially paints Lan Wangji in a terrible light for going along with it if it’s his clan doing the imprisoning! No excuse—not “well he wants to protect wwx!” or “he doesn’t want to disappoint his family!”—would justify him going along with such an injustice, which is why canon Lan Wangji never fucking goes along with it.
This just feels like the attic wife trope trying to disguise itself as a love story. The Wen remnants are usually disappeared from the narrative post-deal, “protected” by the same group of people who couldn’t even be bothered to follow wwx to the site of their continued genocide, wwx continues to take every bit of abuse thrown at him with no pushback (ALSO ooc for him), and the clans get to continue living in their delusions of righteousness. Nobody ever questions the validity of the “army” they were supposedly afraid of wwx building after taking in the Wen remnants (despite it being a heavy point in these fics), and the Lan (the most popular jailers) get to play hero by “freeing” wwx from his own cultivation. Then we, the audience, are expected to clap as wwx lives his happily ever after as an attic wife, just like Madam Lan.
I hate how these fics have taken this horror trope that even the book condemns and have tried to twist it into a romance and a healing journey. Sorry, but nobody in the history of ever has healed from unjust captivity while being treated like scum, and if we wanna talk about consent issues in a story, let’s talk about the dubiousness (AT BEST) of a jailer fucking their captive, then, huh? Also wwx isn’t dumb enough to think that the same group of people who created and/or condoned the existence of the Wen labor camp are going to suddenly protect those same Wen remnants if only he gave up his protection shield and surrendered himself for experimentation “cleansing of resentful energy.” Also, he isn’t dumb enough to believe that the same clans who always choose greed and power above all would keep their word to him. Stop treating wwx like’s he’s a desperate, politically naive, and unintelligent character!
#mdzs#human gripes at fandom#yall wanna talk about the ‘unhealthiness’ of rhe orignal novel romance#but jailers fucking their captives is suddenly the epitome of ‘healthy’?#’rape’ has suddenly fled y’all’s vocabulary?#interesting#this is what happens when i wake up too early…#my heart is filled with hate
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bite the hand - chapter 1: slow knife
pairing: Astarion/The Dark Urge
summary: Astarion helps her hide the body. Romance ensues.
“Power,” Irileth says softly, and she is surprised by the silkenness of her own voice. It sounds like it comes from another person, another life. “Is that all you like about me?”
Astarion’s laugh is a sultry and wicked thing. “Darling,” he croons, and with his free hand, he reaches out to twirl a lock of her white hair around his slender finger. “There are a great many things I like about you.”
Ah. She wonders just how much he would like it if she told him what a pretty corpse he would make.
check it out on AO3
It seemed fitting that Irileth should return to the world surrounded by violence and smoke. Her rebirth went much like she assumes it had before: with her kicking, screaming, and covered in blood.
The nautiloid, the mind flayers, the cambions—all of it felt like a too-vivid nightmare. When Irileth first surged back into consciousness, sodden on the shore of the ravaged beach, she’d nearly mistaken her time aboard the illithid ship for a vicious hallucination.
But sure enough, the wreckage is there, spread out on the beach below her, a heaping mass of smoke and cinder. The rubbery material that made up the entire structure of the ship juts out in jagged ends. It is the vivid purple of a fresh and perfect bruise, but as Irileth stares down at the ship, a different memory comes to mind: glossy white peaking through shimmering red, like a pearl embedded in sumptuous, briny flesh. Cartilage.
The nautiloid is a beast, some organic monstrosity, that carried her, screeching through the Hells. It has been two days since the crash, and still, it moves below, massive tentacles twitching in the shallow sea. Irileth will be glad when it’s finally dead, if such things can die, although it fills her with an almost glib satisfaction to see it slowly burn.
Perhaps death can take its time.
Irileth reflects on the chaos, the catastrophic event that marked the beginning of her new, wretched life. Somewhere below is the pod that held her captive—for how long, even now she cannot say. When she roused to wakefulness sometime after the tadpole insertion, she threw herself against the pod door until it gave way and, all flailing limbs and atrophied muscles, she struck the floor of the nautiloid with a pathetic thud.
The scent she remembers well: the acrid tang of smoke in her throat, the sulfur-stink of burnt hair filling her nose. The memory alone nearly makes her gag, the sense of revulsion at odds with the almost pleasurable shiver that runs down her spine.
How her head had pounded! Blood loud in her ears, it drowned out the din of a nautiloid under siege. In it, she heard the only scrap of self that remained in this strange, empty body.
Irileth. My name is Irileth.
By comparison, camp tonight is quiet, although not quite at peace. They are camped in the mouth of the overgrown ruins they cleared out that afternoon, not far from the Druid’s Grove they plan to enter come morning. Nearby, Gale broods by the fire, studying the scrolls he found in an ancient study in the depths of the temple below. Shadowheart has retreated to the furthest corner of the pavilion, her makeshift tent conveniently planted on the exact opposite side of the site from Lae’zel, who is silently polishing her armor with a near religious zeal.
And Astarion—well, Irileth tries not to look at him too much.
She can sense him though. The tadpole has made them all too aware of each other’s presence these past few days. Irileth knows the elf is sprawled out by the fire on the only decent bedroll they’d managed to recover today. And of course, he’s reading—of all things—one of the books they’d found in Withers’ chamber.
As if this were some sort of vacation, not an abduction. Absurd.
Although, he hasn’t turned a page in quite some time. Either it’s dense reading, or, Irileth has the uncanny feeling that he is watching her too.
Astarion is clever. And obviously, a performer. From the very start, he tried to deceive her, claiming he had “one of those brain things” cornered, before pointing a dagger at her throat. Yes, clever indeed. Nevermind the fact that she’s fairly certain her own blade would have found his sternum first.
Irileth holds one of her daggers now as she thinks, cradling it with one hand while its point presses into a fingertip of the other, the pressure just shy of breaking skin.
She quickly discovered that she is remarkably skilled with a blade. It was an easy thing, to sever the wings of an imp, to sink the blade into the gelatinous bodies of the intellect devourers that scuttled among the wreckage. Pale pink cerebrums quivering, the foul little beasts died shrieking—one, two, three, went the simple beat. What her mind forgets, the body remembers.
Even Shadowheart seemed impressed.
“You fight well,” the cleric had said approvingly, tossing her head back, black braid swaying like a pendulum. She held herself with pride, chin tilted up, and motes of golden light still fluttered around her fingertips. Behind her, ribbons of smoke curled up from the lumpy body of a charred devourer. “Perhaps our survival isn’t such a distant prospect.”
But the intellect devourers were one thing. The bodies in the temple behind her… Irileth shivers in remembrance of the way they fell beneath her blade, how each little death spurred her on, left her craving more.
Where did she garner such an affinity for weapons? (For death?) Any will do, but daggers, she thinks now, must have always been her favorite. Why else do her senses jump to attention with such fervor? The weight of them are familiar in her hands and Irileth feels that this knowledge is intimate: the sting of a slice, the pressure under which skin will give, part, and burst.
When she reaches out for the how and why she knows these things, there is only blankness. A void where the whole of her used to be. It makes her shudder with apprehension when she thinks of how little she knows of herself.
A breeze flutters up the cliff face where Irileth stands vigil, bringing with it the still glowing embers of the wreck. From this distance, the stench of the illithid ship is nearly diminished, mostly smothered by the freshwater earthiness of the River Chionthar and the surrounding flora.
“It won’t be long now,” a voice croons to Irileth’s right and she startles, suppressing the urge to glare at Astarion as he sidles up beside her, his gaze fixed on the wreckage.
“For it to die, I mean,” he adds, glancing sidelong at her. “That’s what you’re waiting for, isn’t it?”
Quiet, too, Irileth thinks with an almost bitter admiration, adding onto the list of things she needs to be wary of around him. When he wants to be, at least.
There’s a certain curl to his lips, just visible in some turns of the firelight, and she knows he enjoys having the jump on her.
“Do you think it can?” she asks, lifting a brow. “I’ve been wondering.”
“All things do,” Astarion replies lightly. “Or at least that is my hope.”
“I think I’ll rest easier when it does,” Irileth admits carefully, well aware of how his crimson eyes, just a shade lighter than her own, seem to pierce right through her. As much as he likes to feign indifference toward her and the others, Astarion is searching for something, always. Information, perhaps, to use or to be wary of.
“I agree with you wholeheartedly on that front, my dear.” He sounds almost somber, Irileth thinks, as his attention lingers on her for a moment more. But then Astarion shifts back to the nautiloid, where his edge whets once more. “But I certainly won’t mind if it suffers a little while longer.”
It unnerves Irileth, how open Astarion is with his casual displays of cruelty and violence. It feels perverse, like he is, albeit unknowingly, making a mockery of the restraint she so desperately clings to. Just last night, he’d asked her how she’d like to be killed, should ceremorphosis finally take place.
Knives, poison, strangulation—whatever you’d prefer.
She’d nearly laughed at his question, ruled by her giddy madness. As if she could really pick just one.
But in some part, Irilieth is relieved and grateful to know that this well of violence she seems to carry within her is not so singular. How odd, the things that bring people together.
“Then we are in agreement on that as well,” she confesses and Astarion barks out a laugh. His laugh is harsh and startling, and it might just be the realest thing about him so far.
“You know, you’re quite fun when you want to be.” He hums, amused, and returns her stare with a look of appraisal. “That is, when you aren’t playing the hero, I mean. Watching you fuss over our friends is so sweet, it’s sickening.”
“I try,” Irileth replies dryly and Astarion’s mouth curves in amusement as he steps forward, pressing into her space. Stubbornly, Irileth forces herself to stay put, which only seems to add to his interest. She is starting to understand his game—how he likes to pick her brain, make her react to him. Like he’s testing how far he can push.
“I mean it. It was a spectacle, darling,” Astarion continues, his voice dropping to a near-conspiratorial purr. The tone of it sends a sweet trill through Irileth’s bones. “Watching you dispatch those bandits today with such a flourish! It really makes me wonder who exactly you were before all of this.”
The laugh Irileth releases is rueful.
“You and me both,” she mutters and Astarion rewards her with one of his coy little smiles. (How many men and women have fawned over that smile? He offers it like a gift, like a treat, like a trap. She wants to take it.)
“You must admit, it’s a fascinating little mystery,” Astarion drawls, tilting his head as his eyes roam over her. “Very intriguing, your memory loss. Perhaps you were a bard? No. A thief? An assassin? Hm, yes, that would track.”
Irileth’s stomach twists at that and she fixes him with a look. “You’re teasing.”
“I am,” he admits, white teeth shining in the firelight. His smirk is in full bloom now, and those red eyes, so magnetic, narrow. “It’s too much fun with you. But I might be right. You’re quite the punisher, after all.”
Irileth’s mouth dries, even as her grip on the dagger firms and the tip presses harder into the pad of her forefinger. Any more force and it will burst skin. “It was just battle, Astarion. They would have killed us if we didn’t fight back. Nothing more.”
Astarion grins like they both know she’s lying.
“Of course, darling, of course. It all worked out in the end. We got into the temple and picked up our very own magical skeleton as well,” he says flippantly, brandishing his book through the air toward Withers. His expression turns sly as he thumbs his chin innocently. “But there’s nothing wrong with a bit of pain for those who deserve it.”
A shudder passes through Irileth, and the sensation is not entirely unpleasant. She wants to agree, wholeheartedly. It almost feels as if her very marrow calls for it.
But Irileth reins in the impulse. There is a feeling in her gut that makes her hesitate. Perhaps it is the phrasing she takes issue with, or the intent, but she is… conflicted. That familiar headache is starting again, a throbbing at the base of her neck that sparks through her temples.
“And who,” she asks, rolling the hilt of her dagger in one slow circle, “decides who deserves it?”
She has surprised him with this question. Astarion’s brows lift and his eyes dart across her face, searching. He has the same look about him, Irileth thinks, when he’s scouting an area and checking for traps.
(What a cautious life one must lead, to be constantly anticipating that which would hurt you.)
“You really are asking, aren’t you?” Astarion huffs, drawing back. “It is up to the powerful, my sweet,” he answers as if it is obvious. “He who holds the cards decides how they are dealt. Today, that was you.”
A thrill runs through Irileth at that, one she quickly tries to tamp down.
“Don’t look so scandalized,” Astarion tuts and he grazes the back of his hand down her arm. His fingers are cold and dry.
Like death, Irileth thinks, suppressing the urge to shiver in delight.
“I quite like a bit of power,” he says softly, and gods above, he is laying it on thick tonight, this seduction. “It’s… alluring, especially on you.”
Hells. Astarion truly is quite a vision, even when he’s looking at her like she’s something to be toyed with. Perhaps especially then.
Irileth is overcome with the sudden desire to smile back at him. It’s adorable, she thinks, brazenly, madly—the notion that he could pose a real threat to her (Hah!). Astarion could never truly harm her, but maybe… Irileth’s blood burns hot. Oh, maybe he might bite back.
Wretched thing , Irileth admonishes herself, for that idea appeal should not appear to her so. But she has lost the run of herself, now. Emboldened and a little incensed, Irileth finds that she wants to indulge him in his little game.
“Power,” Irileth says softly, and she is surprised by the silkenness of her own voice. It sounds like it comes from another person, another life. “Is that all you like about me?”
Astarion’s laugh is a sultry and wicked thing. “Darling,” he croons, and with his free hand, he reaches out to twirl a lock of her white hair around his slender finger. “There are a great many things I like about you.”
Ah. She wonders just how much he would like it if she told him what a pretty corpse he would make.
Irileth jerks away, her heartbeat suddenly thunderous in her ears as her hair snags around Astarion’s finger, then gives and uncoils. Revulsion and shame roll through her at such a depraved thought— where had it come from? (Inside, inside!)
Hastily, she shoves her dagger into her waistband, struck with the irrational fear that her own hands might act on their own accord. Something stings, badly, though she’s not sure what it is, nor does she care.
“Are you alright, dear?” Astarion’s voice is still a sugary drawl, but there is alarm, no doubt on his face. Irileth can tell he is suspicious of her behavior; his gaze was magnetic before, but now it pierces, as if he’s found a gap in her defenses and plans to twist the knife in. “You’ve gone rather pale.”
“I’m fine,” Irileth says hastily, taking an unsteady step back as she feels her head pulse and a cold sweat break out across her skin. “I’m just—tired. I think I need to rest.”
“Yes, of course you are. It’s been a long day,” Astarion replies mildly, although there is a sudden rigidity about him as he looks her over. He swallows, flickering shadows contorting across the long pale column of his neck. “You go rest, I’ll keep watch tonight.”
Irileth nods gratefully, desperate to get away from him, to put space in between him and her depravity.
Though she doesn’t get far. With a sharp yank, Astarion pulls her to a halt. Those crafty fingers—the same that delicately twisted her hair only moments ago—are now wrapped around her wrist like a vise. Irileth is surprised to find that it hurts.
Then gently, as if to make up for startling her, Astarion lifts her hand up between them.
Her finger, the same one she’d held against her dagger’s point, is a bloody mess. Crimson slides down the length of her forearm and drips off the end of her elbow. The droplets strike the earth with a soft pat, pat, pat.
“I think,” Astarion says slowly, his voice thick as he stares steadily at her face, unwavering, “you should get that patched up.”
And then he releases her.
Irileth merely nods, thinking nothing of the ache she feels in her wrist, or how her wicked heart races at the sight of blood, even her own. She stumbles toward Shadowheart and thinks nothing of the way Astarion’s pupils have dilated, nearly dwarfing the red of his irises, until much later, in the dead of another night.
Shadowheart is not amused.
“You should reserve your knifeplay for the battlefield,” the cleric chastises with a disappointed sneer. “Next time, I might not be so gracious.”
Irileth sits quietly, watching as Shadowheart drags a wet rag across her forearm and all around her hand, wiping away the blood that spilled from her newly healed finger. The remnants of Shadowheart’s magic still linger, a pleasant coolness that has washed over Irileth, soothing all of the aches she’s collected throughout the day, save for the incessant beating against her skull.
It feels… familiar almost. Like she’s been in this position before, pliant beneath a healer’s hand. But when Irileth reaches out to grasp it, the memory slips away.
“I’m sorry,” Irileth mumbles, curling and straightening her finger. “My hand slipped. I’ll take care of it next time.”
“Will you now?” Shadowheart scoffs, affronted, as her grip on Irileth’s arm tightens. “And do you know how to stitch a wound?”
Irileth bites the inside of her cheek and thinks that she just might. She doesn’t say this though, simply shrugs.
“Just as I thought,” Shadowheart huffs, shaking her head. “‘Next time’… Spare me.”
But despite her chuffing, Shadowheart’s hold eases and her last few strokes of the rag are nearly gentle. She likes this, Irileth realizes. Not just being the healer, but taking care of people.
Not that she would ever tell Shadowheart that.
Irileth gnaws on her cheek a little while longer, feeling the flesh turn raw and metallic before she asks, tentatively, “What do you think I was? Before all of this?”
Shadowheart’s green eyes flick up to meet her. Usually so guarded and flinty, they search Irileth’s face, slowly scrutinizing, and come away with something akin to… pity. She sighs and sits back on her knees, laying the rag in her lap.
“It still bothers you, your memory loss. Well,” Shadowheart sighs, moving her gaze over the campsite in a long drag. “I suppose I understand that. Though it’s not as uncommon as you think.”
Irileth raises her brows, but the cleric doesn’t elaborate.
“I don’t quite know who you were,” Shadowheart admits after a few moments have gone by. She plucks at the rag as she considers, the perfect white crescents of her nails pulling reddish brown threads free. “You remind me of—”
Her voice breaks off suddenly, and Shadowheart’s expression turns stricken with alarm, then confusion.
Irileth frowns. “Shadowheart?”
The cleric blinks, then shakes her head, pursing her lips. “I’m—sorry. I thought you reminded me of someone, but the name escapes me.” Her smile is tense and bitter. “You might take comfort in knowing that you are not the only one who is missing memories. Though, before you start to wonder: our afflictions are not the same. Mine was… voluntary. For my mission. I can say no more than that.”
“That sounds…extreme,” Irileth observes. It seems unfathomable, to choose the endless void that sits at the center of her. The yawning emptiness of self.
“It is.” A certain steeliness returns to Shadowheart. “It is not a sacrifice undertaken lightly for—for my Lady.”
Irileth, unsurprisingly, does not know much about the gods that govern Faerûn beyond what she has recovered from one of the books they found in Withers’ tomb. Right now, all she has is guesswork regarding which altar Shadowheart worships at.
“The gods seem to demand a lot,” Irileth muses and Shadowheart laughs, a soft little sound that dies quickly in the air.
“You’ve no idea,” Shadowheart replies with a surprising weariness. Then she straightens up, eyes narrowing, and tosses the rag aside. “But back to your original question. There’s something about you that I recognized. When you killed that mind flayer in the wreckage.”
Irileth remembers the event well, the creature pinned beneath the rubble, purple flesh shining. Glittering orange pearls of malice. They’d found it on the first day, she, Shadowheart, and Astarion.
“It was going to die anyway,” the cleric continues, and although her hands twist about, fingers running over the plaits of her hair, her gaze is steady. “But you still killed it. You were so… gentle. Like a lover.”
Irileth swallows, dread unspooling in her stomach even as her heart thumps with glee.
“You cradled its head as you pushed your knife through its skull.” Shadowheart’s voice was flat and almost ponderous, but here, it inflects with unease, “You were slow about it. You needn’t have been.”
Irileth’s mouth feels dry. She hadn’t realized it looked quite like that. She remembers only that she’d wanted it to suffer, for what it had done, for what it tried to do to her.
It tried to command her to love it.
“It captured us. It wanted to control us,” Irileth replies, defensive.
“Yes. And I am glad it’s dead.” Shadowheart is unwavering. “And still, you were unnecessary.”
“What did it remind you of?” she asks, nails biting into her knees as she presses her hands into the tops of her thighs to hide how they shake. “You said you recognized something.”
“Yes.” Shadowheart frowns. Looks away. “You reminded me of myself. When I pray.”
Oh.
Irileth pushes herself to her feet. That is… She doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t know what it means, but whatever it is, she doesn’t like it.
“Thank you,” she says, and if she sounds a little winded, Shadowheart doesn’t comment on it. “For the healing.”
Shadowheart merely nods. “Just don’t expect me to heal you every time you prick your finger. Next time, try asking Astarion to stitch you up. He seems to know how to use a needle.”
Irileth huffs out a breath that she thinks might be a laugh. She remembers the squawk Astarion let out when his clothes snagged on a bramble, how he mended them the moment they set up camp last night.
So careful with himself and his things, Astarion is. Like he has lost both before.
“Speaking of,” Shadowheart adds before Irileth turns away. Her voice drops, just loud enough to pass between the two of them. “You should be careful around Astarion. I saw the two of you, standing by the cliffside. Don’t be fooled by his pretty looks.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“I don’t trust anyone,” Shadowheart corrects, as if this is an important distinction. “But especially not him. He wants something. I just haven’t figured out what.”
Astarion has returned to his spot by the fire, his book spread out in his lap. Irileth watches as he slowly moves the page with a perfect, practiced grace—a performer through and through—and thinks that Shadowheart might be right.
The next morning, the nautiloid dies.
Once more, Irileth watches from the cliffside as the massive tentacles undergo their final death twitches, then fall still amongst the waves. Behind her, the rest of her companions pack up their tents. Today, they will enter the Grove to finally find a healer and hopefully get their cure.
Last night’s sleep found Irileth in fits and starts. No dreams, thankfully, just red smoke and metal. Her perpetual headache has subsided, or she has grown to tolerate it, and it has resolved itself to a dull pulse at the base of her cranium. Overall, she feels… better. More in control of herself. She just prays that her clarity of mind will persist.
It has to, Irileth vows to herself. It will. There will be no repeat of what happened last night. She can master her perversions. If her companions knew what rot festers in her jellied brain, they would surely cast her out.
“Hm. Pity.” Astarion appears by her side once more, the scent of bergamot fresh in the air. There is a whine in his voice as he hums in displeasure.
Speak of the devil. Irileth raises her brow at his dramatics and Astarion glances at her out of the corner of his eye, putting his palm to his cheek as his bottom lip juts out in a perfect pout.
He sighs with all of the grandiosity that only he can master. “I just hope it hurt.”
Then he walks off, swaggering and elegant. Irileth’s eyes catch on the back of his doublet as he goes, where a row of fine stitches crawl up the hem, just along his ribs.
Irileth presses her thumb into the pad of the forefinger she pierced last night. She won’t hurt him—she can’t. Nor any of her other companions. They are her only chance of survival; there will be no tadpole cure without their help.
But anyone else—their enemies? Irileth glances back at the ruined mind flayer ship one final time before grabbing her pack and checking the daggers hilted at her hips.
For them, she can make no promises.
#bg3#astarion#the dark urge#durge#baldur's gate 3#bg3 fic#astarion x durge#astarion x oc#astarion x tav#astarion ancunin#baldurs gate
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🎇Attention All Nimona Writers! 🎇
If you are planning on writing a story, event or not, there is a wonderful site you can use that lets you pace yourself on a daily word count.
NaNoWriMo (National November Writing Month)
About NaNoWrimo:
"NaNoWriMo is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit that believes in the transformational power of creativity. We provide the structure, community, and encouragement to help people use their voices, achieve creative goals, and build new worlds—on and off the page."
How It Works for Writers (their links are included as well in the quotes because why not):
"Once a writer (or soon-to-be writer!) signs up on our site, they can participate in our programs in a variety of ways. Prefer to write on your own timeline? Set independent writing goals and work at your own pace. Prefer the exquisite pressure of an ambitious deadline and enthusiastic community egging you on? Set an official challenge goal during National Novel Writing Month in November or Camp NaNoWriMo in April or July. You’ll receive resource-packed messages (and the occasional celebratory gif) from us, and if you reach your word-count goal, you can access a special winner page with sponsor offers and more.
Either way, once you’ve signed up, you can explore our how-to materials, make writer friends in the forums, join your local region(s) to see what’s going on nearby, pop in on the occasional virtual event hosted by NaNo HQ, make buddies and join writing groups, get inspired by pep talks from authors like Gene Luen Yang, Roxane Gay, Kacen Callender, John Green, and N. K. Jemisin, and—of course—track your writing progress, novel or otherwise."
Feel Free to check out the rest of their site for more information as well!
CB the Mod Uses this Religiously!
I also want to let you know that I (CB) use this site for every single one of my stories when I get close tof inishing them, I also use this for other big bangs that I wrote for. While it is for the NaNoWriMo (National November Writing Month) challenge, it can be utilized for everything!
Back to the Big Bang:
So, big bang writers, if you have trouble pacing, or are worried about that, please use this to give you some peace of mind for the event. And if you need to adjust the word count, or due date, either make a new project, or edit the one you're working on!
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has something happened, Cara? did i miss something? sofia stunt as in sofia the scandinavian girl everybody forgot about? is she back? what has asia to do with that stunt? totally agree that louis' career would only benefit if there were some women in his team but i'm really confused about what exactly you're talking about now. have a lovely weekend!
Hi!
Oh my comment was set off by the AFHF announcement, and the subsequent detective rabbithole everyone went down trying to figure out where it will be this year, and loads of people saying Mexico bc of the cacti in the picture plus that Mexican promoter account tweeting and deleting AFHF recently. I got riled up about how badly they failed last year for AFHF, how we could tell right from when they announced it (quite late) to then being there and seeing how they only sold 2/3 of tickets and not even everyone showed up. They had to cut back massively on staff (one of the reasons why entry was handled so badly and why they didn’t have enough staff to hand out the wristbands), and how they absolutely need to have a (financial) success with this year‘s AFHF in order to not have the whole festival get jeopardised and maybe cancelled. And that led to me talking about the root problem of the team being just men, and then listing examples of their recent fuck ups that very likely wouldn’t have happened that way if they had a woman on their team they‘d listen to once in a while, like for example the Sofia stunt. I guarantee you that no man on that team even thought about the fact that in 2023, with a majorly queer, feminist female fanbase that huge age gap could be problematic for Louis‘ image with his fans, because men in general don’t think about much younger women being with older men as problematic at all. They dropped her like hot iron *after* the backlash from all sides. Then they didn’t handle communication well when they cancelled Asia at all. Like. At all.
For AFHF, I understand that Mexican fans are super passionate but I already gotten many messages by latam fans saying even though living in Mexico City they wouldn’t be able to afford it. I don’t think it’ll be in Mexico, they really need to be in the black numbers for this year‘s AFHF, so they need it to be accessible to fans with strong financial powers. Europe has the majority of louis‘ fandom with strong financial power, and logistically it would be crazy to fly back and forth about 16-18 hours between European festivals for AFHF, if he could do it in Europe again.
If he keeps it in a similar time frame (august) as the past (although he’s already had the first announcement two months earlier than usually), there’s only the last July or last August weekend (going into September) available.
A friend actually sent me the Ponte de Segura bridge that looks a lot like the viaduct used in the picture, and it’s right at the border of Portugal to Spain. End of July he’s got two festivals in Portugal and Spain, and he could easily oversee the set up during the week between those two.
There’s also huge festival grounds 20 minutes from that bridge, that usually hosts the BOOM festival, but only every other year - meaning that July weekend is free for 2024 and the infrastructure for the festival has been well established (since 1997) with shuttles, vendors, camp sites, stage infrastructures… it looks really great.
The thing that still got me entertaining Mexico as a possibility is the cacti that have been edited in, that mostly only grow in South America, and the Mexican promoter.
Anyways, tell me louis wouldn’t go for this?? The shore, the lake, the rocks, the surroundings, the heat??
Anyways the real clowning begins if you imagine louis launches AFHF to be TWO days by having Niall headline the first day… that would certainly draw the necessary crowds and they’re already doing a bit of the festival run together this summer 🤡🤪
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Halsin - trusting your fears
Chapter 9
P.S. The text bellow is inspired by the romantic night with Halsin, but seen trought my eyes. For me, this was the beggining of my inspiration writing about him and my character. Hope will like it :) There will be next part.
The battle for Moonrise tower was fierce and bloody, there was no turning back, too much was at stake, Katheric Thorm had to be slain, the land had to be freed from the curse. The minions of the Absolute fell one after another, their numbers were great, but they had already turned to flee, now was the time to be pressed and destroyed. There were casualties among The Harpers, the Ironfist, but such was the nature of war, always ugly.
Katheric Thorm himself was determined to fight to the last breath, he would not surrender, and he would have no mercy. He had to die. When he was finally slain, the heroes were exhausted, covered in blood, both their own and that of their enemies, and as if the whole ruthlessness of the situation prevented them from rejoicing in their victory.
Back at The last light inn the survivors had gathered, wine in hand, not to celebrate but to honor the dead, they deserved it. The mood was a mixture of relief and sadness, they were yet to mourn the dead. And they didn't have much time to mourn, the Builder's gate awaited them, with new dangers and challenges.
Halsin and Ross barely spoke there, only exchanging glances as they passed each other. Now that the land was free to dwell again, Ross wondered if Halsin would seek her out as he had said, if he really meant it, if he will return to the Emerald grove now when he is relieved. These and other thoughts plagued her.
Back in the camp, there was silence, the comrades had gone to their tents, to heal, to rest, to gather strength. Ross couldn't sleep, her mind was too busy with thoughts, busy with Him, fussing about her place, rearranging her belongings. It wasn't long before she heard familiar heavy footsteps behind her, but she didn't leave her occupation. She reached up to place a bag on a high chest, and as if on purpose her shoulder decided to betray her at that very moment. A sharp pain shot through the site of the old wound, Ross writhed in agony. Halsin rushed to her in an instant, grasping her right arm and waist, a warm palm resting on her skin under her lifted shirt. If there was one word that could describe Halsin, it was gentle power.
"-Leave it to me." -Halsin said quietly, taking the bag from her hand and placing it on the chest.
"-Thanks."-Ross replied turning to him-"What can I do for you at this time of the night?"
"-I wanted to talk if you'd let me."
"-Always!" -Ross smiled, but behind her smile was excitement and fear of what she would hear.
"-Now that the land has been freed from the Shadow Curse, I can already feel the young roots of grasses and trees making their way into the soil. And so as the plague rose, so did the fog that had enveloped my mind."-for a moment Halsin stopped, sighed, took a breath and continued-"before your image loomed in this mist and drew me irresistibly to itself. And now I see you clearly. Now only you are in my gaze."-Ross let him speak, she didn't want to interrupt him, she couldn't believe her ears-"When I think of you I feel butterflies in my stomach like a young man. I've been dreaming of you for so long and I think, no, I know you dream of me too. After all our moments until now, the way you cared for me, not as a companion, but as a lover... In my long life, no one has cared for me like this before. I want us to be something more. I want you. And if after all the waiting I made you endure, if you want me too..." - Halsin himself was impressed by how timid he sounded, as if he was afraid of scaring her, of losing her.
Ross stood in awe, taking in all the words she had longed to hear for so long, feeling a ball of nerves in her stomach, her heart about to jump.
"-I want the same Halsin! You really are here, as you promised. And not just in my dreams."- Ross answered him with trepidation.
Relief washed over Halsin, he really feared that after this time he would lose her before he had her.
"-Then look for me later. I won't guide you to the place because I know you'll find me."-he smiled-"we're in for a sleepless night."
...
Halsin was standing by a tree, his palm on the bark, listening to the night rustling. Ross approached silently, typical of her.
"-You came. I was afraid you wouldn't show up, not after everything or it's too early for you."-almost scared and very relieved Halsin exclaimed.
"-You shouldn't have doubted it. Here I am. I'm real."
"-You've taken over my dreams for so long. I'm almost afraid to touch you, I'm afraid that if I give in to the desire I might tear you apart, destroy you."-emotions were written on Halsin's face.
"-Don't, I'm not afraid of you and I trust you completely. I'm here to be with you."-Ross approached him.
Halsin couldn't wait any longer, he pulled her to him in his powerful arms and gave her a long and passionate kiss that they both sank into, gasping for breath, eyes wide closed, tongues entwining. Desire, lust, accumulated.
Halsin pulled away only to remove his clothes in one swift motion. And what a body nature had gifted him with, everything Ross wanted, a combination of physique - structure, strength, gait. And his manhood - more than ready.
Ross smiled, took a step back, unrolled her shirt, slowly unzipped it and let it fall off on its own. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. Then she nimbly removed her boots and pants, the underwear almost falling off by itself. Halsin was enjoying the sight with a blissful smile and a melting gaze. Now they were both dressed in moonlight.
"- Just like nature intended. Come here to me!"- Halsin stepped towards Ross, but stopped in place, a grimace appeared on his face, a golden glow in his eyes, a growl escaped from his throat, heavy breathing. Golden wave began to wash over his body, brown fur sprouted in place of the skin, his outline grew and changed until, with a bright glow, he took the final form of a large bear.
A familiar sight for Ross, after so many battles side by side, she could always recognize him. Although, as of late, Halsin changed form less often.
The bear was huge, this set him apart from the other bears, the human consciousness was read in his eyes, which were now fixed on Ross. After only a moment, they glowed golden again, and the process went in reverse, before her was Halsin again, who was angry and ashamed of himself.
"-Forgive me! Sometimes when my blood heats up, it becomes difficult to control the beast!"
"-Halsin, you're not a beast."-Ross replied quietly, walking closer to him and placing a palm on his cheek-"I like you and I want you as you are, in all your forms."
"-You really are a miracle of nature. After what I did to you, I was afraid you wouldn't accept me in my bear form anymore."
"-That's in the past. Don't be ashamed of yourself."-Ross caressed him-"we're both hunters, predators, we know what we want and how we want it. Let me be your prey tonight."-Ross suggested mischievously.
Halsin was fascinated by the idea and before giving her another long and passionate kiss he added-"I'll be gentle. Or at least I'll try."-he smirked.
"-Tender, rough..."-Ross added panting through the kiss-"be everything...I want everything...from you."-the tension was building.
Halsin grabbed her, picked her up and propped her against the trunk of a tree. He lavished kisses on Ross's neck and shoulders, she was so small compared to him, squirming in his arms. Every touch of his, even the lightest, made her moan, bite her lips, sink her fingers into his powerful back, it turned him on even more.
Halsin moved down, kissing every part of her body on his way, kneeling before her. He wanted to taste her, and she longed to be tasted. A nod of approval was enough of a sign.
Halsin slid his tongue between her labia, slowly as far as it would go. He was in no hurry, he wanted to enjoy the sweetest taste. Ross squirmed, the heat of his tongue sending a jolt down her entire spine. She had wanted Halsin for so long, so much tension had built up in her loins that it took very little for her to erupt. The wetness, the soft gentle touch of his tongue, the slide between the sensitive skin.
Halsin was enjoying his work, taking his time, knowing what he was doing to her with every movement between her labia, every moan he drew from her.
Pleasure rising between her legs, willingly or not she began to move her pelvis slightly in front of Halsin's face to heighten the effect. If she could, she would sink her claws into the tree bark. Halsin knew her moment was coming, the slight twitch of her right leg giving her away, her body giving way, he would be her support. A wave of ecstasy rose and completely engulfed Ross's body and mind, momentarily sinking below its level, losing sense of the world around her.
Halsin stood up, pleased with himself, looking directly into her eyes, laced with pleasure. A kiss, Ross tried herself, through his lips and tongue. It felt so good to feel pressed against his strong hot body. She could melt on him. She adored every fiber of his muscles.
But that was only the appetizer, a sleepless night awaited them, and Halsin intended to make up for all the waiting.
"-More?" he asked. The answer was more clear.
#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#halsin#halsin baldur's gate 3#halsin bg3#halsin romance#bg3 screenshots#bg3 halsin
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