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zensations35 · 8 months

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Chemical Reactions

Oookay. Here's a campy, cute, short Oppie drabble. You don't have to know anything except: atomic bomb scientist is sarcastic. Happy Sicktember.

Groves heard Oppenheimer had holed himself up in one of the offices after an unauthorized jaunt with Teller two days ago. No one can get more than two words out of him. It’s suspicious as fuck. Did they meet with someone? Well, Groves is gonna find out.

He sidles into the office, knowing he’s going to have to be firm but diplomatic. Oppie’s not going to roll over for him just because he’s military.

The office is warm and sun-baked, approaching evening with the sun carving itself into the glass of the windows. A wide wooden desk huddles in the shadowed corner coated in papers, books, cups, and a pack of cigarettes. Some seemingly random accessories decorate the clutter--marbles, toothpicks, an angled ruler. Oppie reclines in a tipped chair, legs stretched deep and straight. His hat rests over his face and he seems to be…napping.

Groves leans forward and politely knocks his knuckles against the wood of the desk.

Oppie grunts and a hand comes up to give an apathetic wave.

“Robert,” Groves tucks his fists onto his hips, eyes roaming the desk again for any traces of a meal. “Did you eat yet?”

Oppie mumbles, “Mmm.” Which could be an admission or dismissal. He still hasn’t moved.

Moving on. “You and Teller went a mile out two days ago.”

“We did.” He sounds gruff, as if ruffled.

“Could you tell me why?”

His chair squalls as he sits up, hand flattening to stabilize his hat so it doesn’t fall forward. “I could,” he rasps. Groves still can’t see his damn face under that stupid hat.

“Oppie.”

A grunt. Then a whisper.

“Sorry, what?”

“Hhh-” Robert’s already thin frame seems to shrink in on itself, “Hg’Djsk!”

Ah. Not a word. A sound. Groves sighs. His left hip dips and he rubs at his temple in frustration. “I need to know what you and Teller were up to.”

“Science,” Oppie says, having plucked up a pen to continue what he was working on earlier. It zags across the paper in thick, bleak streaks.

What. An. Ass. He’s not usually this difficult. Fed up with Oppie’s shit, Groves lurches over the desk, crunching papers and warping book spines to snatch the hat off his head.

“What the--” he growls when he’s pierced by Oppie’s irked gaze.

It’s quite apparent why Oppie chose to hood his face. His eyes are pink around the edges, watery and sunken. His normally pronounced cheekbones look more like the ridges of a cliff. His nose is sunny and the skin around it is flaky.

Groves opens his mouth to say something, but Oppie reaches his hand out, fingers opening in a web. “I’ll thank you not to take my things.” His voice sounds like grated gravel, his eyes bright and defiant.

Groves huffs, twirling the hat, taking in the knobs of Oppie’s elbows and wrists. “When did you eat last?”

Oppie withdraws and threads his fingers. “I had an orange.”

“A whole orange?”

“Define whole.”

Damn theorists.

“Hh-Nk’dj!” He sniffles and flicks the knob of a knuckle under his septum.

Oppie extricates himself from his seat, inelegantly stumbling into the edge of the desk. His fingers brush the edge to catch himself, shifting his mess and causing marbles to roll off and strike the dirt-caked floor, the sound blaring like sparks in a silent sky. Groves winces. Oppie doesn’t. He takes the chance to snag a cigarette and light it, sucking the cherry into a small firework and hissing the cloud through his nose.

His chest rumbles in displeasure and he chuffs through a halfhearted cough.

“You alright there, Oppie?” Sometimes the heat and the dusty winds can get to him. Gives him particularly bad days, especially when he replaces food with cigarettes.

Another, “Mmm…” as he meanders away from the desk, following the clear path the fallen marbles have made in the dusty floor. Oppie leans forward tilting his foot from heel to toe to stop their trajection. They click together at his shoe and wobble to a stop.

“Chain reactions,” he murmurs, reaching down to pluck them up. He thumbs the now grimy spheres, rolling them into his palm and staring into their glassy surface.

Groves is growing impatient. He spreads forked fingers over his T-zone and sighs. But Oppie twins his exhale, and Groves’s gaze flicks to his friend.

Oppie pauses at the naked window, his nose pink and twitching. His parched lips pop open, gaze heavy as he draws in deep breaths that expand his rangy form. He cinches his nose shut, thumb on one side, fingers curled on the other.

“Hg-chsk! Hhgieh--” The ghost of vowels, like tiny sparks halfway hidden under a throat clear following the sneeze. Then another buildup--merely a wheezed jumble of voiceless twists of the tongue, “Hdj’Kssgk!”

He recovers though, using the soft area of his wrist to wipe and rub his insubordinate nose.

He holds his expiring cigarette between scissored fingers gazing out the murky window. It’s overcast now, the sun has retreated behind ash colored clouds. Tiger stripes across a steely backdrop of bleakness.

The wind had been streaking and stripping paint off buildings. Sunshowers come at random times of the day with no warning. Sullen and gray and at times, relentless. You can’t trust the sky.

“What do you know about them?”

Groves frowns. “What?”

Oppie lifts his finger to his lips, hesitating. The tails of smoke curl and fork around his face, making him blink as he…”Hh’g’h-!” He notches his nose into the crook of his tented hands, “HNG’djchSJ-eh!” When he pulls away, his cigarette is damp and useless. His fingertips are trembling and shiny with mist. His dark lashes are dewy with spent tears. But he looks more annoyed than anything. A small knot forms when he frowns and he rubs his fingers together before continuing. He turns on the tip of his toe and looks at Groves.

“You set one off when you walked into this room,” he says.

Groves pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oppie, what the hell are you talking about?”

Oppie waves flaccidly as if it it were a completely obvious deduction.

“Chain reactions.”

He exhales, tucking his hands behind his suspenders and strolls forward. Usually his stride is grace and confidence but there’s something else today. A wilt in the watery blue of his eyes. He halts abruptly in front of Groves and meets his wooden expression.

“Do you know of them?”

Groves pops his lips open. “Yes?” He groans and rolls his entire head. He really doesn’t have time for Oppie’s brand of extra difficult bullshit today. “I need to know what you two were doing a mile out.”

“I’ve told you. Science. Conversation. Similar to what you and I are doing at this moment.”

“How so?”

“Teller gave me some advice before we parted.”

Groves perks at this. “What advice?” Intel? Suspicious behavior? Someone to watch out for? He shifts closer to Oppie who mimics him conspiratorially. The scientist winds a lanky arm around Groves, dangling long fingers to drum at his shoulder.

He exhales, the digits of his right hand wrapping a tight knot into Grove’s jacket as if doing so were the only thing keeping him upright. He sniffles, breaths coming more labored. Groves can feel them shuddering through his chest and settling into his throat. He shoves his free palm under his nose, using the curtain of his fingers to block his nostrils.

“Hdg’SCH!” This one comes harsher. Rattling the bony cage of his lungs. Draining what little energy his words seemed to have. His shoulders cinch and he sputters out a few wet coughs. Air whipping back and forth through his lips, voiceless whispers sighing through the desert of his mouth.

“Je--Oppie are you--”

Oppie holds up a finger and gives a sharp shake of his head. Groves falls silent at his serious look.

He pulls close. Close enough for Groves to hear his breaths tinge with a wheeze. Close enough to hear his words bogged down with hints of congestion. Close enough to see the sharper shade of pink his nose had turned since Groves had entered the room.

Oppie speaks.

“There’s a virus going around.” he says, voice cracked and dry like baked desert earth. “Dont,” he rasps, throat bobbing, “get…sick.”

A rough, patchy snuffle and he releases Groves, drifting away as if he’d never touched a hair on his head.

Groves blinks, tiny threads of electricity running from his ears through his limbs like a livewire. It’s not until Oppie has melted away like some sort of molten gas that it hits him.

“Wait--what?”

But Oppie is already smoothing his hat into the proper position and plugging his lips with another cigarette.

“Wait, Oppie, you’re--”

Oppie sucks the newly crowned paper of his cig and closes his eyes, filling the air with its toxicity. He begins to stroll, a tilt in the way he holds himself. A tremor in his voice that only those who know him would notice. He holds up his hand in a mock wave as he departs. “Just making sure you’re in the loop, sir.”

Well. That certainly explains his cranky behavior.

#I crawled out of my windowless hole for this #I just wanted to whump a sarcastic nerd #don't @ me for historical accuracy I know nothing about WW2 #ok I'm gonna go binge watch Pky Blinders #snz #snz fic #sicktember #illness #sneeze fic #oppen//heimer #sickfic

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corruptedroses · 11 months

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— Peg me, Darling

ask box open | commissions open | hit the tip jar | Patreon | masterlist

Fandom — Honkai Star Rail Pairing — Sampo Koski/AFAB! reader (no pronouns used) Summary — Sampo was always full of surprises, but sometimes, you surprise him Content Warnings — top reader, pegging, use of sex toys (anal plug, lube, strap on, vibrators), overstimulation (male receiving), anal (male receiving), handjobs, cum as lube (in handjob), use of nicknames (darling (both himself and you), princess (you)), bratting (Sampo), suggestive ending Word Count — 1.7k Author's Note — thank you so much everyone for the recent influx of followers/support on my works. This is mostly self-indulgent but I wanted to take the time to thank everyone for joining me on my horny rambles. This will be posted on ao3 as well

Sampo Koski was always full of surprises, one just so happened to be wanting to be willingly pegged.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, his confident smirk lighting up the room, you couldn’t help but fumble a bit with the latches around your waist. He was just about to get his ass railed and yet he was sitting there, being a cocky shitlord as he watched you put on the straps, watched as you fit the harness to your waist and the silicon dick bobbed a few times from each movement.

You were going to enjoy wiping that smirk off his face.

“You said you prepped beforehand?” His text messages had ingrained themselves into your mind at this point, sunken into the crevices of each grove of your muscle, but yet it stuck to the front, repeating over and over. This man had not only agreed to let you fuck him but had even prepared everything in advance to make things easier. He bought the toys and the strap, he prepped the lube that sat on the bedside table of his shitty little apartment, the lid already popped open as lube dripped from the squeeze bottle and onto the scratched wood.

Yet he didn’t move from that bloody bed, instead crossing one leg over another, his cock angry and red as it pressed up and against his chiselled stomach. “Sure did, couldn’t let my darling be bored by prepping me. You want the fun part.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the way his hands danced through the air as he spoke, making it seem like he was the main attraction — which, to be fair, he was — of a circus, but yet as you finally closed the distance, leaning towards the lube on the table, you held the bottle in your hand, feeling the weight of it in your palm. “Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking about how we’re going to do this.” Your hair was pushed away from your face as Sampo raised his head to meet your eye, watching as those emerald greens danced around in their silly mirth like they usually did. He was such a fool, but also yet such an angel. “Is there anything you want to do?”

“As long as I get to make you happy, I don’t mind.” You were meant to be the one in control but yet he seized it so casually, feeling the way his lips brushed against your stomach as he leaned forward, humming softly against your skin. “But I do want to control the vibrating bit in your cunt.”

You fucking knew that part wasn’t just some weird insertion. “Sampo.”

“Couldn’t leave you out of all the fun.” Watching the way he leaned back onto his bed, his shoulder blades hit the surprisingly made sheets, his years of running from the Silvermane guard had defiantly paid off in terms of flexibility as he so easily pulled his legs over his head and caused the chain between the purple nipple clamps to jingle with movement.

“Is…” That was a plug, one that stood out against the pale skin of his ass and covered his puckered hole. Purple, shiny, you swore the thing had glitter as you stared at it. Is this what he had meant about preparing? Your snickers turned to giggles quickly, unable to contain yourself as you looked up at him, “had to match it to your hair?”

“You said purple looks nice on me.” Well, it most certainly does, but yet there was something about him paying attention to it for his outfit compared to shoving it up his asshole. As he began to blabber on about purple, your fingers came to the flared head of the plug, letting him be mid-sentence before you slowly pulled it out, listening to the way he shuddered and groaned doing so. “Hey, that was a surprise attack!” You should probably get him a gag for that pretty mouth of his too, make sure he couldn’t talk while you fucked him, but you wanted to hear those sweet moans.

Fake dick lubricated, Sampo on his back with his legs curled up towards his face, you practically were all set, your fingers coming to rest against the back of his knee, letting your nails gently scratch at the skin. “What’s the safeword?”

“Gepard.” It was a stupid one considering the name was of the guard that wanted him in custody, but it worked all the same, watching the way his lopsided smile was wiped off his face the moment that the silicon was pressed against his tight ring. Of course, this was the first time he had allowed the lovely you to top him, but that was another story. You could see the way his eyes lit in anticipation but yet his brow furrowed in preparation.

Oh sweet Sampo, he certainly had a hard time making up his mind when his other harder friend was sure enjoying the attention.

“Oh, but first.” Something clicked in Sampo’s hand and the toy nestled in your cunt whirled to life, causing you to jolt as it started slow. “Now you can start.” What a little bitch. Letting your eyes narrow at his, you braced a hand against the back of one of his muscular thighs, the other hand coming to grasp at the cock, feeling it softly vibrate in your hand. Were the vibrations for his pleasure or yours? You frankly couldn’t tell but yet as you pushed the head of the silicon past the ring of muscle, you watched as he did his best to stay perfectly relaxed.

“You’re doing so well…” You muttered, grazing your lips against one of his calves, eyes fixated on your lover’s face, “So pretty.” So perfect. You couldn’t help but admire the way his lips parted as you inched in little by little, watching the way his eyes squeezed shut with each pant. So perfect, so good, such a nice little hole. You could imagine how tight he was, see the way he sucked in the fake dick. You wished you could feel him instead of these damn vibrations. Leaning down to his neck, you licked a soft stripe up the front, your nose brushing against the beginning of his stubble. “Hanging in there, darling?” you asked, using his nickname for you against him.

“Fine, darling, I’m fine.” He always kept his composure, through disguise and action, but yet there was something about the way his smile broke slightly, how his eyebrow twitched. May the Aeons have mercy on him, you were about to make him scream Nihility’s name. “I’m just- oh goodness.” The first crack of his voice as you experimentally rutted against him was enough to make your lip twitched up into a knowing smirk, watching the way his emerald eyes met yours.

Oh, oh, you liked this power over him, you liked watching him squirm as you pulled the strap out to the tip, making him feel so empty before making him so full again. If the sun were to explode, if life ceased to exist, you would etch the look on his face in your mind for the rest of your time on this god-forsaken planet. Sampo, under you, whimpering from you? It was too good to not remember. His fingers flexed into that pillow, still attempting to keep his composure, to keep control on the situation, but yet as you began to pace yourself, hearing the way skin slapped against skin, it melted away.

There were many things that Sampo Koski was prepared for, but none of them included getting to experience his prostate being fucked against by the person above him. Even if he had been caught off guard by the pleasure, even if he was caught off guard by how vulnerable he was, there were still some tricks up his sleeve as the remote in his hand clicked once more. Your body bent forward, your head pressing against his chest as the vibrator in your cunt sped up.

“What’s wrong?” He was able to chuckle finally able to get back his breath, “a bit too buzzy?” A long, drawn-out moan was released from his lips as your hand grasped around his neglected dick, giving a quick pump. He twitched in your hand, hard and heavy, cum slowly dribbling from the head that acted as lube somewhat as you slowly began to pump in time with your thrusts. Each movement moved the vibrator in your cunt, feeling your own juices stain the leather of the straps and down your legs, most likely making a pretty work of the carpet underneath your feet.

You needed to get those whimpers, those whines, those calls of your name every time the tip met that little bundle of nerves inside him. What a treat, to see him squirm and whine and plead for mercy as your hips hit that spot with precision, but you did not dare to let yourself slow, even as you planted firmly in him, feeling the way his thighs jolted with each stroke and fuck. Tears fluttered his lashes from where they escaped the corners of his eyes, nuzzling deep into the pillow under his head.

To cross lands and seas, to cross the stars that made up your galaxy, you would do so to meet him again, to fuck him again, to see the lock on his face again as he finally met his peek. How pretty were those tears that ran down his cheeks as you stroked him through his orgasm, line after line of white dancing across his toned chest and abs as you eased him through it, one pump after another. You kept fucking him, pumping him, until he was empty and then some, just to feel the way his cock twitched with his heartbeat as overstimulation took hold. His breathing was laboured, his back arched as he struggled to capture his breath.

But Sampo Koski wasn’t done just yet. The deal always had to be sealed.

The vibrator shut off as you whined, your own high beginning to ease away from you as you glared at your lover, but yet Sampo’s dexterous form was easy enough to get out of this situation. The buckles were undone to the harness at the speed of light, and your body was picked up and easily thrown onto his chest.

“We’re not done yet, princess.” Sampo Koski always made good use of his tongue. It was going to be a long night.

#x reader smut #smut #hsr smut #hsr x you #hsr sampo #hsr sampo x you #hsr sampo x reader #hsr sampo smut #honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x reader smut #honkai star rail x you smut

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the-cricket-chirps · 6 months

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Winston Churchill, The Ancient Olive Grove at La Dragonnière, Cap Martin , 1937

Winston Churchill, La Dragonnière, Cap Martin, 1937

Winston Churchill, The Sunken Garden of La Dragonnière, Cap Martin, c. 1930s

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deirdreskye · 10 months

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The grove of the cherry blossoms is basically just the sunken place

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blackjackkent · 5 months

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Another visit from the dream guardian.

In the past, when she has called him into the Astral Plane in his dreams, it has felt like a peaceful interlude, a moment of respite from the chaos of the waking world.

Something has changed, though. The pocket dimension is no longer placid. There is an impressive, almost inaudible thumping hum at the bottom of his hearing range. His skin tingles. There is an uncomfortable feeling of anticipation, like a nail waiting for the hammer-blow.

The guardian is standing nearby, watching as he wakes. She is not in her usual armor, but instead a short, pale lavender dress. She looks inexpressibly tired; her eyes sunken into her head, jutting jaw twisting her lips into a harsh frown.

"The voice of the Absolute is stronger here," she says quietly without preamble. "I don't know how much longer I can resist it."

A pause; then she lifts her head and musters a weary smile. "But it's good to see you're making progress."

With visible effort, she takes a few steps to turn and sit beside him on the ground, looking out at the endless sea of stars surrounding them.

"You took an unexpected route here," she goes on, a bit more conversationally. "You did a brave thing, saving those people in the grove."

Hector lifts one shoulder and lowers it again. "It wasn't even a choice," he mutters. "They needed my help."

Again she smiles slightly. "Not everyone would have helped."

She flinches, inhales sharply with sudden pain, then hisses the breath out like an unspoken curse.

"It just doesn't stop," she groans. "We are being bombarded by waves of telepathic energy. Wave after wave with hardly a breath between them. I almost dare not rest..." The pain seems to ease slightly, and she goes on with less effort, "Each wave...a new set of orders to the infected." A pause, and then she adds grimly, "The order for *your* transformation has been given many times already."

Hector feels a chill shiver down his spine. So it is not only a threat, but a certainty, held only at bay by this woman, whoever she truly is. "My transformation?" he asks hollowly.

She nods. "Yes. But the orders are oddly...erratic, as if the Absolute cannot make up its mind. I don't fully understand."

Well, if you don't, I certainly don't, Hector thinks sardonically.

"In any case," she goes on. "the Absolute knows you carry me with you now. It wants to retrieve me."

"Why does the Absolute want you?" Hector asks. At this point, he doesn't expect a clear answer - but he still hopes against hope that she will give him something concrete to explain the field of safety she is still able to weave around him and his companions.

She hesitates, then shakes her head and pushes herself to her feet with a grunt of effort.

"I am the only one who can resist the Absolute's influence. Hence its fear of me, its desperation. Unfortunately, that also means it is dedicating more and more resources to my retrieval."

She looks down at him with sudden intensity. "The task ahead is monumental. But we're all that stands between victory for the Absolute and freedom for all. This is not just about you and I anymore. It has become far bigger than us."

Hector swallows. It is difficult enough to think about his own little problems, the threat of abduction, transformation, death...but to know that their actions affect the safety of so many others as well...

Selune help me...what if I can't do it? What if I fail?

"You must infiltrate Moonrise Towers," the guardian says. She recites it like a litany, their only creed, as if either of them could have forgotten the destination that lies ahead. "Discover the secrets of the Absolute and put an end to it, so we can finally be free."

Her shoulders sag, and her eyes drift half-shut. Hector feels reality going grey at the edges as the dream begins to fade back into the emptiness of sleep. "Now I must rest," she says, her voice following him back into the dark. "And you must carry on. Do not let my efforts be in vain."

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #i gotta say #i was not expecting that dress #like it looks fine on her but it's a bit of a shift from the heavy armor

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snoutbleed · 5 months

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THE EARTH SPITS WHAT SHOULD BE RETURNED

A chapter story for LAID TO WASTE, an occult setting. Mature content ahead.

"Something is in the dirt...unfortunately, it's not my enemies."

Chapter I ❯ THE SPRINT Chapter II ❯ THE RESPITE Chapter III ❯ ✫ Chapter IV ❯ Coming Soon Chapter V ❯ Coming Soon

III - THE MESSAGE

(1.3k words)

Maddox crumbled onto the bed and smothered himself with a pillow. He melted into the sheets, reveling in the newfound comfort that wasn’t a bed of leaves and concrete. It was good to act like he wasn’t on the run, but reality was always on the psyche. His chest raced as fast as his brain.

The dog’s mind continued, speaking to himself—speaking like it had a mind of its own. This time it wasn't even the pains. He couldn't force his brain to stop thinking about biting back if he tried. It automatically carded through thoughts regarding his next steps. And yet, all he could imagine was the road. Certainly, his captors began tracing a path, and a change in strategy was due.

His foot tapped impatiently as if could tempt new ideas on altering his path. He defaulted to thinking about the faces of those who demanded his head, relentlessly combing the woods for him—they were all led along by the rumors about the “mad dog that got run out of town.”

There was anonymity afforded by country, but once secrets worm in, they contaminate the locale like a disease. It didn’t matter where his new reputation originated once his name spread into local legend. All roads lead to the same place, it seems.

When Maddox looked up from his unsuccessful contemplation session, his eyes met the bathroom and the mirror hidden behind the door. He couldn’t shake off how he looked in the vending machine, and the reception’s description of a hoodlum didn’t help. Curious, he got up for the bathroom.

The mirror made eye contact with a peachy hound with eyes sunken into mottled sockets. His bony face was buried in groves of oily hair long due for a comb, let alone a shower. He swept some strands aside, identifying nicks on his cheek dealt by his tumble in the woods. He approached himself with weary eyes staring back at him, judging his every move. His heart tensed under an emotional microscope. The eyes were his but he couldn’t shake off his self-deprecation: his thuggish likeness was textbook. Those eyes contained no hints of friendliness, an emotional void occupied by the carnal instincts to endure and survive. His natural staring daggers were the very knives he brandished to keep strangers at arm’s length.

His skull pulsed. He winced away the ruminations. “Better standing,” the pain prompted him to murmur. The headache relented.

Maddox’s coat slid off his arms and fell to the ground. He proceeded to wriggle his arms out of his sweater, his gut reverberating at the kiss of cool air that previously wore on his expression.

Half of his abdomen was wrapped in bandages. The exposed skin was pocked with apricot tissue from wounds long forgotten. There were circles, lines, patchwork squares—a kaleidoscope of shapes that served as a tapestry to combat. At this point, Maddox knew the scars better than the fights he obtained them; he’d gotten into enough brawls to forget where most of these scars came from. He paused to contemplate a thick gash traveling right above his navel, going almost the entire length of his abdomen.

It was hard to remember how he got that in the first place—the most he recalled was a searing pain. Every wound represented a scuffle he entered with someone like himself, unfortunate enough to cross his path and pay with their life. They reminded him of survival at costs putting him deeper into moral bankruptcy. What a joke, he thought, declaring there came a point where the debt became so tremendous he was incapable of repaying it in a lifetime.

For once, thinking about the blood set his heart into a race—it tried to outpace the guilt. His conscience strained until a sudden pulse forced the bad thoughts into the back of his head. His little friend never failed to overpower his inner voice. Aloud, he thanked them for prolonging his ignorant bliss. He couldn’t keep convincing himself that the beaten road gave him actual reason to keep going. Too sworn to voices that weren’t his.

Tired eyes exchanged glances with Maddox, then swapped to a pair of tweezers on the counter. He couldn’t complain about who he was indebted to. And as far as he could tell, this was the only master who offered any semblance of guidance. He required more directions than a map could give—he needed those tweezers.

As Maddox raised the tool to the side of his head, he focused on the disheveled mutt that barely resembled him. Stringy hair hung over a tense expression devoid of everything but guilt.

The dog’s heart jumped. He couldn’t calm himself no matter how many times he did this, but he needed to.

Maddox shoved the tweezers into his ear. Pains in his mind screamed for answers as much as his chest screamed for him to stop. He didn’t. The canal narrowed around the steel, eliciting a grimace as he felt discomforted by exploring himself. When the tweezers dug in fully, he waved the apparatus in a circle. Maddox bit down on his teeth hard enough to make his gums sore. He tapped a bud and colors flashed in the corner of his vision. These were the answers he desperately needed.

The tweezers bit down. Maddox’s mind screamed: his migraine burst to the edges of his skull. He kept biting down, braving the pain with lips strained to his corners as he gently, slowly fished wetness from his canal. His surroundings switched between flashing colors all the while, as if his mind struggled to overwrite the part of his brain he pulled out.

To his left, the flashes of color darkened into a vignette—and to his right, his vision calmed.

A red tendril came to fruition, and so did the bony tip of a deer's snout to his left. The more Maddox fished the leech out of his head, the skull pulled closer, revealing skeletal contours, sigils carved into those same crevices, and more closely, a million teeth.

He puppeteered the entity right up to his left ear, the jaws of death an inch away from his face. There, he held the worm in place. It wriggled in the air.

The pain calmed and Maddox could give his undivided attention to that specter in the glass. Its reflection surpassed the mirror. When he batted an eye—past the titanic skull—he saw that side of the room shrouded in void.

“Give me my next steps,” Maddox demanded, reestablishing eye contact with himself. “After this, what next?”

The maws of the skull didn’t open. Rather, a voice croaked in Maddox’s mind: it answered, “the road goes in one direction,” in a ghastly croak that bellowed off the walls.

Maddox’s brow narrowed. The dog shook his head, batting frustrated eyes. Some friend you are.

“I want to be keen on this process,” he replied firmly. “Everywhere I’ve gone is hell. Now give me an idea of where I’ve been going all this time.”

“The estuaries.”

He grumbled, “so…the coast…that’s going to be a walk.”

“The road goes in one direction,” the entity croaked.

Maddox’s brow narrowed. He opened his mouth to bark but the entity’s voice overpowered the one in his head.

“Steer yourself forward,” the skull rumbled. “There’s no other direction for everyone on this path. Their only deviances are the time they take to arrive at their conclusions. Faster you go, faster you can mend this.”

“More time for me to prepare putting them in the ground.”

A guttural laugh echoed. Maddox's breath bounced, but he hid the intimidation behind a stony expression.

“End of the line for you, but it’ll bring the hunters into your fire.”

Maddox sighed. He batted his eyes at the skull, even though he was uncertain in dispelling the odd future. “Onward, then.”

He released the tweezers and the worm reeled back into his ear - it squelched right back into his brain. The dog grimaced, still not used to the discomfort of his new friend slithering around his skull.

“I don’t care if you win, so long as the Devereuxs lose,” Maddox added.

A pulse rang through his skull - his friend’s way of acknowledging the message. He couldn't think about pulling the leech out entirely and freeing himself from those irritating aches.

The leeches are feasting on CHAPTER IV, check back when they're full...

#laid to waste #tales gone stale #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing #furry writing #furry

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arnumdrusk · 2 months

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New DnD Character! My friend is starting a Fool's Gold campaign, and I really liked the Moshnian race in that (they're like gem people!) This is Cairnem, an aaaancient giant Moshnian druid who tends to a sunken underground grove. He sleeps in a shaft of light and his citrine body refracts it around the dark cave, allowing life to flourish there. But something goes wrong, and he sleeps for too long, and wakes up to find his grove desecrated, and his body cursed. He's forced to leave his isolation for the first time in centuries to find answers.

#dnd #dnd characer #oc #fool's gold #moshnian #blight druid #druid #ahh im so excited to play him #my dm is nice and letting me make a lot of custom stuff for this dude #cairnem #giant #colossus #stone giant #rock giant #gem giant

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sharky-the-idiot · 1 month

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Okay Okay here's all the planned areas for the game.

First Area - Plains

Two second Areas - The Beach, The Woods

Third Area - Mesa/Badlands type place

Fourth Area - Desert

Fifth Area/Final Area of Main story - Volcano Place

Sixth Area - Space

True Final Area - Heaven

Secret True Final Area - My house (Developer Craig is the Secret True Final Boss of the Post Post Game, I have a bs mechanic)

DLC That won't happen:

DLC: Eastern Land Areas - Sakura Grove, Feudal Kingdom area, Coast Area

DLC: 100,000 Feet Under the sea - Deep Scary Trench (Black Pearl Cookie Boss?), Coral Reef, The Sunken ruins of New New Hampshire

DLC: Break some Bad Areas - Albuquerque (Big ass open world, Walter White joins the Party)

DLC: Called Saul, left on read - Expands on Albuquerque (Saul Goes Missing) (Kid named Finger joins the party)

DLC: Man these kids are fucked up - Headspace, Faraway Town

DLC: Haha Evil Route - Literally just the normal game but reversed because you play as Poppy and Whale on their quest to the wedding.

DLC: Home Sweet Home - (In Game) Craig's Big ass Basement, The Temple of the Council of Craig

DLC: We do that Electronic Arts can't - Literally just a big ass empty plot of land that you can build a city in

DLC: Literally just Seattle - Literally just Seatte

DLC: Back from the Future - Dinosaur Jungle, Dinosaur Plains, Dinosaur Volcano

DLC: Back from the Future II - Future City, Future Wasteland, Future Bad Guy HQ

DLC: Back from the Future III - Far Future Space Station, Wasteland Planet, Alien City

DLC: Back from the Future IV - The End of Time

CRYING LITERALLY JUST SEATTLE???? MAN THESE KIDS ARE FUCKED UP???? beautiful.

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i-was-bored-so-this-happened · 2 months

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Greensleeves Chapter Four: Salt In The Wound

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Warnings: Child Endangerment. Fantasy Racism Wordcount: 3.2k

Xaph's party finally meet the druids, but must quickly go on the defensive

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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This place, the hollow of the grove, is damp and dank, rivulets of water running down walls covered in old flaking paint. Stone statues of animals dot the room, and more rocks that look like they’ve simply fallen from the high ceiling. Vines climb around everything, asserting their dominance. Druids litter the room. Some wander around, occupied with their own chores, but some watch the spectacle taking place in the sunken centre of the room. A crack in the ceiling lets in a dramatic cone of light, inside of which stand a tall woman with a carefully structured halo of ginger hair…and a girl. A tiefling girl, her skin a few shades darker than her parents, with terror in her eyes. A snake, someone’s familiar, slithers along rocks at eye-level with the child, scaring her into jumping backwards every time it hisses. There’s a second druid, with a headdress of antlers, who is approaching the first. Xaph makes to follow, but a hand grips her elbow.

“Don’t be rash.” Shadowheart warns in a hushed voice. Her eyes don’t meet Xaph’s, alighting on every druid in the room in turn. The tension in this room is as thin as a single thread already. Acting without thinking will surely break it. Xaph can see the sense in this and hangs back. For now.

The child, Arabella, pleads for forgiveness while the second druid tries to reason with the first,

“This is madness, Kagha,” so this woman is the one leading the ritual, the one willing to go against her god’s teachings to turf out those in need, “She’s just-”

“A what, Rath? A thief? A poison? A threat?” the last word is said not to her fellow druid but directly to the child, who flinches as though the woman had hit her, “I will imprison the devil. And I will cast out the rest.” Shadowheart’s grip on Xaph’s elbow tightens for a split-second, then releases entirely. Xaph marches a few quick steps forward, pulling attention off the child and onto herself.

“She’s a child who can’t have seen more than nine winters.” She bites out, careful not to show her teeth. She can’t give them an inch.

“She’s a parasite,” Kagha spits. Xaph can control her face, but her tail moves of its own accord, thrashing back and forth as Kagha continues, “She eats our food, drinks our water, then steals our most holy idol in thanks!” The archdruid turns her head to her antlered compatriot, “Rath, lock her up. She remains here until the rite is complete,” she turns her sneer on the child, looking down her nose at her, “And keep still, devil. Teela is restless.” Teela must be the snake, who hisses on cue. Rath tries to protest, but weakly, and though he’s reluctant he reaches for the child’s arm.

“And I thought you were druids,” Xaph scoffs. Rath freezes, “Aren’t you supposed to cherish harmony? Jailing the girl disrupts nature’s balance.” Xaph watches Kagha work through her words. She’s trying to make herself worthy of her god’s protection. Going against his teachings would not work in her favour. She would be seen as a weak leader and rejected by Silvanus.

“I hear the Treefather’s spirit in your words.” She admits, giving it a few seconds more consideration before turning to the child again. This time, she bends at the waist, though she doesn’t quite draw level, as her snake familiar slithers back to her side, “Out, thief. My grace has its limits.” Gale repeats the word with a harsh, bitter laugh, grace. The child springs out of the sunken centre of the room and in the party’s direction. Xaph catches her before she can sprint past, crouching until they’re the same height and running her hands down the child’s arms. Her tail comes up behind the girl’s back protectively.

“Arabella?” Xaph asks, her words still steely. The child nods, eyes wide as though she’s afraid she’s jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire, “Did they hurt you?” Arabella shakes her head vehemently. There might not be any physical injury, but there’s no doubt the fear will stay with her for a long time, “Your parents are outside. Go straight to them.” Arabella takes off, and Xaph whirls in a spin to call out, “Muzz!” the child pauses, “Straight to them.” Xaph emphasises. Tempers are fraying quickly enough without the girl picking a fight. Arabella slips out of the stone door the moment it’s lifted high enough for her to duck under it. Watching the child run, Shadowheart massages her hand, and for the first time, Xaph notices the black mark on the back of her hand. “Shadowheart?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Sure?”

“It’s not the tadpole, anyway.” Shadowheart insists. Xaph drops the subject, her mind elsewhere. An arrow in Kagha’s heart, for example. The archdruid is expecting to come under fire, but she is also determined to get the first hit in,

“Go on. Say it. You think I’m a monster.”

“Only a monster would threaten a child.” A monster, a coward. Xaph can think of several other words to call her.

“I know your kind. You see only villains and victims. A viper bares her fangs defending her brood. I call her mother. You call her monster. It’s no matter. I took back the idol of Silvanus and the rite has resumed. We will seal the grove. Free from harm. Free of intruders.”

“Zevlor’s people will perish if you force them out.”

“Mine perish if they stay.” Kagha’s head tilts as a new idea glimmers in her eyes, “You showed great mettle at the gate. The mettle of a skilled sword for hire. I want you to provide your services to Zevlor. Offer to guide the outlanders out of the grove. I’m sure they’ll reward you well.” Xaph’s nostrils flare as she breathes out. These druids are too scared to step outside of their sanctuary, but they’re willing to shove families, children, civilians out. The second community to do so in a matter of months. “They’re to be gone before final prayer. If they are not, the viper must strike.” Xaph’s fingers flex again and her mouth opens, but before she can unleash pure rage on the archdruid someone shoulders their way in front of her and Shadowheart’s cool fingers fasten around her elbow again to pull her back.

“Oh go on, let her loose.” Astarion whines at again being denied violence.

“We’ll speak to Zevlor, after we speak to your healer.” Gale slides smoothly in front of Xaph, concealing her from Kagha’s view.

“You will do more than speak. This tale ends but one way: with the outlander rot cleansed and the grove forever shrouded,” Kagha waits to let these words land. She holds her hands out in front of her, figuratively holding the refugees in one and the druids in another. Weighing her options though she’s so clearly already decided, “You’ll find Nettie in our chambers. I suggest you leave your hellspawn outside if you don’t want any more trouble.”

“We will not be doing that.” Gale’s voice retains its diplomatic tone while he and Shadowheart shuffle Xaph out of the room. In the next room - or chamber, he supposes, as Kagha had said - they find a circle of stone beds and tables. A dwarf, dressed in the same style of robes as the druids, is tending to a bird stretched out on a piece of fabric. Nettie.

“I see you. Just give me a moment,” She doesn’t look up from the bird on the table, examining its wing carefully. The group stays quiet while the dwarf mumbles incantations to the bird. The bird rolls onto its front and rises to its feet, “It’s up to her now. Life or death. Now, what was it you needed?” she asks, turning to the group. Her eyes go straight to Xaph, who’s about to bite out an insult, but then she steps forward and reaches up to Xaph’s face, ignoring the others in the party, “What happened here?” Xaph’s instinct is to reel away from the fingers reaching for her chin, and Nettie doesn’t push the set boundary, “Must have been fierce flames to get to a tiefling,” Xaph pulls into herself, and that doesn’t go unnoticed, “I won’t touch you. Just give me a moment,” the healer turns away from the group and sorts through the bottles on the stone table the bird is still sitting on, “I’m not good enough to stop it from scarring, but I can encourage the healing process,” The bottle she presents Xaph with is rotund, with a wide neck, and is small enough that she could curl her whole hand around it, “Pop that on for a few nights. Should ease it a bit,” The interactions with the other druids make this kindness something of a surprise, and Xaph’s thanks wait until her second thought. She takes the bottle. Nettie takes the moment of Xaph’s closeness to squint at her and assess, “Is that the only thing bothering you, friend?”

“There’s no good way of putting this…I, uh, I have a tadpole in my head.”

“A tadpole?” Nettie asks, before realisation dawns, “A mind flayer tadpole?”

“Can you help?”

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do,” Nettie promises, “but we need to be quick. Follow me.” Xaph looks back to the rest of her group, but no one protests proceeding to a secondary location, so they follow the dwarf. Stone doors react to Nettie’s presence, letting them through into the next chamber. This must be a library, each wall lined with books. A huge statue of a wolf stands in the centre of the room. By the door there are a few more stone slabs, and there’s a body on one of them. This is the direction Nettie goes in. Another table sits nearby, crowded with glass bottles. A journal. A tobacco pipe. Something in the back of Xaph’s mind twangs and she’s drawn to a specific bottle, tall and angular. A tadpole floats within an unidentifiable liquid, reacting to the one in her head. Communicating? The idea makes Xaph shiver. She refocuses on the body. A drow, dissected. Several of the bottles must hold his organs as well as the tadpole.

“This one had the same problem as you. Attacked us in the woods together with some goblins. Tadpole crawled out of his head soon after.”

“Is everyone being captured by mind flayers these days? Didn’t think it was a common experience.”

“Rather too common as of late. At least, that’s what Master Halsin suspected. A pity you got me instead of him. He understands these things. Studied them.” While Nettie speaks, she shuffles through the things on the table. The druids, the tieflings, they keep talking about a Halsin. Another druid, surely. The bear the bluejay had told Xaph about. When Nettie turns to face the group again, she’s holding a plant. A thorny branch.

“What’s that plant? Will it help?” Xaph asks, wanting to see the briar closer.

“It might, but first things first. Tell me about your symptoms. Have you noticed anything strange happening?”

“Put down the briar and we’ll talk.” Xaph does in fact recognise the plant from illustrations. Kelemvor’s Kiss. Deadly poisonous. She’d be dead before any of them could turn. Not that she’s felt any symptoms. From what Gale has told her, they should have already started turning, but there’s no hair loss, no mucus or slime.

“I want to help you, but I can’t unless you work with me. So has anything unusual happened to you?”

“No. Nothing strange, I just want it out of my head.” Distrust chills Xaph’s skin. The other druids have already proved that they show no hesitation with tieflings, and Nettie is holding a weapon.

“Nothing? You’re sure?”

“Nothing. I’m sure.” Her voice doesn’t even shake as she repeats the healer’s words back to her. Maybe if she believes that Xaph isn’t turning she’ll actually help her. When Nettie’s calm expression falters, Xaph can tell that she’s made entirely the wrong call. The dwarf lunges for her and she tries to move back, holding a hand out in front of herself, but Shadowheart is directly behind her and solid and Xaph can’t get away. The thorns slice along her arm. Betrayal runs hot through her veins, taking away that brief chill.

“There. It’s done. I’m truly, truly sorry. For what it’s worth, the potion is painless. It’ll be like going to sleep.”

“Why?” Xaph’s voice shakes.

“Poison?” Astarion’s voice, floating above her head. Has she already fallen? Her legs would go first, she knows that much. Leaving her paralysed. Prone. Totally vulnerable, “She’s poisoned you?”

“I’m not even turning! None of us are.” Xaph cries, cradling her hand to her chest. Shadowheart’s hand slides up her arm, wanting to see the wound, but she pulls away knowing that she might damn him as well.

“Us? All of you are infected?” Shock paints Nettie’s face as she weighs up her chances of managing to poison the rest of the group.

“Give me an antidote.”

“I can’t. I won’t.”

“This is not how I’m going to go,” Xaph tells her, determined, “We came to you for help. Are there any fucking druids in this godsdamned grove or are you all determined to bend nature’s will to your own?” The accusation strikes true. Nettie’s eyes move past Xaph and to the room where Kagha waits. Unease is deeply seated in this place. Shadowheart is still at Xaph’s back, indicating that she hasn’t in fact succumbed to poison yet. It’s not that fast-acting, she knows, but her brain fancies it can feel the stuff in her veins.

“Master Halsin did say the drow’s tadpole was dormant. Maybe yours is too.” Nettie pulls a vial out of her pocket and hands it to Xaph, whose nose wrinkles when she smells that it contains further toxins, “This is wyvern poison. Swear to me you’ll swallow it if you feel any symptoms. Swear, and you can have the antidote for the briar.” An ultimatum. Die now, or promise to die at a later date by her own hand.

“I swear.” Xaph tucks the vial into her pack slowly, so that Nettie can see its journey in entirety. In response, the dwarf produces a green flask. It carries the familiar scent of mugwort, a powerful if common antidote. Xaph takes several gulps and then pockets that too, though Nettie must have been expecting to have it returned.

“I’ve spent my life treating folk,” Nettie starts, still watching Xaph warily. Astarion mutters something about whether or not she’s poisoned all her patients from several feet away, “And never once seen a mind flayer infection. Then suddenly there’s dozens of you. Maybe more. Master Halsin and I were tracking them, studying them, trying to figure out what the hells was going on. Because you should all be changing - there should be a small army of mind flayers out there - but you’re not.”

“Just tell me if there’s a cure or not.” Xaph asks, her voice set in stone. Nettie shakes her head,

“You can’t cure what you don’t understand. And as much as I know about mind flayers, I can’t make heads nor tails of this. It’s one of their worms, for sure, but this one gives you powers. Telepathic connections,” this is true, Xaph knows this. Her whole party does. At their first introduction their worms had shaken hands before they had. Every tadpole had lurched at the acknowledgement of the one sitting in a jar on a nearby table. “And it doesn’t turn you into one of them. Not yet, anyhow.”

“You could have told us all that without trying to kill me. We know it’s only a matter of time, but if we were going to turn it should have happened by now.”

“Infected folks like you have been converging on an old temple of Selûne, and I’ve no idea why. When Master Halsin heard the adventurers were heading that way, he saw a chance to get answers. Joined on the spot. Whatever he found there, he didn’t make it back.”

“He’s who we wanted to talk to. Do you think he’s still alive?”

“I think so. I hope so. I’ve sent birds to find him, but they can’t get close without goblins trying to shoot them down.” Cowardice again. Another druid too scared to leave the safe haven. All too scared, but this Halsin. This bear. He sounds like the one with answers, with guts. “You though…” Nettie’s next words take Xaph quite off-guard, the tonal shift complete, “You’re not one of them, technically speaking. They won’t kill someone carrying their parasite. If you can find Halsin and get him out of there, we can discover what he learned. And perhaps he can save your life. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like you’re making a lot of assumptions that could kill me.”

“The way I see it, you have two options. Halsin, or that wyvern poison. I don’t envy your choice, truly, but this is the hand fate’s dealt you.”

“Alright. We’ll find him.”

“Thank you. It would mean everything to the grove. To me. I wish I could tell you more, but only those adventurers know what happened out there.” Nettie’s words are as light as pixie wings, as though she’d given the people in front of her an actual choice. The threat of poison still hangs heavy over the group as the dwarven healer moves past them. Xaph turns to her companions, her breathing still a little laboured. Astarion is by the stone door, almost ten feet away, ready for a getaway none of the others had noticed him preparing. Shadowheart doesn’t have much of an expression at all. Stoic. Nonplussed. Gale, on the other hand, is furious.

“I can believe she poisoned you,” he hardly waits for Nettie to leave the chamber before he explodes, “Tried to put you down like a dying dog without so much as a whisper of consent.” His voice continues to rise, and it worries Xaph. They have to be careful here if druids are willing to kill for little to no reason. They shouldn’t risk pissing them off, no matter how much Xaph appreciates her new friend’s concern.

“I suppose she thought she was doing the right thing.” Xaph says carefully, slowly, a sidelong glance at the dwarf who she can’t be sure is out of earshot.

“Right? She had no right. How dare she snuff out life with as much thought as snuffing out a bloody candle.”

“We can be angry about this later, Gale. Right now we need to be calm. I’m fine.” Xaph voice stays low and measured. Gale presents his hand and Xaph shows him her arm, the long scratch beading blood.

“I know. I know you are. And yet, a few moments more…a few different words spoken,” he twists her arm back and forth as though he can see through her skin to see the antidote fighting off the poison below. He’s the handsiest of Xaph’s new travelling friends, and it hasn’t taken her particularly long to notice that, “But you handled it. And you handled it well. As for myself, I could quite do with a tumbler full of Waterdeep Whisky.”

“If the refugees have any alcohol left, I can pretty much guarantee it’s not going to be the strong stuff.”

#rae's writing #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 oc #rae's oc #xaph [tav]#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #astarion #shadowheart

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