#this goblin has Been Through It the past few hours | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

littlejuicebox · 2 months

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The other kind of kink.

Written as a giveaway prize for @chaoticgoodstuff! Hope you enjoy the final version posted here! <3

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Female Tav

Summary: Astarion didn't quite know how to form a relationship with Tav after she rejected him at the tiefling party. But he begins to realize that perhaps he has other expertise that may be of use to the woman. Namely, curly hair care.

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: fluff, sweet astarion, brief mentions of astarion's trauma/past, lightly ooc astarion, idk what else it's mostly fluff tbh lol

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“So which path do you think we should take, soldier? Underdark or Mountain Pass? Either way, I’m ready to slash some baddies!” Karlach says, swinging her ax for show as the two warrior women chat while Gale finishes cooking dinner.

It would be at least another hour and the women were starving.

“Hmm…” Tav murmurs, looking up at her tiefling friend from where she had been sharpening her great sword. It certainly needed a bit of attention, after slashing through so many goblins a few days ago, “I haven’t decided yet, any suggestions?”

Karlach shrugs and shakes her head before turning to look at Astarion, where he is perched on a log, filing his nails, not more than a few feet away, “Oi! What do you reckon, Fangs? Underdark or Mountain Pass?”

The silver-haired elf glances up from his task momentarily, assessing Tav and Karlach, scarlet eyes narrowed in thought, “Both sound equally atrocious. But if the great Archdruid Halsin said the Underdark is the safer route – which I find impossible to believe – then, I suppose that is my vote. Work smarter, not harder and all that.”

Tav nods, considering the rogue’s suggestion, and with a final rub of whetstone on metal, sheaths her great sword as she says, “Astarion’s right. Underdark, it is.”

“Well of course I’m right, darling! Aren’t I always?” Astarion responds with a pleased little chuckle as he tucks away his nail file.

Inside, his confidence glows at the small bit of validation from their camp leader. He’d felt as if her view of him may have changed after the very awkward encounter they’d had at the tiefling party a few days ago, when he’d drunkenly propositioned her and she’d adamantly refused. He’d thought their relationship – could he call it friendship? – all but ruined after that blunder. Apparently he’d somehow misread the signs, and she wasn’t looking for sex like every other individual he’d ever known.

Astarion had considered their prior interactions dancing on the border of flirtatious, but Tav indicated she preferred to focus on their cause, not on intermingling with her campmates. He thought Tav a bit odd after that interaction, and admittedly felt a bit insulted in the moment. He was gorgeous, why wouldn’t she jump at the opportunity he dangled in front of her?

But, in the soberness of the following morning, Astarion decided he could work within her parameters; he’d just have to find another way to secure her favoritism. In fact, in some ways he was thankful she rejected him.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius,” Tav responds with a laugh, rolling her eyes at the rogue as she stands and stretches, “Well, I’m off to clean up before dinner, if either of you care to join?”

Karlach waves her hand dismissively, “Nah! I’ll do that after dinner. But can I borrow your whetstone for my ax?”

Tav nods at the tiefling, watching as Karlach grabs the stone and walks off toward her tent, ax in hand, before turning to address her other campmate, “And what about you, Astarion?”

The silver-haired elf shrugs and nods; at this point he’s taking any opportunity he can to spend time with Tav. The more he’s with her and gets to know her, the closer she will get to him, and the more secure he will feel.

Or at least, that’s his only Plan B. Since Plan A went up in flames.

He crouches to gather his bathing supplies from his pack before coming closer to the warrior woman currently waiting for him, “I suppose I could do with a bit of a bath. It isn’t hair wash day, but–”

“It isn’t hair wash day?” Tav interjects, her eyebrows furrowing at the vampire, “You don’t wash your hair every day? Isn’t that… gross?”

The rogue pauses and blinks at the woman, tilting his head just a fraction as he assesses her, “Darling, please tell me you are not washing your hair every day. I understand on the days we are soaked in blood and guts it is a necessity… but, certainly you haven’t washed your hair every single day for the past three days when we have done nothing apart from lounge in camp and prepare to move onto the next part of our journey… right?”

Tav cocks her head to the side, mirroring Astarion’s bewildered expression as she asks, “Should I… not be?”

That explains quite a bit, Astarion thinks, as his eyes roam over the unruly curls springing from the crown of Tav’s head. He’d thought it was perhaps an odd stylistic choice, or she simply did not care about the state of her hair, but maybe it was merely ignorance. Perhaps no one ever showed her how to care for the red, curly locks cascading like a lion’s mane around her face.

A small wave of sympathy crosses Astarion’s heart; he internally smashes it down before the wave grows into a tsunami. Best to not care too much about this woman, she could turn into a mindflayer at any moment, after all. And then he’d have to slice her to ribbons, as previously agreed upon.

“Ah.. well, darling. It isn’t wrong, exactly,” He starts, his eyes shifting away from Tav’s face as he tries to delicately address the matter, “It’s just… with a hair texture like yours, you aren’t doing yourself any favors.”

Tav simply blinks in response, her expression vacant; she is not understanding Astarion’s meaning.

The rogue sighs and shakes his head slightly. Well, he at least tried to be delicate, but that did not seem to sink in. More direct, it is.

A vague gesture to his friend’s red curls and then Astarion explains, “Your hair is dry, Tav. That is why it is difficult to maintain and why you’ve broken more than one comb trying to drag it through that unruly mane.”

A flicker of embarrassment crosses Tav’s face and the rogue groans. He doesn’t know how to navigate feelings and friendships; his relationships with his siblings had been much less work… not that he particularly enjoyed those relationships or cared if the other spawn liked him. But he wanted Tav to like him, if only for his own motives, of course.

“It’s really… not all that bad, darling. But perhaps I could help you, give you a few pointers? I think your hair could be quite gorgeous – your best feature, even, given the proper care. It’s rare to see a natural redhead like you, it already captures a lot of attention… let’s make it something awe-inspiring.” Astarion says, gently, his hand coming out to tug at one frizzy curl as he tries to smooth over the insult he just threw at his campmate.

But, hells, someone had to tell her eventually. Even his siblings wouldn’t let him walk around with such unruly locks.

“O-oh, sure, okay,” Tav agrees, still trying to overcome the embarrassment as her own hand comes to rake through her hair and gets caught in a nest of tangles, instead. She grimaces; Astarion had a point, it seemed, “Do I need to bring anything special?”

“Let me go back to my tent and grab my hair washing supplies, I’ll meet you down by the river in a bit, hm?” Astarion responds with a small smile before turning back toward his tent and disappearing within the shelter to rummage through his vast collection of shampoos, oils, perfumes, and soaps.

Tav merely hums in agreement and then heads in the opposite direction, toward the camp-designated bathing spot, towel in hand. As she’s walking, she pulls a curl in front of her eyes and examines it with a new perspective. Gods, it really was dry.

When Astarion makes his way to the river, he finds Tav waist-deep in the rushing water, still in her smallclothes and soaping her arms. Her back is turned to him, and the sun is catching her hair in a flattering light. Autumnal colors of red, orange, burgundy, and wine dance around her crown in the form of spiraled locks, and the elf cannot help but admire the natural beauty bestowed upon the woman.

Her hair was a gorgeous tone, reminiscent of the warmth of a fire or a deep, satisfying vintage wine. But it wasn’t just Tav’s hair that was attractive… she really was quite striking. With the woman unaware of his presence, Astarion took a quick moment to admire the rippling muscles in her back and the strong, lithe arms she used to carry her greatsword.

No one with working eyes — or eye, perhaps, — could deny that Tav was attractive. After all, there was a reason Astarion had chosen to proposition her over the others in the first place.

But, sex or not, the woman certainly seemed to favor him, which meant more than once since their journey began, she’d sliced clean through an enemy at his back, and fed him servings of her own blood.

So now, it was his turn to repay her somehow, some way. And if Tav didn’t accept his physical talents, well, then at least she would accept this.

“Hello, darling,” Astarion calls, causing the woman to turn and acknowledge him with a small smile and wave. He quickly places his bathing kit on the river bank and undresses to just his briefs before tentatively placing a foot in the water. It was warm enough to be tolerable, so the rogue shrugged and grabbed his wooden comb and conditioner before sinking into the water and wading toward his campmate.

“Alright, now, get down into the water,” The elf directs as he shakes the small bottle of conditioner in his hands, prepping the contents.

“But I thought you said I’m not supposed to wash my hair every–” Tav begins, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she eyes the bottle, before the displeased glare from Astarion causes the question to die on her lips.

“Do you want my help, or do you want to continue to look like a sheep desperately in need of shearing, darling?” Astarion asks with a soft sigh as he pops the top of the bottle open and gives it a whiff, “Just bend down and trust me. Oh and here, hold these for a moment.”

Tav grabs the comb and bottle she’s offered and then does what she’s asked. When she’s shoulder-deep in the water, she feels Astarion’s hand guiding her to tip her head back. She follows the directive and is soon greeted by the vision of Astarion’s face hovering above hers, scarlet eyes intensely concentrated as he drags his hand through her curls.

“Your hair texture is a bit different from mine…” He muses idly, as he works to fully saturate the thick locks of hair on his companion’s head with water, “But this conditioner should work, for now. We’ll have to find something better suited to you, when the opportunity allows.”

Astarion takes the comb from Tav’s hand without a word and uses the tool and his own fingers to work out some of the ever-present knots in the woman’s hair. She watches him for a moment before closing her eyes and simply allowing Astarion to work at the task. Before long, the elf is gently guiding her head back up, into a straight position, and trading the comb for the bottle.

“Close your eyes,” He directs, and Tav obliges again as the vampire places a generous amount of rosemary-scented conditioner in his hand. Then he gives the bottle back to Tav, rubs his hands together, and begins to work the creamy liquid through her hair, starting at the ends and slowly wandering up toward her scalp. About midway through he’s reaching for the bottle again, “Who knew your hair was this thick? You’re about to use up all of my favorite conditioner, darling.”

Tav frowns slightly at this comment, trying to turn and face Astarion before he quickly redirects her head with a soft click of his tongue, “I’m sorry… I can buy you more when we run into our next merchant.”

“Oh, it’s no matter. I stole this bottle anyway– I’m sure I can steal another along the way,” Astarion says with a slight dismissive flip of his hand, “Besides, I think you need it far more than I do, right now.”

His fingers trail up to the crown of her head as he speaks, and Tav’s eyes flutter closed once again as Astarion begins to massage the product into her roots. He moves in sections, parting her hair every few inches and attentively working the conditioner into her scalp. The sensation was quite enjoyable; if the water were a bit warmer, Tav might have fallen asleep under Astarion’s gentle, methodical touch.

Far too quickly for her liking, Astarion completes the task and gently pats her shoulder to signal he’s done for now. He grabs his comb and what little remains of his favorite hair product from the woman.

“You need to let that sit for a few minutes, at least, little sheep.” Astarion directs before wading back to the river bank and dropping his supplies with the rest of his things. Tav watches as he grabs his own bar of soap and begins to bathe himself.

“How did you learn about all this?” The woman calls to the rogue as she wades through the water, mostly for something to do as she waits.

Astarion hums as he considers the question; there is a pause in the conversation as he drops his bar of soap back along the bank and uses his hand to rinse the soapy remnants along his body. Tav cannot help but follow his fingers as they graze along his chest and arms, dispersing droplets of water that drizzle down the lines of his abs and back into the river.

“I wish I could tell you how I learned, but I can’t recall…” He murmurs, his voice sounding a bit far away as he thinks, “It feels like something ingrained in me like speaking Elvish or the ability to read, for instance; someone must have taught me… I suppose one of my parents, or someone else in my family.”

A small look of sadness flits across Tav’s face but she quickly hides it before her companion notices, knowing that Astarion will balk at anything resembling pity. She often forgets how little memory he has of his past before Cazador, how much he’d endured until now, and how much of himself he’d lost in the process of it all. He was so good at pretending to be normal and happy-go-lucky… but then, they were quite alike in that aspect, weren’t they? It was easier to be the unbothered goofball than to be anything that resembled fragility, wasn’t it?

Tav chooses to not respond to his answer, knowing nothing she says can truly make his situation better, and instead grabs a conditioner-covered curl, “Can I rinse this now?”

Astarion nods as he climbs out of the water and begins gathering his own things, “Yes, go rinse it out – make sure there’s none of that left in your hair, and then come find me back at camp for the next part. I’m going back — it’s growing a bit cold.”

“Next part?” Tav responds with a soft whine, watching as Astarion towels himself off, “There’s more?”

“Darling, if you want your hair to look even close to as good as mine, there is a lot of work involved. Now hurry up, so we can be done before Gale is ready to feed you whatever disastrous concoction he’s made tonight,” Astarion says, his tone a bit joking as he begins slipping into a new set of camp clothes.

The woman groans and obeys the rogue’s directions, turning away as Astarion strips off his undergarments to replace them with new ones, and wading once again toward the deeper water. Tav dunks herself down into the river and begins running her fingers through spirals of hair, massaging out any slippery residue she finds along the way. With the amount of hair she had, it took several minutes, and by the time she was finished, Astarion was already gone. The sun was just beginning to kiss the earth in its descent toward night.

Tav quickly toweled herself off and dressed. Then she wrapped her hair up in the towel, twisting it around her locks in a turban-like fashion before collecting her belongings and making the short journey back to camp.

“There you are, darling,” Astarion calls as he catches sight of Tav, before patting a stump near his tent, “Come over here so I can finish defining your curls.”

Tav furrows her eyebrows in confusion, because she has no idea what Astarion means, but she’s learned to simply shut up and go along with whatever he says for this entire endeavor. As she comes closer, she notices the elf has laid out even more supplies for her hair.

Did it really require all of this?

She sighs and takes a seat. Astarion immediately sets to work, placing a dollop of some sort of creamy pomade-like mixture in his hand and working it through her hair again. After that, he begins sectioning her hair into pieces, directing Tav every once and a while to hold this or that piece as he combs through her locks.

“Ouch–” Tav hisses as the elf seems to be pulling at the base of her scalp. She moves to jerk away and Astarion huffs impatiently behind her, one of his hands coming to press against her forehead and prevent her movements.

“Darling, for gods sakes, hold still.There isn’t beauty without a bit of pain, and honestly, for such a warrior, you’re being a wimp,” he chastises before continuing on with the task.

“What are you doing?” Tav asks through a sharp intake of breath, scrunching her eyes closed as she tries to endure the uncomfortable sensation of her hair being repeatedly tugged at the root.

“Defining your curls, dear. I’m twisting them around my finger, see?” Astarion responds before coming in front of her and pulling a piece so he can demonstrate the process. Tav watches with a mixture of interest and confusion as he continues, “This will help all your curls to look more uniform. But seeing as you’ve done very little to your hair in all this time, I suppose it would make sense that you’re a bit tender-headed. I promise I am trying to be gentle.”

Tav grimaces as Astarion continues his task, letting out little squeaks of pain that the rogue pointedly ignores. Eventually, Karlach comes over to return the whetstone she borrowed. The tiefling lingers to chat, which distracts Tav just enough to mostly forget about the pain in her scalp. When Astarion announces he’s done, the woman is genuinely surprised and moves to touch her hair; she is met with a quick swat from the elf.

“Ah-ah!” He admonishes before grabbing a bottle and spraying her hair with another rosemary scented product, “You can’t touch it until it’s completely dry.”

“Why the hell not?” Tav groans again, suddenly growing impatient. Her stomach growls, and she sighs as she realizes she is also growing hangry.

“You’ll undo all my hard work! Just wait.” Astarion responds as he stows away all his beauty products, “And anyway, it looks like Gale is just about done with dinner. We can go sit by the fire as you eat and that will dry your hair faster.”

Dinner was… acceptable. Gale did the best he could with the two rabbits Astarion hunted that morning, a handful of potatoes, one onion, and a couple of carrots. They did not have the luxury of seasonings most of the time, so it was quite typical for the nightly stews to taste gamey… tonight was no exception.

Astarion takes a few drinks from Tav’s wrist after she finishes dinner. Once he retracts his fangs from her flesh, he lifts his hand to gently feel her curls. After a moment assessing his creation, he grins at the woman and says, “They’re finally dry, darling. Took long enough, hm? Now, let’s get you in front of a mirror so you can see my masterpiece.”

Tav is flabbergasted by what she sees in the mirror. For the first time in… well, ever, her hair looks like it belongs to one of the beautiful maidens in an oil painting. Her hand comes up to gently touch the soft, spiraled locks and confirm that this perfect head of hair is, in fact, on her head and not somebody else's.

“What do you think?” Astarion prompts, his voice containing the smallest bits of apprehension as he lifts a hand to fuss with Tav’s hair, placing it just so.

“It’s great,” Tav responds, her face breaking into a wide smile that causes the tension in Astarion’s shoulders to dissipate, “Thank you… really.”

Astarion smiles and nods, suddenly unsure how to respond to the genuine gratitude in Tav’s voice. So instead he chuckles a bit and rolls his eyes before saying, “What on earth would you do without me?”

“Continue to look like a sheep in need of shearing, I guess,” Tav jokes, sticking her tongue out as she gently bumps her elbow into Astarion’s rib in jest, “That was mean, by the way.”

“I prefer honest, darling,” Astarion quips with a small chuckle, his fingers still fussing with the woman’s curls, “And anyway, you no longer look like a little sheep. You look beautiful.”

Tav is not used to being called beautiful. Strong or brave, perhaps, but beautiful… never. Until now. The compliment catches her off guard and her eyes widen for just a moment. The elf notices her shock and his brows crinkle as he pauses the primping to analyze the woman’s face.

“Certainly you know you’re beautiful…” The rogue continues, his hands starting to work at the curls again, “I’m sure I’m not the only–”

Astarion trails off when Tav shakes her head from side to side as her face begins to blush, the shade of her skin suddenly resembling the shade of her hair. Her voice is quiet, and crackling with a bit of emotion as she says, “No one says that. They just call me strong, or brave… or fierce.”

The elf tilts his head to the side as his eyes roam across Tav’s face once again. How interesting, he thought, to be lauded for things apart from your beauty. He’d never experienced such a thing, himself… though he thinks he would like to. But it almost appeared as if Tav had the reverse experience to his.

“Well… surely you can be strong and beautiful, hm?” Astarion asks with a raised eyebrow, trying once again to smooth out the awkwardness he felt creeping between them, though he didn’t exactly know why it often felt like that. He moves to affectionately tug another lock of Tav’s hair and smiles playfully, “And with hair like this, dear, no one can deny your beauty. It would be an insult to my skills, frankly.”

Tav snorts a laugh at this, eliciting a genuine, fang-filled grin from the rogue. Then he produces a bandana from his pocket and flourishes it in front of the woman, “Now let’s get your hair wrapped up. I’m exhausted and I want to go to bed, but I will not allow you to ruin my masterpiece overnight with all your thrashing about in your bedroll. You’re quite noisy, you know? And you snore.”

“I do not!” Tav protests as Astarion clicks his tongue at her and shakes his head, all while bundling her curls into the bandana and deftly tying a knot to keep it all in place.

“You’re a terrible liar, dear, I’m surprised your nose isn’t growing this instant,” The elf murmurs, his finger coming to affectionately boop the woman’s nose before he bids goodnight and wanders back to his tent for bed.

Tav rubs her own nose as she yawns and heads back to her own tent, on the other side of camp. She tucks herself into her bedroll and smiles as she stares up at the canvas ceiling of her shelter. Someone really said she was beautiful; a small giggle escapes her lips as she thinks about it.

Before long, Tav falls asleep. And for the first time in a while, she sleeps peacefully, without any thrashing about or snoring. Perhaps it was because her hair – and her heart – were both impeccably well-taken care of tonight.

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav fluff #astarion fluff #astarion oneshot #astarion fanfiction #tav x astarion

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blue--ingenue · 4 months

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soft!sebastian headcannons - Christmas edition

Author's Note: happy holidays to all who celebrate! i've been making decorations and gathering gifts for my friends, and these thoughts have been floating around and demanding that i write them down :)

when he was little his parents told him that Santa Claus put coal into the stockings of naughty children. a few days before Christmas he and Anne were playing gobstones when she beat him in record time, and he swears she cheated. his twin denied this, of course, but he decided to take justice into this own hands. after everyone had gone to bed, little Seb had toddled downstairs to the fireplace. his magic was beginning to come in spurts; there wasn’t enough of it to channel through a wand, but his power sensed what he was trying to do and obliged. he watched as a still-smoldering chunk of coal floated over to Anne’s stocking, plopped inside, and promptly set it ablaze. nobody was harmed in the incident, but his parents later dedicated hours charming every inch of the house to be fireproof

once, before he began officially courting you, he felt incredibly jealous on Christmas eve. the annual Slytherin holiday party had been raging for hours, and would continue for many more. you, Ominis, and Sebastian had settled onto a plush carpet before the fireplace with three mugs of eggnog spiked with cheap firewhiskey. Ominis drained half his mug in one go, and emerged with a sizeable foam mustache. he was either too drunk to notice, or didn’t care, but either way Sebastian teased him for it. his laughter quickly died off as you gently wiped the foam from his top lip and licked it from your finger. Ominis had the sense to blush profusely, but Sebastian had seethed

by the next Christmas you are several months along into your courtship. he works nightly shifts for Sirona for weeks to save up for your gift. it’s a beautiful locket made of goblin metal (he commissioned it from a goblin artisan Sirona had told him about. after fifth-year he felt ashamed of his prejudices against goblins and has been trying to better himself). he’s pasted a picture of himself inside, and the exterior has an intricate carving of the Sallow family crest

he is absolutely the type of guy to kiss you under every mistletoe within a five-foot radius. if there are none in sight, he’ll simply conjure some on the spot

he never wears a hat when it’s snowing. despite the fact that the Scottish winters are brutal and he runs the risk of catching a cold, he refuses. Ominis scolds him every time, but he thinks it’s worth it when you take the time to brush the snowflakes from his curls on your walks to Hogsmeade

he has a love-hate relationship with baking gingerbread cookies. the whole process feels too much like being in potions. his patience isn’t long enough for all the measuring, mixing, and waiting for the biscuits to bake. he’d much rather pilfer treats from the kitchens, but when he sees how excited you are he makes it his mission to like the infernal process. you’ve conjured a lovely little kitchen in the room of requirement, and he’s all too happy to enchant the piano in the corner to play Christmas melodies

he absolutely makes a mess and then chases you around the table with flour-covered hands

his favorite part is cutting the dough into shapes. your cookies are impeccable, an army of gingerbread mooncalves, snowmen, and nifflers waiting to be slid into the oven. he tries to shape his into hearts. they look alright at first, but after baking they’ve melded into a series of blobs. he’s about to tell you to throw them out when you delightedly exclaim that they look just like the little puffskeins you’ve been caring for. he calls the night a success and you fall asleep together in front of the fireplace with a now-empty cookie plate beside you

Taglist:@mlktea13, @mrsbrookesallow, @ithinkweallsing, @snickette, @crispywiz

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #fluff

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gloomwitchwrites · 18 days

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Just Like Dad (2 of 4)

Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff, some humor, canon-typical swearing, Kyle is a girl dad

Word Count: 935

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

An evening of peace is interrupted when Kyle has to answer questions about what he does for a living.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad masterlist

Peace is shattered.

It always is when you have a kid.

It’s not just scraped knees or melted ice cream splattered on the pavement. Sometimes, peace is shattered because your child is a feral goblin who decides disturbing your sleep is the perfectly logical thing to do.

Wearing a pink onesie, standing in the bedroom doorway with her little fist raised and clutching a thin piece of paper, you and Kyle’s six-year-old daughter is ominously backlit by the hallway light. Kyle blinks, a little stunned by the sight before him. You shift beside him, one hand reaching out to him, murmuring his name.

There are a few seconds between her sudden appearance and the leap onto the bed. She spider-crawls like a thing out of a horror movie.

“Bloody hell,” groans Kyle, pinching the bridge of his nose as his daughter perches like a gargoyle next to him.

“Daddy,” she whispers.

You are already awake, turning over onto your back with squinted eyes as you’re blasted by the bright light of the hallway.

Before you can even speak, Kyle is shaking his head, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’ve got this,” he groans, sitting up to turn on the bedside light. You glance at your daughter before returning to your original position.

Kyle rests his forearms on his bent knees, staring at his daughter who gazes at him with a peppy eagerness like she’s just eaten a cake heavily coated in icing. She shouldn’t have this much energy at this late hour.

“Go to bed,” says Kyle. “It’s past bedtime.”

She clutches the thin piece of paper. “I wanted to show you earlier.”

While Kyle is typically indulgent when it comes to her, he’s not feeling that way at the moment. He only wants to sleep.

“It’s late, bug,” he replies. “Tomorrow.”

She shakes her head, her tight curls bouncing slightly. “I didn’t know what to put here. You don’t talk about your job.” She points to a spot on the paper, and Kyle frowns as he peers closer.

Fuck.

It’s one of those questionaries where the child answers all these questions about themselves, and several pertain to her parents and what they do. She has left that entire section blank. Kyle understands that schools do this so that the students can build identity in their community while also making connections with classmates.

But she’s right. Kyle doesn’t talk about his job. At least not with her. You, his wife, are an entirely different story. You, the one who has been through nearly all of it, is the only person who truly knows everything. His daughter is far too young to know specifics or to fully comprehend the sheer violence of his work.

“You’re right, love. I don’t.”

“Why?” she asks automatically.

This is not a conversation he wants to be having. She needs to be in bed, and Kyle should be asleep and spooning you before he has to take this feral fiend of a daughter to school in the morning.

Kyle sighs and runs his hand over his face. “Where is this coming from?”

Her face falls slightly, and then becomes steel. “I want to be like you,” she says. “I want to grow up and be strong.”

No, babygirl. No. You don’t want to be like me.

You stir beside him, shifting like you’re about to turn and join the conversation. But Kyle knows you need your rest, and this isn’t the sort of conversation he desires to have this late at night.

That hardness melts away, and Kyle’s heart fractures slightly. She’s so small and yet so determined. Her little fist clutching the paper shakes slightly as if asking him is taking all her strength.

“Give me the paper.” Her smile widens as she hands it over. “And go turn off the hall light.” She groans loudly and Kyle shushes her as she throws herself off the bed and drags herself to the hall.

The light flicks off, and then she’s rushing back to him. He pats the side of the bed, and she crawls in, curling up next to him as he grabs the book off his bedside table.

“Pencil?” he asks, and she whips one out, her smile wide.

Kyle snorts and snags it, twirling it end-over-end as he tries to formulate an answer to the questions. Some of that gentle humor slips away, falling into memory, all the lead and blood and carnage comes back, roaring in his ears.

He takes a deep breath, silencing it all.

Graphite touches paper, and Kyle begins jotting down answers to all the things his daughter didn’t answer. She rests her head against his shoulder, watching the pencil scratch across the paper.

When he’s done, he presents the paper, and his daughter takes it reverently, as if all the secrets she doesn’t have are now suddenly before her. She does not take the pencil as she slips off the bed and starts to sprint for the door. She comes to a halt and turns on her heel, running back to him.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she says a little too loud before kissing his cheek and heading out into the hall.

The bed shifts, and Kyle turns to look at you as you twist to face him.

“What did you write?” you murmur.

Kyle sighs and shuts off the bedside light. He snuggles in, and you reach for him in the dark. Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you close, inhaling your scent, allowing his mind to drift toward dreaming.

“A nice truth,” replies Kyle softly just before he slips into sleep.

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haru-sen · 6 months

Note

halsin and zevlor, the first time/moment they are something more than diplomatic allies (maybe fluff, maybe their first sex time together, feel free!) before halsin has to go with aradin to the goblin camp (ada-melodies!)

I uh...short fiction LMAO. (It's only 3,250 words)

The Nature of Guardians

Set pre-Tav and the events of Through the Gates of Horn and Oak. SFW

“They’ve been following us for the past hour,” Tilses said quietly. “Some of the guards are getting nervous about the wolves.”

“Remind them to hold their fire,” Zevlor said, his voice carrying. Damays already warned him that this was druid territory. So when a group of large bears, wolves, and badgers started to follow from a distance, he understood that these were no ordinary animals. Maybe some were simple wild beasts, but there were likely familiars and several wild-shaped druids in the mix, and it would not do to court their anger.

Zevlor stayed in the front while Tilses and Asharak went down the line, reaffirming orders. Cerys was at the tail of it, making sure no one was left behind.

“We’re taking the Risen Road to Baldur’s Gate,” Zevlor called out to a dire wolf that lingered close to the road. “We are refugees from Elturel. We are just trying to follow the Risen Road to Baldur’s Gate. There are children here-”

The wolf locked eyes with him, a disconcertingly sentient intelligence on that lupine face, before it darted off. Zevlor exhaled, crossbow still slung across his back.

They made it another fifteen minutes before an enormous cave bear lumbered out of the grass. It trundled straight toward him, not charging, but its intent was clear.

Zevlor halted and resisted the urge to reach for his sword.

There was a shimmer of golden light and the bear stood upright and became the biggest, most solid-looking elf he had ever seen.

“Oak Father’s blessings on you and yours. My name is Halsin, the Archdruid of the Emerald Grove. You look like you’re in need of some assistance.”

Before today, Zevlor had never paid Silvanus much mind. And yet, that was the god he was thanking when he and his people bedded down in a real shelter for the first time in weeks.

“My apologies, Archdruid. The young man in question was trying to aid in kitchen duties, however-” Zevlor pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to think of the foul smoldering mess Danis created. “He is, at best, a novice.”

“You can just call me “Halsin,” Zevlor. We don’t stand on ceremony here,” Halsin said, sitting on the stone table Zevlor was using as a desk. “I came to apologize for Marcoryl’s outburst. It was an overreaction. Granted, the scent was foul, but accidents happen and druids should be made of sterner stuff. He’s just…” Halsin stared off to the side. “High-strung.”

“I think it would benefit everyone if we limit who’s on mess duty to a...trustworthy few,” Zevlor said, mustering a small smile.

“I have no complaints. I appreciate your people helping to clean up the Hollow.”

Halsin might not have complaints, but his second, Kagha, certainly wasn’t pleased by their extended stay and she was not alone in her feelings.

“I know our presence is a burden,” Zevlor said quietly. “I’ve sent scouts out to forage, but some haven’t returned. I’m...concerned.”

Halsin stroked his chin. “There are some troubling developments in the region. Some of our familiars are reporting goblin movements. You might want to limit your people’s range. I know ogres have been spotted in the area.”

Zevlor swore under his breath. “My scouts aren’t equipped to handle ogre marauding parties.”

“Most of my people are not either,” Halsin said, shaking his head. “We’ll have to monitor the situation closely and share information.” He smiled ruefully. “You might be sick of my face by the end of this.”

“No, I don't think that will be the case,” Zevlor said hesitantly, meeting the wood elf’s green eyes.

Halsin’s smile widened, a little too knowing.

Heat stirred in his blood, and Zevlor forced himself to look away.

“I think we’ve finally retrieved the last of Loic’s belongings,” Zevlor said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Cerys took point on that one. It was best if he minimized contact with Mol, for both their sakes.

Halsin leaned against a stone table, skimming some ancient tome while measuring out dried herbs.

“Loic’s a big whiner,” Nettie said cheerfully as she bandaged a squirrel. It was scowling at him, Zevlor was certain. “Can’t believe a couple of bairns pinched his pouches. He’s only making a fuss because he’s so ashamed.”

Zevlor managed a small smile and a grateful nod to the healer. “I...don’t disagree. But some of the children have had rough upbringings. All this time on the road hasn’t been good for their social graces.” Though thieving to survive was something Mol knew long before they left Elturel. He was keenly aware of the fact that his people had a reputation for being criminals, and he spent his entire life combating that viewpoint. But times changed. Now he would rather they break the law than die for it.

Halsin nodded absently. “The matter was hardly worth bringing to our attention,” He set the book down and finally looked up at Zevlor, and his smile widened into something more personable. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I-” Zevlor looked away. Supplies were dwindling too quickly now that the scouting expeditions were halved. The children and the other workers received priority rations.

Three scouts failed to return, and Zorru spotted ogres, as well as some other creatures he did not recognize patrolling the nearby roads.

“Of course not,” Halsin said, shaking his head. “Hold on.” He left the library.

“You know,” Nettie said, turning to him. “He really enjoys your conversations. Your knowledge of the history of the pantheon is impressive. I didn’t realize the relationship between Umberlee and the Oak Father was so...nuanced. I admit that I didn’t expect a soldier to be so well-read, no offense.”

“Ah, well, I suppose that’s fair. Many are not,” Zevlor said, looking down. “I received some...liturgical training in my youth.”

“Ah, a cleric of Helm then?” Nettie asked.

Zevlor shifted back and forth on his heels, tail winding tightly around his leg. “I was once a paladin.”

Nettie nodded amiably.

“Will you stay for lunch?” Halsin asked as he returned, carrying a large bundle wrapped in leaves. It smelled like smoke and meat, and Zevlor felt his stomach clench.

“I couldn-”

“No, I have to train Apikusis and Rath on advanced wound treatment techniques,” Nettie said briskly. “Enjoy yourselves.” She gave Zevlor a cheeky wink, before hurriedly exiting.

Halsin began to unwrap the leaves, the scent of herb-roasted venison filling the room. “Join me.”

“I should really g-” Zevlor began.

“I got up early and hunted it myself. I might have borrowed some herbs from Inwe, but she is getting a portion for her help,” Halsin said, his smile placid and inscrutable. “You are not taking anyone else’s share. You haven’t even been taking your own.”

Zevlor exhaled slowly. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, but I know the state of our storerooms and I know what kind of man you are.” He clicked his tongue. “Eat with me, please. Meals are better shared with friends.”

Nodding in resignation, and not a little enticed by the smell, Zevlor sat down with the Archdruid.

“Tilses has done wonders for organizing the stockrooms,” Halsin said, grinning up at him.

Perhaps because there wasn’t much left in the stores to organize. But Zevlor did not say that. He sat by the fire with Halsin, sipping the too sweet tea that the Archdruid preferred. The wood elf was stretched out on the grass, back resting against the split log that Zevlor sat atop.

“Tilses is excellent at logistics. If things had not gone the way they did, she would have made a fine quartermaster for our division.”

Halsin sighed sympathetically. “So why the Hellriders then? Why not the Order of the Companion? Seems more suitable for a paladin.”

Since leaving Elturel he had often asked himself the same thing. He did not regret joining the Hellriders, merely how he left them. But his path would have been much simpler if he had been a Companion.

“Some of it was reputation. I was an idealistic cadet with a young man’s pride,” Zevlor said hesitantly. “The Companions were a newer order and lacked the prestige of the Hellriders. And I suppose on some level, the Companion itself, while a wonder...never sat quite right with me.” The Companion, the heatless second sun over Elturel was called Amaunator’s Gift, and it was meant to prevent darklings and other corrupt creatures from assaulting the city. It was raised after the events fifty years ago, when the former High Rider was discovered to be a vampire and the Hellriders fought a losing battle against the undead. It was also the device Zariel used to drag Elturel down to Avernus.

“Prescient,” Halsin said softly.

“It was mostly a young man’s vanity,” Zevlor said. “And the desire to show them that an untrustworthy tiefling could be just as good as the rest of them.” He smiled thinly.

“You made Commander.”

“And lost it all anyway,” Zevlor said, waving his hand dismissively. “No matter, my priorities changed, as they needed to.” Zevlor stared at the fire, impressed by how easily the lie slipped off his tongue. Of course, his priorities changed. But the sting of his exile was not so easily dismissed. He worked for this his entire life, and what did he have to show for it? A broken oath and a dwindling population of civilians. “I shirked my duty once, and paid the price.” He stared at the fire. “But I will not make that mistake again. I am here for my people’s sake.”

“Admirable.”

“A necessity, Halsin. Not a virtue,” Zevlor said sharply.

“I did not want this role,” Halsin said quietly. “After my predecessor fell to Ketheric’s Dark Justiciars, someone had to bring our people home. The details differ, but the sentiment remains the same, don’t you agree?”

Zevlor nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Halsin procured a pipe from his pouch. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. I used to enjoy a pipe on a rare occasion.” Halsin carefully lit it and took a puff, the fragrant smoke drifting up into the sky. He sighed heavily and then extended his arm, offering the pipe.

“No thank you. I gave it up.”

“Why?” Halsin asked mildly.

“It contributed to an image unbecoming of a Hellrider,” Zevlor said, recalling the High Rider’s words.

“Hellriders can’t smoke?” Halsin asked, a little incredulous.

“A tiefling one should not,” Zevlor said, bitterness twisting his smile.

Halsin snorted loudly. “Your commanding officers were bigots and fools.” He extended his arm, offering it up again. “It’s just us out here. Indulge yourself, Zevlor.”

Zevlor hesitantly accepted the pipe, relieved that Halsin very kindly did not say, “but you are no longer a Hellrider. Those rules do not apply to you.” They both knew it, but some things did not need to be spoken aloud.

He accepted it, taking a small draw. He held the smoke in his mouth, a pleasantly aromatic herbal taste, accentuated by the lingering sweetness of Halsin’s lips. It was almost a kiss. He glanced over at the wood elf and blew out a mouthful of smoke, wondering if the other man would taste just as good.

Halsin smiled at him in the firelight. “You look very regal ringed in smoke, Hellrider.”

“Thank you for sharing, Archdruid,” Zevlor said, returning the pipe to him.

Halsin just brought the pipe back to his lips and closed his eyes, taking his next breath with obvious pleasure.

The evening meetings were becoming a habit. If they did not see each other at dinner, well then Halsin would often seek him out later. When asked, Zevlor would merely tell Tilses that they were sharing intelligence and addressing the concerns that came from communal living.

Tilses and Kagha did not have a good working relationship, so it went mostly unquestioned.

“I...overindulged at one point. It is best that I do not partake now.” Halsin leaned back against the stone wall, and next to him, Zevlor was very aware of how much bigger the other man’s body was. He sipped his own glass of mediocre red. “I much prefer tea and honey anyway.”

“Don’t you mean honey diluted with tea?” Zevlor asked, the wine loosening his tongue. It was easy to get comfortable with Halsin.

Halsin’s answering laugh was a deep rumble that resonated in his core. The man had a dangerously disarming sort of charm. People underestimated him for his cheerful rustic attitude, something Zevlor was guilty of. But Halsin had all the cunning of his multiple centuries, he just hid it better than most.

Zevlor’s tail twitched and he took another sip of wine, determined not to overindulge in Halsin’s presence. The druid made him feel too relaxed, too comfortable, too sloppy. And that was something he could not afford to be right now. His responsibilities were to his people. He had already let them down so many times. Allowing himself to be distracted by Halsin’s considerable charms would be irresponsible.

“You look grim, my friend,” Halsin said, reaching over, that rough hand warm on his arm.

Zevlor stared at him, trying to muster a convincing smile, but he had never been good at feigning happiness. It was much easier to be a stern commander, but that approach would not work with Halsin.

“This is my face, Halsin,” Zevlor said, dropping the false smile. “My apologies if you find it disappointing.”

“Not at all,” Halsin said, leaning closer. “It’s a good face, handsome, distinguished even.” He slowly examined Zevlor with a painstaking thoroughness that held the tiefling frozen in place. “This face has character, much like its bearer.”

Zevlor stared wide-eyed at the other man. “I-” His breath caught. Who said things like that to a man like him? Halsin was...He didn’t know what Halsin was. Halsin was not one of his people that he needed to protect. Halsin was not his subordinate. Halsin was not easily defined. “That is quite the compliment,” Zevlor said, his throat suddenly dry. “You’ve rendered me speechless. I can’t remember the last time someone remarked on my visage in such a fashion.”

Halsin frowned. “Truly?”

“I-I was a military man, Halsin,” Zevlor mumbled.

“I’ve heard several of your own people comment on what a fine figure you cut,” Halsin said cheerfully. “You have quite a few admirers.”

“The folly of youth,” Zevlor said, waving him off. “They idealize a former Hellrider, and fail to see him for his many shortcomings. It is something they will grow out of soon. Likely on this very journey.”

“Live long enough, and you will realize that you have many shortcomings,” Halsin said, fingers lightly stroking Zevlor’s arm. “What matters is how you seek to compensate for them.”

“A commendable mindset,” Zevlor’s breath caught as his tail snaked along the back of the druid’s hand. His eyes widened at his own slip, and he hoped that Halsin would not notice-

Halsin chuckled, lightly flicking the tip.

Zevlor gasped, and turned his head, the heat of that touch traveling up his spine. When was the last time someone had played with his tail like this? When was the last time someone made his pulse race in frantic anticipation? Back in Elturel? Before the Descent?

It had to be a mistake. Halsin was just being friendly. Halsin didn’t mean to-

Zevlor looked back, to see Halsin watching him with those hooded eyes.

“Too much?” Halsin asked his voice husky.

Zevlor shuddered.

No, Halsin was too old not to know what he was doing.

“Perhaps I’ve had too much wine. I find myself unfocused,” Zevlor murmured, refusing to address the issue.

“Is it really the wine?” Halsin asked innocently. “I find myself distracted as well, but I haven’t had a drop.”

Zevlor’s breathing grew ragged.

“I’ve seen how you look at me, Zevlor. How your tail arches toward me when we’re alone. I’m not ignorant of tiefling body language.” Halsin’s fingers rubbed his tail and Zevlor gritted his teeth, realizing the treacherous appendage was brushing against the other man’s thigh. “I’m just letting you know that the interest is not one-sided, and if you wish to act on it, well, that is an option.”

Zevlor shut his eyes. “Halsin, that would be unwise.”

“As you say then,” Halsin said, his tone friendly and relaxed. “I have no desire to pressure you.”

“I know you wouldn’t do that,” Zevlor said. He opened his eyes to see Halsin staring wistfully at his mug of tea, still smiling, but the expression held a melancholy that he recognized intimately. Halsin led his circle much like Zevlor led his people. And it would be an imbalance of power to take a lover from those who depended on him. Halsin had similar views. Neither man was alone, but there was a certain kind of solitude that came from the position.

The poignancy of Halsin’s expression struck a chord and Zevlor’s chest tightened. He looked away for a moment, wondering when he had become so timid? Had he lost his spine alongside his oath?

Gritting his teeth, Zevlor, reached over, his hand resting on Halsin’s arm, savoring the feel of bare skin. “If we were going to pursue anything personal, we would have to be very careful,” Zevlor said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Halsin’s eyes widened. “I see.”

“Do you?” Zevlor asked dryly.

Halsin lifted Zevlor’s hand to his lips, his smile bright once more, like the sun shining through the trees. The druid kissed his palm gently, the warmth spreading along his shaken nerves and up through his chest. “I will be very careful with you, Zevlor.”

“It’s not me you have to be careful with,” Zevlor said. “It is those who rely on us.”

“Well, they are not here right now,” Halsin murmured, reaching out to run his fingers along Zevlor’s jaw. “And I think you deserve a great deal of care. I think it has been a long time since someone treated you with the thoughtfulness you deserve.”

Zevlor’s breath caught, the gentleness of Halsin’s touch taking him off guard. The damn man was too insightful, or perhaps he was too obvious in his infatuation. Still his arm moved on its own, trapping Halsin’s hand against his face.

Halsin smiled then and leaned closer.

There came a grinding sound as the chamber doors began to open. Zevlor hissed, dropping back as Halsin released him.

“Sir, the guards report mercenaries wandering around outside. They’re making so much noise, they’ll bring something down on us!” Tilses scowled as she stormed into the room. “We need to infor- Oh.”

Zevlor sipped his wine, eyes on the ground as he leaned away from Halsin.

The Archdruid sat a respectable distance away, also drinking his tea.

Tilses regarded them for a moment. “Oh good, you’re both here. I don’t know what you want to do, but there was no immediate threat, so we weren’t going to act without your permission.” “Thank you, Tilses,” Halsin said, sounding as unbothered as ever. Zevlor envied that skill. “I suppose we better go see what they want.” He climbed to his feet. “Would you come with me?”

Nodding in resignation, Zevlor rose.

“We can continue our discussion afterward,” Halsin said, his tone casual.

“That isn’t necessary,” Zevlor murmured.

“On the contrary,” Halsin said, smiling at him. “I find it a subject of great personal interest, one that requires my full attention.”

Still reeling from that declaration, Zevlor followed the Archdruid outside, to see what misfortune had come knocking at their gates.

#halsin x zevlor #bg3 #fanfiction #writing #zevlor #light spoilers for lore #light spoilers for character backgrounds

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bettsfic · 3 months

Text

it took 140 hours, but i finally finished my first playthrough of baldur's gate 3. overall i'm insane about it but there are a few things that really pissed me off. my (many) thoughts in no particular order under the cut.

i forced myself to play the full game totally vanilla, no mods even though i'm so bad at games i usually need cheats to make it to the end. not to mention i've hated inventory management in every game i've ever played (except genshin. love u, hyv). but i was patient, and i played on explorer mode, and i savescummed the hell out of it (hence 140 hours). but as SOON as i finished the epilogue, i turned around and installed 30 mods, most of which are QoL things that shouldn't even need to be modded (vertical camera pitch, WASD option, stackable items, sortable inventory, highlight ALL interactable objects).

i decided i wanted to play both a Dark Urge playthrough and an I'm Just Ken playthrough, but after making two new characters and, through my endless youtube diving, accidentally getting spoiled on what i think is the major durge reveal, i decided simply to make Ken the Dark Urge.

every other minute he goes, "Hi! I'm Ken," and then thinks about murder. it's great.

obvs he's going to romance Shadowheart (although i may download the poly mod and romance everyone).

MAJOR SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

here are my Thoughts, in no particular order, because i don't know where else to put them:

i didn't enjoy romancing Astarion as much as i thought i would, because i came to see him less as a romantic interest and ended up identifying with him more than my Tav. that said, i'm very excited to do Astarion's origin playthrough

i ended up enjoying my Halsin romance more, because it was a more traditional slowburn, and Halsin's quest was totally external conflict. on one hand, that made me less interested in him as a character overall; on the other, it was SO SATISFYING to find out he had been Pining for me the whole time. sometimes i just need a little bodice-ripper content, as a treat

obviously i'm also into Astarion/Halsin and Astarion/Halsin/Tav

however the only viable fic idea i have is Astarion/Shadowheart? i blame this fanvid

no, really, what was so different about Early Access that OP got this much Astarion/Shadowheart material? the description in the video says they were disappointed by how their dynamic had changed for full release

okay, time or my biggest beef:

Haarlep pissed me off almost enough to stop playing the game. not in a purity way, but in a "this is just bad writing" way

i mean, your options are to kill him or fuck him. that's not consent. and when you agree to fuck him, you have to roll several checks to keep him from killing you. then he steals your likeness so that whenever he has sex with someone else, you have a spontaneous orgasm

i wanted to dismiss it as dead dove, but the point of dead dove is that 1) it is labeled, and there was no indication whatsoever i was about to walk into this, and 2) dead dove implies the creator is aware that the content is filth for filth's sake. i saw no evidence that that quest was anything more than the sniffing panties buff of D:OS2

the sadist in the goblin camp? that's good filth. you have a little public BDSM demo that you can easily nope out of, and if you finish it you get a permanent buff. your companions have fun things to say. and there's no major quest attached to it, so you can completely walk past it. and the Drow twins were the same. and Mizora. just horny content for players who enjoy that kind of thing, and easily disregarded for players who don't. i don't understand why Haarlep had to be different

like, you're looking around for the hammer. you come across Haarlep, who is bored and wants to have fun with you. maybe he offers the promise of a buff that will help in the coming battle with the Absolute. if your romanced character is in the party, you have a dialogue option to talk to them about it first. maybe in parting, he gives you a hint about where to find the hammer, and it's in a completely different room

but no, you *have* to interact with him to advance the quest, can't talk your way out of it, and it leaves you with a skeevy pseudo-debuff

when i went to look it up, i saw so many forum posts of people being like, hmm this made me really uncomfortable, and (presumably) men responding, it was consensual! you have the option to kill him! and it's frightening that so many people think that way

also when you have a female Tav and you choose a male Haarlep, the animation doesn't change to account for the position. Haarlep straddles you the whole time. and that just made me interpret the scene as a male succubus rape fantasy

and your companions have to WATCH. and they don't intervene or even say anything about it. if you've romanced Astarion and he's in your party, you get one point of disapproval and that's it. like he wouldn't have an Opinion over that kind of coercion? i saw some youtube videos and know that he says something about it much later when you spontaneously orgasm, but that's it

i hope there's something i'm missing, and someone will come into my ask and go "ummm actually" and tell me some important factoid of game development that will make me interpret the scene differently

i ended up resetting and just not doing the House of Hope questline. i didn't bother with the hammer, either. honestly the whole Githyanki plot confused me and i was more invested in my conflict with the Emperor. i ended up siding with him and killing Orpheus so that no one would have to turn into a mindflayer. i was expecting to have to persuade him out of taking the crown himself, but he just noped off for some reason

this is another thing i wonder if i missed. i never understood his motivations or goals beyond "protect you" and "manipulate you." so he's Balduran and he killed his dragon and...what else? to what end? it would have been more satisfying to me if he planned to take the crown for himself but decides not to because of the bond he's forged with you. but maybe i can interpret it that way anyway

yes i fucked the Emperor

but i fucked him in Guardian form

like a COWARD

i was very torn about all the characters' final decisions. in the end, i kept Jenheart and spawn Astarion. i let Wyll and Karlach choose for themselves (and loved their ending together). i couldn't prioritize Gale or Lae'zel this playthrough because i was focused on too many other things, and i got their bad endings (although i ended on good terms with Lae'zel despite killing Orpheus?)

i played as a beast master ranger (i mained a beast master hunter in WoW for years) and i've seen in several places on the internet that it's supposedly the worst subclass, but let me tell you...

the bird companion. nobody is talking about the bird companion. by the end, it has two actions, the ability to blind, and your bird can call in two more birds. you can have a total of FOUR BIRDS

the red dragon in the final battle? couldn't do shit. it spent the entire time blinded by my bird. nearly everyone on the battlefield was dead by the end, but my bird still had over 50% of its HP. the bird is BROKEN

in my I'm Just Ken playthrough, i'm going to multiclass Shadowheart into a raven girl. the birds spoiled me and i can't imagine playing without them now

it's weird to me that there's penis physics but no boob physics. did anyone else notice that? you wiggle the male avatar and the dick moves. you wiggle the female avatar and her boobs are like rocks. even when she's lying down, the boobs stay exactly as they are

listen, i have a lot of complaints. the bugs made the game nearly unplayable for me. i know they're putting out patches fast, but i think it'll still be years before i would recommend this game to someone who is on the fence about playing it. if you're not immediately dropping everything to fuck the hot sad vampire, you might as well wait until the game is cleaner at like hotfix 856

BUT

i've never experienced anything like this game. every decision matters. every character has a story. there are so many potential paths and opportunities that it's literally impossible for the fan wiki to be completely accurate. i cried at least 4 times, and by the end, saying goodbye to Karlach, i was actually sobbing. i'm old enough now to know that these states of immersion into fictional worlds are rarer than they used to be, and i'm so grateful to this game for giving me so many hours of fun and escape

unlike books, movies, and tv, where i get invested and move on and rarely read or watch anything twice, video games are always such a learning curve for me that when i get into a game, i stay there. i have thousands of hours into Genshin and SDV, and i have a feeling BG3 will be the same. this game is so, so flawed, but it's ambitious beyond any narrative i've ever encountered, and i really admire it for that

i would love to find a Discord server for it that's not overwhelmingly huge, just the people writing fic and making art. it's been a long time since i've been involved in a fandom and i really miss it

#bg3

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lovehugsandcandy · 4 months

Text

Aerin drabble inspired by the amazing AerinxMC piece by @erixafleur here. I love this artwork so much <3

When her hand hits the cold, empty sheet, Raine groans. It’s been hours and, still, she is alone in this forest bed.

It isn’t even her bed, not technically. She has traveled often, opening realms, visiting friends, and supporting Valax in improving the Shadow Realm. But when she can, Raine stays here, rebuilding the Goblin lands in the Deadwood center. While this place may not be her home, she’s realized, in all her travels, that home is not a location, not a marking on a map, not a set of coordinates.

It’s a person.

And right now, her person is not beside her.

Long gone are the days when she would fear his disappearance. In the beginning, every absence was concerning; where had Aerin gone? Would he be there when she returned? But slowly, carefully, piece by earnest piece, they had rebuilt that which betrayal and distance had torn asunder. Now, he was a constant presence, a steady thrum echoing in the beat of her heart, regardless of how far she traveled.

And now, with the empty expanse of mattress beside her, there is only one place he could be.

She shivers as her bare feet hit the wooden floor. The moon hangs high in the sky, flooding the room with light. Shadows dance over the careful construction of the walls as she toes on her boots and slips out the door.

The path takes her past Willow’s house, over a short boardwalk, and to the magnificent tree that forms one corner of the Community Center. The building is sturdy, two floors of sprawling space designed for the entire community to congregate, and large enough for even humans to slip inside the arched door. She wanders through the halls until pausing just outside the library; from within is a distinct noise, the soft scratch of pencil to paper, and she carefully pulls on the handle as silently as possible to not disturb the occupant within.

Once she is sure he hasn’t noticed, she takes a step forward, leaning against the doorframe to watch him work. Candlelight flickers over his face, making his eyes glow over the shadows below his cheekbones, and Aerin is engrossed in the sketchbook in front of him. The tip of his tongue pokes out between lush lips as he scribbles frantically and every so often, an impatient hand will swipe at the curls at his forehead, batting them out of the way so he can continue his single-minded focus on the page. She can’t see the image, not at this angle, but it’s either a detailed design for additional housing near the lake or a more… personal project.

A few steps further and he still doesn’t notice, so she gracelessly plops into the seat next to him.

He jumps, mouth dropping open as he blinks at her. “Raine! You startled me.” Quickly, he flips through the papers in front of him until there’s only an empty one in view.

Ah, a personal project then.

“Well, you worried me. It’s late; come to bed.”

He glances out the window, where a few twinkling stars peek through the branches. “I didn’t realize, I was so caught up in-”

“-in your work?” His face flushes scarlet, and his skin is warm as she cups his cheek. “May I see?”

He sighs. “You know it’s of you, don’t you?”

“Please? You know I love your drawings.” she asks, dropping into the chair next to him, and his teeth dig into his plush lower lip before he responds.

“It’s not done yet.” He flips back a few pages, past an architectural sketch, a labeled diagram of a medicinal plant, until he stops, glancing at her. Peering closer, it’s undoubtedly her- she’s sitting in the woods, braids cascading down her shoulder and a pensive look on her face.

“Is this…?” She squints. “Is this today?”

The blush across his cheeks somehow deepens and spreads to his ears. “Yes. I saw you in front of the campfire and I was… inspired.”

She edges closer, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You know, your muse is right here,” Raine curls her fingers into his tunic, “and she would like to go to sleep.”

His eyes flash mischief and love as he glances down. “She would, would she?”

“She would. Aerin, I’m tired; come back to bed. Please?”

He drops a kiss on her forehead. “Certainly. But will you let me draw you tomorrow?”

“I will let you draw me any time you want. Just not now.”

“Of course.” Aerin closes his sketchbook, offering her a hand. “My muse needs rest.”

She giggles as he leads her out of the community center, her hand in his the entire way. And no matter how far she travels, when she returns to the wood, he will slide next to her in their bed, warm and sure, and she will pose for his art, smiling and laughing, and the portraits will serve as a memory of when her heart is home.

#aerin valleros #aerin x mc #amy writes #artists are amazing arent they?!?!?! wow

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colderdrafts · 1 year

Text

5: Now they see you

Underground visitor, gn reader x monster (male drider). Sfw. Previous Next

The marketplace proves to be a very busy place.

You reach it sometime in the afternoon – your best estimation considering the few hours it took you walking there. It’s almost as big as a small village, with several stalls and tents sprawled about a large open area. It seems it was not affected the least by the storm, judging by how the tents are all firmly in place, none of them otherwise worse for wear.

You spot some stray wooden buildings here and there, and the unmistakable sound of hundreds of people chattering fills the air, along with the potent smell of fried foods.

Most noticeable are the people, though. The ‘common-folk’, as Dren called them, consists of all manner of goblins, ghouls and humanoid beasts you could think of, casually strolling about and bartering for items. You think you even catch a small glimpse of an insectoid carapace of some sort before it vanishes behind a tent.

What have you gotten yourself into?

You spend quite a long amount of time just observing it from a safe distance to get acquainted with the odd sight.

But you'll have to interact eventually if you ever want to get anywhere.

Calm down. It’s just a market full of people. You’ve been to one of these before.

Easy as pie.

You sigh, and pull the hood up on the cloak Dren has provided you. Hopefully no one bats an eye to your form slinking in between the stalls, too busy to notice your passing by.

It's mostly food, some forged items and booths full of materials unfamiliar to you you stroll past, multiple people of all shapes and sizes rummaging around, heckling with each other. Your mouth waters at the scent of food, you've been sustaining yourself on oats these past few days - but you can't get too distracted.

You turn some heads, you note, and more than once you make brief eye contact with an unknown creature, all of them seemingly perplexed to see you. You quickly make your way through to vanish in the crowd.

Truly, you don't know what you're looking for, and feeling under constant surveillance isn't helping your nerves.

Whispers follow where you go, gentle mutterings of confusion of your presence. A sentry? Careful now, it sounds. As much as you try to blend in, you still feel like you stick out like a sore thumb.

Interestingly, though, it seems people who are aware of you are not necessarily fearful of you, but many turn as if to look for what they should be fearful of.

It’s frankly a little overwhelming, and you don’t even know where to start. No one here has seemed even somewhat approachable, and you don’t want to risk being pulled into a barter with wares you don’t want. It’s so loud here you’re not sure you’d even be able to have a conversation.

You glance around for some sort of reprieve from the onslaught of people in every direction you have to deftly dodge around. You're trying to ignore the prickling sensation crawling under the skin in your neck that’s associated with the feeling of being stared at, when someone idling just at the outskirts of the busy marketplace catches your eye.

At first glance you’d take them for human – roughly your size and shape, which is why they caught your attention in the first place. However, when they look up, perhaps sensing your eyes on them, under the hood of their cloak you spot tinted red scales making up its skin and the slit yellow eyes. As they are now boring into yours, it is a yet another reminder that you are not in familiar territory.

Wait. Your size, scales and eyes like a snake? Are those the snatchers Dren was talking about?

They’re standing in a corner somewhat isolated from the rest of the market along with a group of their own kind. You’re about to turn away, but out of the corner of your eye you register the red one elbowing a comrade to get their attention, and nodding in your general direction.

Uh-oh.

You don’t want to wait around to figure out what they could want from you, so you deftly start slinking in between stalls and people to hopefully lose them in the crowd.

They prove agile little things, however, and it’s not long until you see one you swore was where you left them standing next to a small building to your right. Looking behind you, you see two of them casually strolling after you.

Not keen on finding out exactly why they’re suddenly on your tail, you start searching for either a place to shake them off or somewhere they can’t easily come close while everyone around you is distracted by the general business in the air.

After a bit of tumbling around, you come upon the middle of the marketplace. Here you spot a small building that seems somewhat quieter than the rambunctious activity outside of it, so you immediately beeline for it.

The door is heavy, but you haul it open with a hard push, and quickly step inside and close it behind you, heart pounding. You glance around and find you’ve entered a small tavern with a good handful of common-folk sitting inside. None of them have looked up as you walked in.

Good.

Maybe you’ll at least have some reprieve from the ones following you. They wouldn’t do anything inside a public place, would they?

A tavern might actually be a good place to start, now that you're thinking of it. Now that you’re in here, might as well try and get what you came to the market for. Somewhat reassured you walk forward, though something in front of you suddenly yelps in surprise, and you realize you've managed to bump into someone.

"Goodness, I didn't see you, I'm sorry!" you blurt.

"It's okay!" comes a cheery childlike voice, and you look down.

A very small goblin-like kid is staring up at you with big yellow eyes. It occurs to you she's the first other living thing to speak to you since you got here.

"Most folks don't see me down here, so it's- WAIT!" her eyes widen in excitement. "Are you a sentry?!" she squeals, very loud and very clear.

Crap.

All of the common-folk inside are now staring at you, the tavern eerily quiet. A few stray whispers ghost your senses from the corners of the room, deftly supplying this already incredible unpleasant experience.

You try not to wince, or immediately bolt back out the door. Let no one know you're alone. You can't show fear here.

Instead, you turn your attention back to the little girl in front of you, looking up in awe with no idea of what she just did.

You lean down a little and wink at her. "I sure am!"

Her face lights up in a giddy smile baring a row of very small but needle sharp teeth. "I knew it! I've never seen one of you before!"

You smile a bit strained, gesturing at her. "Can I come in, please?"

The girl quickly steps aside with a cheeky 'sorry!', realizing she was in your way, and slips back toward a table near a window where a larger goblin, presumably her father, is sitting. He smiles at you somewhat apologetically.

You try not to make eye contact with anyone as you move toward the counter. Eventually conversation returns as the attention shifts slightly off of you, but you somehow still feel watched.

A plump woman with red skin, pointed ears and a single tusk protruding from her lower lip is managing the bar, regarding you casually as you walk up.

"Quite the entrance there, friend. Not often we get your kind around here. Where's your bodyguard?" she asks, glancing around.

I want you to lie.

"Waiting outside," you say, maybe a little louder than you needed to. "Getting some supplies from the market."

"Righto. Then what’re you doing in here?"

"Divide and conquer," you shrug. "She takes care of that while I take care of things in here. It's faster that way."

"Sure," the barkeep says, straight-faced. She leans over the counter. "What can I do for ya?"

"I'm looking for some magical advice," you say, trying to sound nonchalant. "I don't really know this area so figured this would be a place to ask for direction."

"Magic, eh? Well you'd be right," she replies, eyeing you. "I know this area like the pocket of my apron. But what do I get in turn?"

It’s a little odd people around here just ask you for payment for things you’d consider basic hospitality back at home. You’d never in a million years ask a stranger for money just because he wants to know where the bus goes. But perhaps there is a specific dynamic here you’re not aware of. Penny for your thoughts, or something along those lines.

Nevertheless, there’s a price to pay.

"Something for the same thing?" you try.

"Hah! You've just said you don't know shite about this place. How could you direct me anywhere useful? Nice try, sentry," the barkeep laughs, though not cruelly. She might have taken your offer as a jest. "I'm gonna need you to actually pay me, I'm afraid."

Great. You hadn’t considered directions as a part of en equal trade.

You actually don't know what it is people use to pay with here, but there must be some sort of currency? Dren does trades, why the hell wouldn’t he explain it to you before you left? Or, why the hell didn’t you ask?

You're about to offer up an excuse about your 'bodyguard' holding the money, when the barkeep snaps to attention looking alarmed at something above your head. Then, a small blue crystal lands in front of you with a small clink.

"I’ve got this one," a dark voice sounds.

You didn't register anyone sneaking up behind you and jump in surprise when you glance back - and then up. Looming over you, you see four red eyes staring from behind a curtain of chestnut-colored hair, sending you a fanged smile. The face belongs to a lean humanoid torso, clad in a green woolen shirt. Said torso sits atop a very large dark brown spider’s lower body. White and yellow spotted patterns run along their abdomen.

They're another drider.

You didn’t spot them when you came in, which shouldn’t have been too difficult given their imposing presence. They must have quietly entered sometime after you.

You note how people at the bar start shifting a bit uncomfortably. Some of them even straight up leave to go sit at a table instead.

The barkeep frowns at the newcomer. "..You sure about that?" she asks them, guarded, as they settle in next to you, red eyes never leaving your face.

"Of course! Gotta help out the new faces around here, don't we?" they respond with a smile, still just looking at you. They’re either oblivious or uncaring of what transpires around them, and soon enough the space around the two of you is almost vacant.

It’s a smidge unnerving.

"Alright then," the barkeep shrugs, pocketing the small crystal and returning her attention to you. "Ask away, sentry."

You manage to tear your eyes from the newcomer's red ones, muttering a quick thanks. They hum in response, remaining seated next to you.

You try an ignore their presence, focusing on the barkeep. "Where can I find someone to advice me on magical business?" you ask.

"Early in the morn' after half and full moons," she replies. "Come to the marketplace just after the crack of dawn, you'll find a big red tent belonging to a harpy. You'll wanna talk to her."

"Ah," you say, as if that made any sense. "I see. Thanks."

"Done deal," the barkeep winks at you, and then quickly turns her attention to other customers.

Well. At least it's a definitive lead and an instruction of where to go next. Now it's seemingly just a matter of watching the moon.

You turn again to properly thank the drider for covering for you before you take your leave, but startle when you find them still fixated on you. They speak the second your attention is back on them.

"A lil’ poor taste your custodian leaves you by your lonesome, isn't it? You alright there, friend?" they ask, effectively catching you in a conversation.

You feel eyes on you again from around the tavern. This can't be good.

"I'm fine, really," you say, subtly trying to keep a little distance by scooting back in your seat. "I'll meet up with him later."

They rest their elbow on the counter, palm against their chin. Their mandibles chitter quietly. "Him?" they ponder, but quickly continue: "Still! What could be so terribly important out there? It just don’t sit right with me.”

“Supplies,” you repeat. “Besides, I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that you can,” they smile. “Just figured you’d have a better time with some help? I’d love to give you a hand.”

There’s a somewhat determined look in their eyes you’re not quite sure you like. Their intense focus on you is off-putting to say the least, and you shift somewhat uncomfortably under the continuous red stare. You’re not even sure they’ve blinked.

How the hell do you get them to back off?

“Thanks, but really, it’s fine. He’ll be done soon, and then we’ll be on our way,” you say flatly. You don’t like having to rely on the lie of someone else coming for you just to get the stranger to take your ‘no’ for an answer. “Thank you for paying for my question, really. But you should really use your energy on someone more interesting.”

They laugh at that, a low breathy sound that sends chills down your spine. “That’s funny. You of all common-folk should know just how far more interesting to me you are than anyone else here.”

There’s a certain weight behind the words you’re not quite getting. What is this person’s issue? Their eyes haven’t left you even once since they’ve sat down. Are they enjoying watching you squirm?

“Sorry if that came out a little intense,” they chuckle, showing at least some awareness of your apprehension. They nod at the bar. “Can I at least get you something warm to drink while you wait? You're shivering."

..Are you?

The tavern is pretty stuffy and warm, yet you look down and notice they're right. Your hands are indeed shaking, and it's not from the cold.

Why is this affecting you so much? You're just being chatted up by a stubborn stranger at a bar – this can happen to anyone. Weirder things have happened in your life.

Granted, said weirdness doesn’t include a stranger who is a monstrous spider, and a bar full of 'common-folk', but the setting is the same. Some people just don’t quit, and you just have to make them.

Get a hold of yourself.

You look back up at them, face as neutral as you can. "No thank you," you say politely, but firmly, subtly wringing your hands to get them under control. "You've already paid for my question, I shouldn't ask for more. I should get going."

"Aw," they pout. "That's a shame. Can I at least walk you out?"

“That won’t be necessary,” you assert. Back off already.

You move to get up, but your chair doesn’t move an inch when you go to push off the counter. You turn to find the problem – and it appears a pointed spider's leg is effectively blocking any way to easily get out of your chair, and your path toward the exit. You’ll have to jump over it if you want to go anywhere. The stranger has somehow managed to cage you in without your notice.

"I insist.” They flash you a smile full of sharp teeth, fanged mandibles completing the set.

You look around, eyes darting to anyone for help, but note that, for once, no one is looking at you. It seems people are, in fact, very much adamant about not acknowledging you at all, not even the barkeep is glancing in your direction. You don't spot the little girl and her father in here anymore either.

You're alone with this.

You glance back at the unpleasant stranger, who seems smugly content about the whole situation.

"Fine," you relent through gritted teeth. You’ll have to lose them somewhere outside.

They purr and move their leg out of your way, falling into step next to you as you get up. They hold the door open for you as you’re about to exit, still smiling. “I’m Morgan, by the way.”

#colderwriting #monster x reader #drider #gn reader #monster lover #monster boyfriend #drider x reader #exophilia

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blackjackkent · 1 month

Text

Rakha gropes her way back to her bedroll, feverish, half-blind. The limited confidence with which she convinced Lae'zel not to kill her seems to be bleeding out, moment by moment. She is more acutely aware with each passing second that the worm is, in fact, taking control.

She is no stranger to restless nights, but for once tonight it is not the dreams of blood that have her twitching in her bedroll, but something far worse and more immediate. She drifts into delirious half-sleep, sweating and anxious and lost and infuriatingly helpless.

And she wakes... elsewhere.

She is conscious first of the chill. The air in camp was humid and warm, with a gentle breeze blowing between the tents, but here (wherever here is), there is no wind at all, and the temperature is at least twenty degrees cooler. The half-moon light around the goblin camp has been replaced by a suffusing pale blue glow that presses through Rakha's closed eyelids.

A voice, unfamiliar and soft, speaks almost next to her ear.

"I came just in time. You are transforming."

Rakha jumps, her eyes flashing open. She snaps her head to the side with all of her remaining strength, and looks up into the gentle gaze of a woman she has never seen before.

(A/N: One of the little joys of this game, I have found, is that this scene comes just late enough in Act 1 for you to have likely forgotten exactly what you did with the guardian's face during character creation. XD So then it gets to be a fun surprise! In this case, good job, past Roz. She's pretty!)

She's slender and pale. Pointed ears like Shadowheart's poke from under waves of thick auburn hair. Her face bears tattoos similar to the ones Rakha herself carries on her own face. And she is glowing all over with a power Rakha has never seen before. The air around her is thick with it.

She reaches out and rests the tips of her fingers against Rakha's cheek. And with that touch, the power flows down along her arm and into Rakha's skin, through her face and into her skull. And where the power passes... the pain eases.

Rakha groans softly. For a moment she focuses inward, feeling the fever ebb away, the ache in her hands and her chest starting to fade. The worm, as if lulled by some unheard sound, rests dormant in her temple. The beast, worn by the last few hours' torment, sits quiescent as well.

The sense of unexpected peace is absolute. She is still. She is calm.

She sits up slowly, turning her attention back to the stranger who has - it seems - saved her.

This is a dream, she decides after a moment's thought. The calm is real, but this place is not. It is the first dream she has had that did not smell of blood. The first to bring her face to face with someone living.

Is it possible that this woman is the source of those dreams? The face of the dark urge that has already driven her so many times?

No. The beast still sleeps. This is something else, someone else, a new touch inside her head.

The thought makes her shiver uncomfortably. "Back off," she mutters gruffly. "I have enough crawling around in my head already."

The woman draws back at once; her touch on Rakha's arm pulls away and she stands up. "Combative," she says, with a slow smile and a hint of amusement. "Good. You'll need to be."

She extends a hand. "Don't worry. You will not become a mind flayer. Not while I'm around. I'll protect you."

Rakha feels the dark urge stir drowsily in her head, the automatic instinct to lash out.

Imagine hacking the grabby paw off.

Narrator: Though the thought crosses your mind, it doesn't hold you, doesn't devour you, as your thoughts too often can.

Somehow that realization is more unnerving even than the close brush with ceremorphosis. The beast's everpresent background growl has been a constant since the moment she awoke. Everywhere except here...

The woman looks at her with a slight, sad smile - as if she knows exactly where Rakha's thoughts have gone. "Your compulsions will doom us all, if you do not work to stop them," she says gently. It is the softest, warmest voice Rakha has ever heard. "I can help."

Rakha reaches up cautiously and takes the woman's hand, lets herself be guided up onto her feet.

For the first time she properly looks around and registers the dreamscape she is inhabiting. At first glance, it appears to be some sort of garden courtyard, a stone circle surrounded by tall, grand columns and lined with grass and plants of all sorts.

And beyond it... is an infinite space. They are floating in a sea of stars, among many other smaller floating rocks and some much larger ones. And the Weave...

Gods... it's beautiful...

In her waking life, she sees the fabric of magic everywhere, a prismatic ripple underlaying the very skin of the world. But here... it is much stronger, a heavy, undulating texture of hues beyond naming, so thick she could reach out and bury herself within it even in the blank and empty parts of the air. It presses on her skin, not quite solid and not quite liquid, a comforting warmth like a blanket wrapped around her.

"We haven't much time," the strange visitor says, bringing Rakha sharply back to herself. "So listen closely. There is great potential within you. It comes from that parasite. Your instinct is to resist the power it gives, but you must accept it, nurture it. I will keep it from consuming you - but for the sake of both of us, you must learn to wield it."

Rakha listens quietly. Her mind feels sharper, clearer than it has been in days, pulling together all the threads of this strange new development and weaving them together.

The visitor is here for the parasite. She knows about the beast, but that is not her primary concern - the tadpole and its transformation is.

The visitor does not want the worm to consume her - but she agrees that the powers it offers, of control and domination, are valuable.

She knows Rakha, too. That much is clear. She would not know about the compulsions, otherwise. And the tattoos... something connects them. Something reaching back into the abyss of her memory. That much is obvious.

A million questions surge to the forefront of her mind, every answer she has craved since the moment she woke up. But the visitor is not finished.

She gestures out into the starscape, and as Rakha follows the gesture her gaze comes to focus on an even more baffling sight - an enormous, skull-like form drifting among the other stones of that infinite sea. Around it, small forms of different-colored light weave and twist, striking out against each other with bursts of energy.

Gods. What is that?

"A fight for the fate of Faerun," the visitor says calmly, answering the question Rakha did not speak aloud. "A fight we are losing - for now. You can change that, but only if you embrace your potential."

Rakha's eyes narrow. We? She opens her mouth to ask a question - and then is cut off again by a low hum of energy that can be nothing other than a rising explosion.

The woman's face twists in something like a wordless curse. "I have to go," she mutters. "The enemy is closing in." A pause; her hand rests just for a moment on Rakha's shoulder. "I will be back."

Back where? Rakha wants to demand. Where are we? WHO ARE YOU?

But the blast surges up around them, and the woman's hands flash out, shielding them both and knocking Rakha backwards as her vision fades to white.

Wake now. You'll feel better. I promise...

-----

Rakha wakes, sitting bolt upright in her bunk. Her fingers press involuntarily to her face-- there are no tentacles, no changes at all. The fever has broken and her skin is cool. The threat has passed.

It was a dream, certainly - but it was also real. The visitor saved them - for despite her assertions to Lae'zel, they were surely on the edge of transforming. And if the visitor spoke true, she is also fighting some greater war. And she knows something about Rakha, about the compulsions of the dark urge.

"Fuck," she says with deep feeling, leaning her elbows on her knees and groaning. This was hard enough already without another new face in the mix.

And already, back in the waking world, she can feel the beast stirring again in her mind. We should have killed her. Should have ripped her apart when she offered her hand. We do not need her help or her touch or her war.

But she has answers... she must, she reminds herself firmly. We need to know what they are.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #i fkn love the guardian XD #and all other related characters :P

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magicxc · 7 months

Text

Hills and Valleys

Synopsis: Legend has it that Halloween is strictly for the scares. With ghouls and goblins, vampires and werewolves, witches and broomsticks, who could disagree?

However, all this friend group wanted was a little trick or treat. Sprinkle in a few party favors, loud music, and a cabin in the woods, the myth was bound to come true.

Lurking around the corner is danger like never before, eager to bring this night to a bloody finish.

So join these friends as they fight to make it through a Halloween they’ll never forget, proving that "the scare" is more than just a fantasy.

Word Count: 3845

Warnings: Talks of Killings, Implied Murder, Nothing Too Graphic for This Chapter

Chapter 1 - Emery's POV

Series Masterlist

10 years later

Good morning Santa Monica, this is Sienna Ramirez coming to you live from Brentwood. It’s Friday October 31st as the time reads 8:32 a.m. and behind me here, is believed to be the most recent murder scene of The Resident Reaper; named after their ability to seamlessly integrate into communities, where heinous crimes are sure to follow.

Fingernails clamped between chattering teeth is the latest bad habit I’ve picked up. It isn’t until my teeth chew through the nail that I manage to force my hand away from my mouth and atop my bouncing knee, while the other reaches for the remote; fingers tracing over the buttons until the volume increases.

Authorities are unsure of whether today's latest casualty is that of The Resident Reaper but can confirm that it matches their murder method of death by strangulation. Just a few months ago, The Reaper’s seventh victim was found at a rest stop near the border of Arizona where the body was discovered some hours later. For the past 4 years, homicide cases have popped up in states lining the historical route 66 where authorities believe California may just be their last stop. Given that the prior victims didn’t fit a particular profile, ranging from men and women of all ages and ethnicities, law officials state that it’s difficult to tell who’s most at risk, but better yet the gender of the person behind these strings of monstrosities.

The remote being snatched out of my hand scares me shitless and a shriek bursts into the quiet air, hands clutching my chest until I slowly remembered that Lynn slept over the night before.

“Enough of this Em,” she pleaded, muting the tv. “You’ll send yourself crazy watching this shit.”

“It’s the news.”

“Oh you know what I mean,” she huffed.

“Lynn,” I croaked. “Every time I close my eyes, my mind races with a thousand thoughts of how it could’ve been ME at that fucking rest stop.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“I can barely sleep most nights and the thought of being alone in this house makes my chest tight,” I sobbed. “Gum isn’t the same for me anymore and the once peaceful patter of raindrops fills me with dread.”

Eyes crinkled in confusion, Lynn carefully sits next to me on the bed, a protective arm cradled around my shoulder as she rubs it soothingly asking, “what's wrong with chewing gum?”

“I had just wrapped up my trip to New Mexico, opting to drive back home for a more scenic view to clear my head.”

“You don’t have to,” Lynn mumbled.

“I need to,” I insisted, shoulders slouched as I stared at nothing in particular.

“I was four hours into my drive with enough pent up energy to push through the last three. It was nightfall and pouring rain, which was rather soothing, but I was on the verge of pissing myself.”

Silent tears streaming down my cheeks has me furiously wiping at them, inhaling deep breaths before continuing my story.

“Just when I thought I couldn’t hold it any longer, I passed a rest stop sign letting me know it’d be a quarter of a mile out. So I finally get there and there’s two other cars parked outside, which was a little too empty for my liking.”

Tilting my head toward her, I blurted “do you ever get the gut feeling that something is off? Lynn I swear the rain hammered down even harder as I sat there, with lightning spooking me silly. It was almost as if it were a warning.”

Fiddling with her fingers, Lynn proposes that sometimes our bodies know when something is wrong before our mind has the time to catch up.

Nodding in agreement, I go on to get this shit off my chest once and for all.

“Before I have time to decide anything, my legs are hurling toward the entrance and into the stall. The bathroom is surprisingly clean and puts me to a slight ease as I'm finally able to relieve myself. I wash up and use my hands as a makeshift umbrella while I sprint back to the car. As I’m running, I see this hooded figure strolling toward the bathroom. That's weird right? It's raining cats and dogs and they’re just taking their sweet ole time getting to shelter?”

“Maybe getting wet isn’t a problem for some people,” she suggests.

“Ehh”

“Still a little off putting tho,” she voiced carefully.

Clicking my tongue, I continued “the whole thing was odd, and to top it all off, I saw a brown bubble and heard the unmistakable sound of gum popping just as I ran past them.

“Finally making it to my car, I cranked the engine and peeled the fuck out of there, my nerves settling the further away I got; but to be honest with you, I just chucked it up to late night jitters. It wasn’t until I heard the news the next day that I felt sick to my stomach,” I whimpered. “I looked death in the eye that night and walked away unscathed, but for how long until it finally catches up to me huh? I feel so paranoid somedays, I wish it would’ve been me.”

“HEY, NO,” Lynn shouts. “Don’t you ever, Em don’t you ever dream of saying some shit like that again.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean it,” I broke. “But who knows if that deranged motherfucker thinks I can identify them? I swear it feels like I'm just counting down the days til the inevitable.”

Embracing me she chided, “I swear on my life I’ll never let that happen. We’ll hire every sketch artist in town if it means plastering that bitches face on every tv network available.” Pulling away, Lynn continued, “I know in the moment there’s so much going on that it’s easy to confuse the details. But usually once enough time has passed after a traumatic event, we can begin to piece everything together. So, after all this time, do you think you could make them out?”

“No,” I sighed. “It was dark, rainy, and I sprinted right past them, just barely glimpsing their face.”

“Could you at least tell if it were a man or woman?”

“No Lynn, my story hasn’t changed and neither has my memory. They were wearing a hoodie, were tall, slender, and of fair skin. That’s all I got.”

“Hmm, so that narrows it down to about 60% of Cali.”

“Pftt, who you telling?”

“Listen, I’m down for you healing in whichever way you feel necessary, shit I’m practically moved in, but I cannot watch you self-destruct like this,” she says waving the remote in the air. “Unless they’re telling us exactly who to look for, no more binge watching this assholes' increasing kill streak, ok?”

“Ok, but can I at least finish the rest of the news?”

“Emmmm,” she groans.

Snatching the remote from her hand, I press the button to unmute the tv, quickly grabbing the batteries from the back and tossing them in different corners of the room to buy me more time.

Her annoyed screech has me fighting back laughter as she climbs off the bed in search of the batteries. I know she means well, but being that close to the Resident Reaper has had me on edge for months. And who knows, somehow by me watching the news, I feel like something might come to me. Maybe they’ll get sloppy enough to leave a clue behind and it’ll be something that I overlooked that night. Just anything to put me at ease and that peasant behind bars.

Police Captain Van Gogh and her troops are working tirelessly to bring this homicidal maniac to justice, however as we roll into the late hours of the holiday night, authorities are urging everyone to stay vigilant, drink responsibly, and party earlier. My name is Sienna Ramirez, signing off for the night and until next time, Happy Halloween.

“I missed it.”

“Good,” Lynn screams from under the bed.

In a huff of frustration, she gets up and unplugs the tv from the wall; as I plop onto the sheets, eyes glued to the ceiling.

“What’s so odd about brown gum?” she inquires. “There’s tons of flavors out there, why did the brown one throw you off?”

Leaning up on my elbows, I ask “when have you seen a brown gum ever? Is that really the first pack you’re reaching for? A shit flavored chewing gum?”

“Points were made,” she conceded. “But hey, enough of this boogey bitch. Lorenzo’s hosting tonight’s Halloween party up at his parents lake house and I think it’ll serve as a great distraction for the next few hours.”

“Didn’t you hear Sienna,” I retorted, “she said to party earlier and it’s already noon.”

“Emery, this party is gonna be chocked full of people we know,” she deadpans. “And besides, the Resident Reaper can’t catch us all, can they?”

“Points were made.”

“Exactly,” she chuckles. “And if it’ll make you feel any better, we can triple up on the buddy system, so rather than two people, we can do groups of three and make it a real challenge for that motherfucker.”

“God, I love you,” I breathe out.

“I love you too. Now get up and get dressed because I have a few last minute things I need to get for my costume.”

“You’re going as Daphne, what else could you possibly need other than a purple dress and scarf.”

“I’m going to accessorize,” she sighed. “God, sometimes it’s tough being the only fashion forward one. And plus I need to pick up a few things for Jason, he’s going as Fred.

Rolling my eyes, “ahh so we’re finally worthy enough to meet your boy toy huh?”

“Em he’s not like the rest, I really like this one,” she gushed. “Now, get your ass in the shower.”

“Aye aye captain,” I said dryly, giving a salute.

|~~

I’m who every nigga wife fear, thick-thighed nightmare, I’m the boogie bitch ho I’m every nigga type yeah.

Unbuckling my seatbelt, it’s clear that Lorenzo’s party is in full effect and as I glance down at my costume, groaning in annoyance that I’ve let them talk me into this.

“Don't even think about it,” Lynn protested. “Besides, it’s too late to change.”

“Girl, whose dumbass idea was this anyway?”

“C’mon now, I thought it was cute and everyone else agreed.”

“I mean we could’ve chosen literally anyone else,” I insisted. “The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was right there. You know green is my color.”

“Turn this on,” she hissed, pointing to her head. “There’s five of us in total.”

“Rude.”

“Slow! Besides, a turtle? Girl be for fucking real and glad as hell that you didn’t have to be Scooby.”

“Be gLaD yOu DiDn’T hAvE tO bE sCoObY,” I mimicked. “Bitch where the fuck ya nigga at?”

As if on cue a hand slams against the window of the car, startling us and giving me a mini freaking heart attack.

Breath fogging against the windows, the only thing I can make out is an upturned smile on the other side as my hand quickly pushes on the lock button. A light chuckle from beside me has my head twisting until I finally put two and two together, wet palms rubbing down my skirt to alleviate some of the sweat.

“Ahh, so this must be Jason,” I asked, thumb pointing in the direction of the glass.

A giddied yelp as she exits the car and jumps into his arms is all the answer I need, eyes rolling as I watch them swap dna. Stepping out of the car, I cleared my throat eager to meet the man whose had my friend dickmatized for the past couple of weeks.

“Ohh sorry Em,” Lynn giggles, swiping at his mouth to remove any lingering lipstick. “This is Jason, Jason Emery,” she gestures toward the both of us.

“Nice to meet you, sugars told me a lot about you Emery.”

“Sugar?”

“Yes, sugar,” he repeats. “I like to call her that cause she’s so sweet.”

The sound that slips from Lynns lips has me holding back my own laughter, shocked that such a noise could come from her. And it’s then that I realised that my girl is whipped. But they must still be in the honeymoon phase cause just like that I don’t exist anymore and they’re back to sucking each other's face off.

Another clearing of the throat seems to bring them back and we all finally agree to head inside.

Stepping through the threshold, I see bodies everywhere and I must give credit to some of these amazing costumes. The bass from the music has my heart thumping and for the first time in a long time I feel the shackles of fear loosen up, my body at ease as I eye all the familiar faces. Making my way over to Shaggy, I scream the lyrics to the rest of the song, feeling every bit of turnt in this atmosphere.

Say my name like candyman and bitch you know I'm there, these hoes wished they saw me when they looking in the mirror.

Red bottoms on my feet, bloody mary on my toes, every time I pop out it get scary for you hoes.

At some point throughout, I found myself throwing ass to the green goblin and as the song wraps up, it seems the mystery gang's all here.

“Ayeee, and to think you didn’t even wanna be Velma,” Steph screams in my ear. “Meanwhile you wear her so well. Of course I would've done it better.”

“Well woof woof bitch, I see you rock Scooby just as good,” I countered. “Pick a longer straw next time and you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“Hey, hey, hey, all my bitches bad,” Lorenzo yelled. “No need to get spicy.”

“I must say, your pick was spot on Lenny,” Steph hooted. “Cause much like Shaggy, your ass stays high.”

“Well life often imitates art.”

“I don't think that’s how it goes.”

“Everyone shut the fuck up and meet my heart in human form,” Lynn screams over our conversation, wrapped in Jasons arms, his face buried between her neck.

“Ahh so this is the infamous Jason, run while you still can,” Lorenzo jokes, dapping him up.

Staring daggers through him, Lynn goes through introductions, handshakes get thrown in the mix, and Julez interrupts our greetings, oddly enough dressed as Scrappy Doo. She goes on to call us shit friends for leaving her out of the equation, but adds how she “managed to find something last minute anyway.”

Julez is what I’d call a floater. She drifts from friend group to friend group and while we’ve always been cool, she’s never really been as close with us as we are with each other. She’s always had her own thing going on and I can respect that. Come to think of it, she wasn’t invited because she was supposedly in Atlanta on a business trip. Whatever! Apologies get thrown around and we focus back on the conversation at hand.

“So where did y’all meet?” Lorenzo asks.

“In the coffee shop,” Lynn gushed.

“Go on,” Julez urged.

“I ordered my usual as I do everyday, and like most days I was running a little late for work except I had a presentation that morning so I couldn’t just stroll in at my usual time” she continued. “So I’m hightailing it out of there and I bump into this brick wall smelling fresh out of heaven.”

“Ohh what cologne were you wearing?” Steph interrupts. “I don't think my brother will appreciate another tie set this Christmas.”

“Well it became coffee scented real quick,” Jason chuckled.

A sea of groans sounded with everyone wincing at the idea, while Lynn nodded in faux concern.

“So lemme get this straight,” I blurted out. “Lynn spills coffee all over you at like 9 in the morning and the first thing you think to do is exchange numbers?”

“No no no Em, so get this,” Lynn explains. “I ran to get some napkins and started apologizing profusely until he grabbed both my hands, pleaded for me to relax, and suggested that I make it up to him with a lunch date.”

“Her treat of course, I mean it was only right” he jokes.

“Ahh boy, you’ve got a funny one.”

“No need for sarcasm Julez, that was actually cute,” Steph pointed out.

“Well gang, it was nice to meet you all,” Jason waved to us. “But I think it's about time we split up.”

And with that they left, hand in hand. I’d be lying if I said I weren’t a little jealous. I think it’s always bittersweet when one of your close friends gets into a relationship and you no longer have the same access to them as you once did. But green-eyed monster aside there’s something about him that seems a little off, though I can’t quite put my finger on it just yet.

“What’s going on up there?” Julez questioned, tapping my temple.

“Nothing really, I’m just meeting him the same as you are.”

“Well he seems pretty cool, though only time will tell huh?”

“That right there Lenny, and he’s fine, I’ll give her that,” Steph adds.

“Can we also add sweet talking to that list,” I butt in. “So get this, ole lover boy calls her ‘sugar’.”

A round of laughter cuts through the music, each of us dying at the thought but even I can admit that shits kinda cute.

“That’s military men for you, mark my words they’ll be married by Christmas,” Julez assured us.

“Military? How the hell did you find that out?”

“I googled his ass Lorenzo, how else?!”

“We just met the motherfucker, what do you mean?”

“Lenny, we’ve been knowing his name though,” Julez retorts. “You’d be amazed what you can find out with the google search engine, like the fact that he’s served two tours in Iran.”

“Jinkies, what are you, the FBI?” I asked, fully intrigued. “But what else did you find out?”

“Yeah, and why didn’t you tell us?”

“Oh Steph, not you too?” Lenny cried. “You know what I don’t even wanna know. I’m off to find that sexy ass bunny I saw earlier.”

“Aye ladies, let's do this later yeah? I came here for a good time not a long time,” Julez raved.

“Alright fine, but tomorrow I want full deets bitch,” Steph warned.

“I got you, but as of now I need another drink like four drinks ago. And speaking of, y’all should try the Jekyll and Gin next to the punch bowl; shit they need to call it puppy power cause my ass hasn’t stopped moving yet.”

“Yeah or talking,” Steph muttered.

“And then there were two,” I noted.

“Uhh more like one, I have to flag down that fine ass Captain America I saw earlier.”

These bitches really left me, and to think I - ohhh, damn even in real life Spiderman can’t commit to shielding his identity. Not that Im complaining cause that boy is fine as fuck. Shit maybe tonight instead of shooting webs, he can shoot his cum down my throat.

“Ayo Miles Morales, come here boy.”

|~~

“Oh my gosh, how the hell did we manage to get roped into helping you cleannnnnn,” Lynn complained.

“Guys we’ve been doing this since highschool, why are y’all acting brand new?”

“Dammit Lenny, I should’ve left while I had the chance.”

“Steph you’ve been drinking all night, how the hell were you planning on getting home without driving?” Lorenzo countered.

“And as ritual would have it, I assume we’re all sleeping here then?” I asked.

“See, Em gets it and I got the guest room all set up for you guys.”

“Two rooms, five people. That gives us about 2-3 persons to each room,” Jason proposed. “Sugar and I are more than willing to squeeze one more in.”

“No, the hell we’re not,” she whispered.

“Woah woah woah, what do you mean five people? Where the fuck is Julez?” Steph barked.

“That sneaky bitch, she’s probably halfway back to the A right now,” Lynn suggests.

“I mean the guest room is big enough right Steph, why don’t we let those three have it while you and I catch up for old times sake?” Lorenzo recalled.

“NIGGA THAT WAS ONE TIME.”

“Well I, for one, am not sleeping on the couch again so Lenny and Steph, no funny business please,” I stressed.

For a while I really thought Steph and Lenny would be endgame; that the constant flirting and bickering was just their way of expressing feelings. But in a weird way, I'm glad that it didn’t work out, shit the group is at peace because of it really; well as peaceful as peaceful can get. Those stubborn sons of bitches would surely find a way to make things awkward with us if things ever went sour between them.

Dragging the trash bag across the floor, I chuck it in the corner and take a seat on the window sill; retiring from my duty as trash collector for the night.

“Lenny, you know I'm down to help clean, but I'm pretty sure we can do this tomorrow,” I yawned.

“Yeah man, I’m no lightweight but even I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“J’s right Lenny, we can finish this off tomorrow.”

“No we can’t Lynn, my parents are gonna be back here first thing in the morning and I need this place in pristine fucking condition,” Lorenzo snarled.

“Well why would your dumbass host it here at the lake house then,” Steph screeched.

Leaning my head against the window pane, their bickering becomes a distant noise that fades into the background, eye lashes steadily fluttering against my face; sleep begging me to surrender.

The waves in the lake bring such serenity, the way they gently crash against one another, gracefully creating ripple after ripple. My eyes drift across the water that’s become my own personal lullaby, but it’s interrupted by floating debris. Frustration rears its ugly head at the disturbance, eyes squinting in confusion at the silhouette I see.

Sitting up further, my hands hastily reach for the glass, firmly pressed against it; brows snapped together in confusion as realisation flashes across my face. Denial grasps me in its clutches, fingernails painfully scratching against the window until the debris floats closer, revealing a face that brings my worst fear to life.

Hands balled into fists, they beat against the window. Angry, hot tears cloud my vision as they stream down my cheeks all the while strong arms grab at my fists to stop their assault. It isn’t until I hear the choir of concerned gasps and shhh’s that it dawns on me that the piercing scream is indeed coming from me. I fight against their clutches, arms swinging at whoever is in sight until I find myself pinned to the ground, my friends begging me to tell them what’s wrong.

“Julez,” I hiccup as I point to the window. “It’s fucking Julez. They’ve found me.”

#Emmy Writes #Emmy Tries #SpookySzn #Halloween Kills #Halloween Series #Halloween #Shit Just Got Real #Walk With Me #Hills and Valleys #Horror

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woltourney · 11 months

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ROUND 4 / SIDE A / POLL 2

Chuchu Chura (@spaceace144) v. Galvin Foixewesfv (@elizabethrobertajones)

Chuchu Chura:

q. What is your WoL name and pronouns? a. Chuchu Chura (she/they)

q. What is your WoL's species? a. Lalafell

q. What is your WoL's class? Or classes? a. PLD, WHM, RDM, DNC, and most importantly, FSH

q. What data centre/server are you on, if you want people to find you? a. Adamantoise

q. Tell us a bit about your WoL! a. This is Chuchu! She's a mute lala who became my reason for living when I started playing during covid. When I made her I want to make the least intimidating tank, so I made the smallest (yes she is min height), pinkest tank I could! She doesn't really have a lot of lore that I've come up with, but she's definitely lawful good, loves adventuring with her wolf pup, capybara, and Nigel her chocobo, and adores fishing.

q. Why should YOU win? (Answer IC!) a. :^) *waves* *lalafell dances* *dotes* *giggles*

q. Anything else you wanna add? a. She's just brought me so much joy over the past few years and if someone else can get a little joy from seeing her in this tournament, then that's enough for me. Of course I hope she still does well! I've spent hours in gpose getting pictures of her to be my wallpapers, I've gotten commissions of her, I'm even trying to crochet an amigurumi of her. I just love her so much! Good luck, Chuchu!!!

Galvin Foixewesfv:

q. What is your WoL name and pronouns? a. Galvin Foixewesfv

q. What is your WoL's species? a. viera

q. What is your WoL's class? Or classes? a. Black Mage, Summoner, Reaper

q. What data centre/server are you on, if you want people to find you? a. Goblin (have been in alliance roulette with other Galvins this is very important)

q. Tell us a bit about your WoL! a. A forest prince, eighth child with seven sisters, Galvin felt spare and at odds with his family as he became fascinated with dark magic after early encounters with voidsent that left him confused about their true monstrous nature. As he grew up and realised he was a rare son and due a life as a roaming forest warder and trophy husband, he felt too nerdy and bad at climbing trees for one and too gay for the other. After less than a year training with the other men of the forest and sensing they were growing sick of his poor aim with a bow and weedy lance arm, he slipped away in the night, travelled by boat to Limsa, and devoted himself to learning the forbidden maths of true magic. Drawn by the calling of the Echo, he joined the Scions on a whim despite having been warned by his eldest sister he was extremely susceptible to falling prey to a cult some day, and it was with much relief he realised they were not evil so his next letter home would not be met with a furious rescue party of dozens of furious armed viera storming the Waking Sands. He then picked up thaumaturgy and found one of his true loves. The other was teasing Urianger from across the Waking Sands, and flustering the shy elezen. Somehow, this has turned into a loving and stable relationship, mostly because they make up each other's deficits in a perfect puzzle piece joining and not because they are much alike, book learning aside. Though clumsy, brash and frequently knocked down, his determination to not be anything he once dreaded about his fate and to carve his idiosyncratic path, his raw stubborness got him through every trial thrown at the WoL. Barely. The only rules: always take them on as black mage and never give in and take the easy path (ooc: hit the 'very easy' button the trial is begging me to do by take 8) His witchcraft and void lore honed, he stumbled into the art of the reaper, and formed a pact with the voidsent he had felt himself bound to since youth, a keening sad creature that aimlessly wandered and wailed; these cries having once pierced his heart, he found it easy to reach out and make the connection once more, and binding the voidsent to his purpose, it found direction and he found a combat art that he excelled at - provided you allow that it's really the voidsent doing all the work lifting that heavy scythe, and Galvin is merely casting the spells. Having surmounted the main story, he retired immediately to the island farm, and spends his time pulling turnips and lazing about, often with Urianger at his side, and it is important to say, for Galvin, achieving doing nothing at all is in itself the most incredible achievement for a lifelong avoider of - well, everything - who crawled and moaned and complained and fussed so hard to get there.

q. Why should YOU win? (Answer IC!) a. I have never, ever won anything in my life, and I think I should be allowed just one. Please.

q. Anything else you wanna add? a. =:{)> moustache bnuuy

#💎 shout #💎 round four

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thewatercolours · 2 months

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Scrapped KQ Scene: "Roadtrip"

Ok, so I've been working on Goblin Graham again, and I was more or less following my outline from 2021, which is not the most coherent thing in the world. (That happens when the story is actually the decision, partway through a challenge, to see if you can force all the prompts to relate to each other.) And honestly, sticking with that original outline is no longer serving the story. Because I realized I had made Graham run away from Daventry while the castle was being besieged. mainly because I want his family to show him lots of love after the whole goblin transformation thing. Also back then I had never shown the Crackers, and I wanted to explore them. But - none of this works character-wise. Graham would die before running away from Daventry in its time of need. He is brave, and ready to fight for his people. He might falter, but not to the point of running off to Llewdor! And by this point, I've shown the Crackers many times. I don't need to shoehorn them in. I do need to do some rethinking to figure out how to keep certain things from the original storyline, because as clunky as Rippling Consequences is, I want it to work, at least technically. The setups are paid off, etc.

I was really grateful to @captmickey for talking this through with me and offering some helpful insights. She suggested that I take the scene where Graham flees and just make it its own thing. I don't think I'm going to reshape it, but I do like some of the things I did with this scene, so I am going to post it as is just for fun. It'll help me move on from the sunk cost and get the story back on track. So here we have it - the non-official, out of character scene where Graham behaves like a coward and runs, but also has bonding time with a bridge troll.

---

Those who have never journeyed overland in the palm of a bridge troll might assume that such a mode of travel saves time. Ordinarily, they would be right. Though trolls are a clumsy, lumbering lot as rule, the gigantic length of their stride makes up for it. Further, trolls never worry about following the twists of the road, or detouring at mountains and rivers. As long as you have no plans to cross the sea, you can more or less travel as the crow flies when you ride with a troll.

But if secrecy is an issue, well, you’re better off overloading a lame donkey with luggage and not watering it the whole way. You will get there faster.

Every day Graham and Olfie got just a bit further north, by way of an awful lot of east and west, and a significant amount of south. They chose secluded routes through the wilderness, giving towns and farms a wide berth. Bridge trolls weren’t unheard of outside of Daventry, but most surrounding nations distrusted them. Graham suggested that the best way to avoid attracting monster-slayers was to keep their heads down, sometimes literally. Olfie crept through the Miser’s Hills on his hands and knees. Graham rode on the bridge, trying to keep his balance. There wasn’t much to hold on to unless he sat by the very edge. That seemed unwise, but he tied himself in place with his cloak. His body lost height each day. The cloak was now about twice as long as he was, giving him lots of material to work with.

“Isn’t that the cape with big ol’ pockets?” his enormous friend asked after the first few hours. “Olfie could tie it to something. You could just ride in one of the pockets.”

But the experiment did not go far. The splint and poultice helped, but getting in and out of pockets proved difficult with Graham’s ankle. Besides, he found it easier to keep it from bending at odd angles if he rested on a flat surface. Once past the Hills, he spent most of his daylight hours in Olfie’s hand.

He leaned back against the tremendous cupped fingers. and watching Serenia’s hinterlands thicken as they passed. By daylight, his vision blurred and most colours washed out, but the contrast between light and shadow was sharp. The sunshine itself felt glorious on his clammy skin. When night fell, the world came back into focus, alive in luminescent purples and greens. Even under the new moon, he could pick out insects crawling a quarter mile off.

Scrub gave way to forest. Graham enjoyed trailing his hand on the overstory, much like he used to dip his hand into the water when he tagged along in the rowboat with his sister. Forest gave way to… well, a forest that clearly went to the gym and ate five dozen eggs every day. Massive paleghost trees dwarfed even Olfie, great-trunked and covered with what had to be the world’s thickest moss. Sometimes Graham snatched a leaf or a tree flower as they passed, just to give his overlong fingers something to fiddle with. He’d always been a fidgeter, but his goblin fingers were impossible to satisfy, just for sheer restlessness.

It did help that he and the troll talked so much.

Roadtripping with Olfie was a revelation. They had always gotten on well, and Graham had never felt he needed to put on a kingly act for him the way so many had needed him to since his crowning. But Graham had never taken him exactly… seriously. He was grateful to him for all the times he has been kind and useful. But, well, he was Olfie.

But with nothing else to do day in and day out, they talked more than they had in the four years since the tournament. Olfie had infinite patience for his too-short tongue and stiff lips. He never once interrupted Graham as he tried to sort out his pronunciation. After the king had offered his fifth or sixth awkward apology for speaking unclearly, the troll had said, “Frankly, Goosie, Olfie doesn’t really notice. All us trolls got some got teeth that go outside our mouth, not in, so learning you tiny people’s words takes a while for us too.” He considered. “Kinda nice you slowed down, actually. Olfie can’t keep up when people talk too fast.”

And oddly, it was kind of nice. If the path was slow and circuitous, the stories were allowed to be too. At first, they talked little besides choosing which way to go, when to stop and forage, when to bed down for the night. Then Olfie pointed out a ravine with flowers growing up its steep sides, which apparently looked something like the chasm where he had grown up.

“Funny,” said Graham. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen flowers like those in Daventry.”

“Olfie’s not from Daventry. Started out in the lowlands here in Serenia. Kind of far from here, though.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

“Yup,” Olfie said, a tad wistfully. “You’re not the only outsider.”

The silence lingered. “When did you come to the kingdom, then?” Graham asked at last.

“I’m not great at keeping track. Maybe fifteen years? Ish?”

“And…” Graham’s ears sank a little despite himself, “you still think of yourself that way after fifteen years? As an outsider?”

“Nah! Livin’ the dream,” said Olfie heartily, stopping to ginger his way over a boggy patch which probably qualified as a whole bog. Then he swallowed. “But kinda.”

“I’m sorry.” Maybe he should have said more, find out if Olfie wanted to talk about it. But Graham wasn’t sure he had the stability himself, even to listen.

“Hey, it’s not the worst thing to be,” said Olfie, with a consoling, toothy grin. “Least you got an outside to go back to sometimes, ‘stead of being stuck inside.” He raised his hand up to his face so he could look Graham in the face. As usual, it was a little overwhelming to be so close to Olfie’s eyes, one of which had passed as his “eye of a hideous beast” entry. But right now ‘hideous’ was very much a relative sliding scale. “‘This is just a guess, but with all this heading north - you’re going back, right? Home?”

Graham nodded, staring down at his lap.. “Yeah. Home.” He hoped so.

“Good idea.”

Graham shrugged. “Maybe.” He could think of a few cynical responses to go on with, but cynicism hadn’t got him and the villagers through the caverns. He took the second option - curiosity. “So, what’s it like to grow up in a troll chasm?”

And so the stories began properly. They compared earliest memories, roared over most embarrassing moments, and traded lighthearted gossip about Daventryfolk. Nothing too recent at first, but one thing bridged another. By the fourth day, Graham started to haltingly share the story of what had happened after Olfie had left him in the town square that night. Of the aching choices he’d had to make, and of the enchanted cell he’d been thrown into when his first escape attempt failed.

Olfie didn’t have much to offer by way of insights or comfort. But by gum, he listened, listened in a way that was almost better than talking. “And then what happened?” he would say every now and again.

It was… a lot easier than he’d anticipated telling his story would be. Maybe it was because Olfie wasn’t human either. Or maybe it was just the nature of this strange journey that didn’t quite feel real, this step-by-step rise and fall with no crisis, no escape to plan, no friends to guess how to keep alive, no split second decrees to make, no previous king to live up to. Would the words come so freely when they arrived in Dapplethorpe and everything became real again?

Even wondering began to make it grow real again too soon.

One night, as the campfire in the clearing burned low and they finished off the last of their hunter-gatherer supper, Olfie cleared his throat. “So, King Goosie,” he said hesitantly. “You were pretty quiet today.”

“I guess so,” said Graham, gathering up the greasy pheasant bones. He could feel that with a little pushing, the day’s new thoughts would come out, and he wasn’t sure it was wise to share them.

Olfie pressed on. “Yeah. It must get a little boring for you. Anything Olfie can do to liven things up?”

Graham dropped the bones into the ashes and began raking them over with the roasting stick. “You’ve been great. Honestly the problem’s all on my end.” He should have stopped there, but something unruly in him went on. “ It can’t exactly be your fault when you’re just following the King’s orders.”

“Gosh.” Olfie raised an eyebrow. “Orders. Makes it sound all official.” He sounded slightly hurt.

The king sighed, trying to backpedal. “Sorry. I’m just a little out of sorts tonight. And I’m also sorry for… for dragging you into this. I can’t imagine this is how you were planning to spend your week.” But here it was again, the urge to pedal forward. “And, and if anyone gives you trouble when you get back for abandoning the siege, I want you to tell them it was on my order. Then they won’t blame you.” (Blast it, he knew where this would lead. Why push it?)

Olfie’s great eyelids narrowed. “You walked all the way to Daventry on that leg. You tried to get in but couldn’t ‘cause of the magic.You found out the goblins and little Manny Man had the place surrounded, and they’d grab you if they saw you, probably. You didn’t exactly just abandon the siege.”

Graham didn’t look up from the ashes. A note of anger he himself didn’t quite understand crept into his voice. “OK, to make it plainer - I’m pretty much running away. When i said we should try not to be see, I admit I wasn’t thinking as much about monster-slayers as that… my own guards might be following us. To take me back. Because I ran away, like an idiot.”

“You got Baker Man and the rest of the little town people home safe. And you tried -”

He raised his voice further. “I’d been steeling myself to be okay with my friends seeing me as I am. But when my doctor screamed and crawled backward to get away from me, I chickened out. And ran away.”

“But home.”

The roasting stick snapped. “Even worse. Home with my tail between my legs and everything I tried for trailing behind me. Again. Don’t you get it?” The goblin snarl rose to the surface.

Olfie frowned and reached round the firepit with his thumb and forefinger. For a moment Graham thought the troll was going to grab him. But he stopped, and instead laid his hand down on the grass, right next to Graham. “So why are you going home anyway?” he said, lowering his great voice.

Graham didn’t answer. There were several things he could have said, but they all sounded childish. Funny how you could try to verbally whack someone over the head, trying to prove to them how stupid and cowardly and maybe even treacherous you’d been, and yet still have an inner eight-year-old who thought sounding babyish was worse.”I don’t know,” he said at last, the snarl gone. “I had all kinds of half-plans when I first told you we had to go. I thought I might make things worse. Or that there was nothing I could do. I mean, Daventry’s being attacked by goblins. And Manny. And Manny came to my cell while I was transforming, and he stopped me at the door to the surface. And, and I didn’t know what to do either of those times.”

“You kicked him,” Olfie reminded him encouragingly, clenching a fist and smiling.

“Yeah, I kicked him. Big deal. My point is - Daventry’s trying to defend itself right now. Even if they recognized me, they couldn’t trust me. Aren’t you constantly asking yourself what I might do, what I might try, now that I’m a goblin?”

“No?” said Olfie, puzzled.

Graham laughed grimly. “Thanks. But you’re you. Not everyone sees things like you. And even if they did… Look, I still plan to go back and handle this responsibly. Really. But I need to figure out what that would involve.” Olfie began to speak, but Graham cut him off. “I’m sorry I blew up just now. That wasn’t fair to you.”

The troll nodded soberly, and rose to his feet. The ground shook under him and Graham had to dodge a few unsettled sparks from the fire. “Ya know, this clearing’s a little cramped, and Olfie spotted a nice queen-size ditch just the other side of that treeline. Maybe we both could use the space tonight.”

(You know, I'm glad they had that conversation, because it was what alerted me to the fact that this scene felt all wrong. So - now we've had the scrapped scene, I can get on with writing stuff that works better.)

#graham behaving wildly out of character because the author didn't notice till embarrassingly late #scrapped scene #king's quest #king graham #goblin graham #my writing #fanfiction

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sweetmage · 8 months

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for the BG3 Act1 asks! 10, 35 and 44 for Rhidyl? 👀✨

Thank you so much for the ask!! 💖💞 10.) Do you have a favorite member of the Goblin Camp? Is it the same as your Character's? Does Abdirak count as a member of the goblin camp? 😌If not then... maybe the owlbear cub? And if that also doesn't count then I kinda like Sazza and Priestess Gut! For Rhidyl, he feels horrible for the owlbear cub and it becomes like a son to him. If not, then does Volo count? He is quite fond of him, though by looking at them interact you'd think Rhidyl hates himlol He also liked Abdirak second best because his little beating session awoke something in him, but not in the fun way. It forced him to confront some of his trauma and personal fears and convinced him to try to embrace and take control of his pain instead of running from it. Very spiritual experience! He does not particularly like any of the goblins or other Absolutists though.

35.) Has your Character done anything that they regret in Act 1?

Plenty 😅 He took a risky bet leading Minthara to the grove and one of the tieflings lost her life fighting back against Minthara's forces. In the goblin camp worg pens one of the fleeing goblin children ran through Rhidyl's Cloud of Daggers and died instantly and that deeply haunts him pretty much forever, he has never recovered from the guilt (he looted a block from them that has been in his bag the whole game🥲). He also also regrets reviving Mayrina's husband...😅

44.) Asker wants Blogger to choose a question from the list.

I'll choose this one: Is your Character used to strange dreams from before the events of the adventure?

Rhidyl has actually never had a dream before because he doesn't sleep. Being a drow, he enters a trance for a few hours a night and normally experiences nothingness and oblivion (as opposed to other elves that experience their past lives, and so on). So suddenly being teleported to another state of reality is quite jarring and disturbing for him. Everyone else wakes up like "wow, weird dream!" and he is just wide-eyed and speechless about wtf just happened to him.

#jun answers #jun rambles #oc: rhidyl #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers

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crewofthegoldrush · 2 years

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follow up to my semi on-going Role Swap AU - our PCs as the NPCs! breakdown of their changed backstories under the cut as we do

Ororo Kitesong - Thief Rogue, ship pilot

A rare exception, Ororo is one of the few airship pilots who is not a member of house Lyrandar - and yet she seems to fly the ship just fine, either through sheer charm or maybe you just need to tell the ship who’s boss, y’all

She’s clearly clockable as a rogue, but if you ask her what she did before becoming a pilot or before joining the expedition, her answer changes every time. Who’s askin’? The only consistent part of her story is tales of her grandmother seem to make a regular appearance from her.

Seems to have a bit of a tense, past friendship with the captain, and works close enough with the ship’s wayfinder that the two have become frequent drinking buddies

Montgomery Grey - Soulknife Rogue / Barbarian, first mate

Despite being professional enough, most of the crew avoid this aloof dragon as her mood can change at the drop of a cowboy hat, going from a casual conversation one minute to barking orders the next. Generally at most hours on the ship, Monty keeps her distance from nearly everyone, with the exception of the captain who she seems closer to than even her own sister.

Traditionally a Soulknife uses psionic blades, but Monty has been able to summon what little magic she has in her blood to train her weapons into other forms. Some would swear they’ve seen even a lasso spring out of her hands.

Has a bit of a thing for that gal who pals around with that ranger, but has no interest in getting close to anyone on this ship that could get in the way of the plan, even pretty palominos

[I’m cheating by giving Monty a second class but it’s necessary]

Tequila - Totem of the Dragon Barbian, assistant gunner

Growing up in the wilderness gave this verison of Tequila more of a wild side - she shys away from battles much less here, and fights rather brutally. Still, it’s obvious her rage comes more from a sense of valor and the want to protect her friends

Followed Monty onto this ship after not seeing her for almost five years, but refuses to tell anyone why or where they came from - mostly because she can’t. Her Common is very poor, and she can really only speak clearly in Dragonic or Goblin, so most days she chooses to say very little.

Found herself growing close to the artificers on the ship, especially the more abrasive one - she minds her a lot of her aunt

Wayfinder Stormchaser - War Wizard, ship captain / Compass, familiar

The stoic captain of the Celeste Noir who seems to be searching for something lost, no one is completely sure how a Warforged came to be captain of an airship, as he answers vaguely, if he even answers at all. Most assume it might be from his time in the war, as he is rumored to be a powerful war caster

Speaks to the crew rarely, speaking the most with the first mate who almost seems to be his confidante, and he isn't as much of a stranger to the wayfinder either. And of course, the pilot - you always protect the pilot

Has a clear affinity for storms that shows through when he does use magic on the ship, his favorites being Gust, Ray of Frost, and Witchbolt

For all the ways he is aloof and quiet, his familiar is anything but; Compass is a vicious seabird who always seems to be keeping a watchful eye on the crew. Especially that stupid owl.

Dr. Acapella Goodman - Peace Cleric, head ship doctor

An ex-street rat turned Acolyte, I decided immediately that Capella's story is the same. That she "stole" her invitation, believing it was a sign from her lord to join a great expedition (certainly this kind of journey would need a healer!); that she is clearly not a Dr. Goodman but everyone lets her be the boss anyway because she's great at it; and that Benjamin just has to roll with it. Hilarious.

Hmm what would the patron swap with. A god of dreams?

Breezy Weekes - Circle of the Stars Druid, ship librarian / navigator

I think this AU of Breezy would have a "modern" version of a druid tribe, like maybe Moonwatch is for Breezy what Runswick is for Monty; here she gains an affinity for the stars (possibly by extension, the planes thanks to her dad), making her a perfect choice as a navigator to guide the ship even at night

A much more nerdy version who takes after her dad instead of her mom, she doesn't have that rogue savy-ness, making her less of a risk taker. This aesthetic is also for maximum whiplash when a nervous sweater vest librarian turns into a fucking panther right in front of you

It's absolutely completely meaningless that her position on the ship causes her to spend a lot of time with the cartographer! So what if she's cute!

Liseran Verona - War Wizard, quartermaster

Similar to Delphinium, the soldiers stories are harder for me to conceptualize, but here since I imagined Del as the noble who is running away, it makes sense that Liseran would be the one sent to find her. Learning that the ship is set to travel over the Mournlands, I think Liseran would agree to help Del with whatever she is trying to do to try and discover what happened to Cyre, and slowly, if not immediately, abandons the idea of bringing her back.

Funny enough, doesn't really use her magic often, but when she does she tends to favor offensive spells like Magic Missile and Booming Blade.

(I hate to take this from Ororo, but since Liseran's family were bakers, I really like the idea that she's the chef here,,,,)

#dnd #dundgeons and dragon #d&d #eberron #furry art #PCs #NPCs #art only #swap au #i dont know how i feel about the furries with hair look but i did it for the last one and #i always insist on things matching so #i think it works for liseran though #it was trying to reimagine these characters if they were the supporting cast #and what changes to make while still keeping to canon backstory was fun to think over #hopefully the party gets a kick out of it at least

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