#Harper Horde

[pkmntrainer-osiris]

The group has taken the train to the Battle Center.

Midha Naaji and Lucien Harper are available for asks!

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

burning pt. 2 | b. blake

part one | masterlist

summary: season three — a daunting decision is to be made. multiple cups of grounder celebration juice, an arrogant bellamy blake, and a desire to prove oneself cause an inevitable outcome.

pairing: bellamy blake x reader

warnings (including all parts): alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: THIS IS PART TWO OF FROM THE FLAMES!!

word count: 2.6k

No.

Way.

There was absolutely no way I was going to join a horde of drunken warriors dancing around a ten-foot-tall bonfire.

At least, that was what I had told Raven ten minutes ago.

Given the current position in which I was standing (which was just outside the crowd of dancers by a barrel containing a brew that I told myself was just really strong moonshine) and the alcohol oozing through my veins like sweet, molten honey, I think it’s safe to say that I had contradicted myself.

How many drinks had I had now? Two, three? Somewhere around there.

I wasn’t drunk, I swear. Although, I was certainly working my way towards being so. Raven had gently coerced—threatened—me into joining the raunchy dance circle. I had at first refused, but when she began to suggest telling Bellamy my ‘little secret’ if I didn’t do it myself, I reluctantly, very reluctantly, agreed.

So, that was that. I was going to dance. With Grounders. Around a bonfire. In front of Bellamy.

Hence, the drinks.

The only times I had ever danced were during parties back on the Ark, but those were so tame and regulated. This was vastly different. There were no rules, no sophistication, and certainly no guards keeping tabs on how close a girl danced with a boy. The latter was clear as day, taking the form of a couple dancing together a few feet in front of me.

A woman with dark, slicked-back braids and deep bronze skin pushed herself against her partner, a tall man with lengthy facial hair and spike-cuffed fists that must’ve been the size of my head. One of his hands was on her back, the other on her hip, ruching up her long skirt so that it exposed her thighs as she glided her chest up his torso. They grinded and swayed and flowed together in time with the pulsating beat.

Dread grappled me. I had to do that? How the hell do you dance like that in jeans and a tank top?

Through the ever-migrating crowd, I spotted Raven standing with Monty and Harper on the opposite side of the square. Of course, she had already been watching me the whole time. The fear on my face was unmistakable, yet she only sent an impatient nod of her head that said, “Get on with it already.”

If anything, you could always rely on Raven for her persistence.

“Christ, help me.” I plunged my cup into the barrel, fervently bringing its contents back to my lips and down my throat.

“Didn’t take you for a religious one,” came a deep voice from behind me.

I swivelled around, my cup still craned to my lips, and found the incentive for my drinking habits standing before me.

Bellamy.

Gracelessly, I choked as a much too-large mouthful of liquid streamed down my throat. My innards recoiled in on themselves. “Bellamy,” I said, attempting to compose myself. “Hi.” Unfortunately, the abhorrent aftertaste still lurked on my tongue, causing my expression to sour into one of disgust. “God—makes moonshine seem like apple juice.”

Apparently, he found this amusing. A hum of a chuckle bobbed in his throat. “Looks like you’re enjoying the party then.”

A few variations of how I wanted to reply: “I wasn’t until you started talking to me,” “Not really, but if you take me into a back alley right now, I might,” and, just a plain and simple, “I need you.”

What I really said: “Oh, yeah, I’m having a great time. You meet this guy?” I patted the barrel behind me. “Really supportive. We’re becoming good friends.”

He nodded, eyeing me with a quizzical smirk. “I can see that. Maybe you should branch out a bit. Have you met the one called Water yet?”

“You’re funny.”

“Alcohol tends to have that effect on me,” he said, and I laughed. His freckled cheeks rounded into apples and his teeth made a rare appearance; he looked away as if to hide his smile, as if Bellamy Blake couldn’t possibly be anything but serious and brooding. He’s kept my secret; I’ll keep his.

We both observed the crowd and the fire as a new song began to play, standing comfortably, wordlessly, side by side. Maybe ‘wordlessly’ was a bit of a stretch—there was a magnitude of words filling my mind, especially when he began unzipping his jacket and shrugging it off to expose his contoured arms to the fire’s fervour.

His arms…

“How many drinks have you had?”

I blinked. “What?”

He stared at me with a mischievous glint in his eye, draping his jacket on an unlit makeshift barbeque. “I said, what do you think of all this?”

The veil of lust-ridden (let’s call it what it was) fog lifted from my mind, and my brows creased deeply as I attempted to piece together what he was talking about. It took me a few belated seconds before I realized he had been referring to the Grounders and Sky People uniting as one people. I could hardly contain an idiotic smile from breaching my lips—my opinion was important to him.

“It’s—well,” I stammered, “it’s different.” It’s different? If only he knew how badly I wanted to club myself with a brick at that moment. Despite my obvious mental stagnation, he expressed nothing but patience, waiting with a visible longing for my input. So, I tried again, slowly working around the alcohol and shrewd blockages in my brain. “Honestly? It scares me. Their first impression of us was that we were cold-blooded killers and ours of them was the exact same. Ever since we hit the ground, we’ve been at each other’s throats; we’ve all committed so many acts of war.

“I’m scared of how fragile this peace is, how one tiny mistake could lead to the annihilation of our kind or theirs, or even both.” Bellamy watched me with silent contemplation. I continued, “And I’m scared if this peace does break, you’ll be on the front-lines because I know you’ll refuse to be anywhere else. And I know you and I tend to… disagree more often than not, but if you were to die—” I looked down, bashfully scrutinising the toes of my boots “—I think I’d be lost.”

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. I immediately wished to snatch the words my loosened tongue had released and shove them back down my throat. His silence was writhing excruciatingly through the air, surrounding us like a constricting serpent.

Say something, Bellamy. Say anything.

“I think I’d feel the same,” he finally spoke, and the relief I felt was instant. I looked up at him. His pupils were bowls of sweet melted chocolate as he cocked his head to the side. “What would I do without my favourite sparring partner?”

My heart soared.

My favourite sparring partner.

Favourite.

So much for not smiling like an absolute idiot. I could only pray the fire’s orange light masked the jeopardising tinge of my cheeks, though there was nothing I could do about my blatant staring. Maybe it would have been embarrassing if I were the only one, but Bellamy had the same problem.

Someone seemed to hit ‘pause’on time.

The blood in my veins moved like a tranquil river; my heart expanded and subdued with each slow beat. The voices and bodies around us blurred into one big mass of nothing. All that seemed to be moving was the music drifting down towards us from the tower and Bellamy’s face, which was leaning closer in microscopic intervals, almost unnoticeably. But I noticed.

And then the bonfire roared with a loud crack.

Voices mingled. Bodies shuffled. Time restarted.

Bellamy cleared his throat and looked away, just as I began inspecting the cup in my hand. What was in that stuff? It was supposed to give me the confidence to dance in front of him; he ruined—a term I’ll use loosely—my plans by greeting me directly, so now I was just tipsy for no good reason.

At least now I didn’t have to join a wanton circle of dancing grounders.

Wait.

Was Bellamy going to kiss me?

“Didn’t think I’d see a grounder mating ritual tonight,” muttered Bellamy as he watched the scene with crossed, disapproving arms. The light spirit he had been in before had obviously been overthrown by his usual brooding nature. Funny that—that his mood only soured after hemade it seem like he was going to…

You know.

I turned towards the crowd, away from him (and his damning muscular arms that bulged impossibly over his chest). “You don’t approve?” I asked flatly. His sudden detachment had pissed me right off. “Everyone,” I addressed the partygoers in a hushed tone only Bellamy could hear, “stop dancing right now. Bellamy Blake doesn’t approve of fun.”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered.

“Then go dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

For the second time that night, I contradicted myself. “Well, I do.”

Now that regained his attention. I could see him staring at me in my peripheral vision.

“Right,” he scoffed. “You’re gonna dance.”

Ouch.

His words struck a chord deep inside me, causing my expression to wilt into something defensive. My arms folded promptly over my chest and I turned to stare him down. “Is it so unimaginable?”

“I just can’t picture you dancing,” he spoke with an arrogant grin, as if his viewpoint originated from the truth and mattered above all else.

It was moments like this one that pushed me to judge whether I should indulge in my attraction to Bellamy. Maybe it was the booze talking, but I really just wanted to slap him across the face. If not literally, then maybe figuratively, by proving him wrong.

I’d had this problem ever since I met him: he would tell me to do one thing, and I’d do the complete opposite; it felt like an unspoken rule at this point. Which led me to my next decision.

My arms dropped to my sides. “Good thing you won’t have to in a minute,” I snapped.

I began making for the bonfire and dancers, each of my curt steps fuelled by spite and a chemically altered brain. I just can’t picture you dancing. Yeah, right. I’d give him something to picture, the smug asshole.

“Hey.” A large hand caught my wrist, pulling me back half a step so I that had to stop.

I shot a fiery warning over my shoulder. Bellamy’s eyes reflected regret and a touch of submission; he knew it had been the wrong move and immediately let go of my arm, withdrawing half a step himself in placation.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he spoke cautiously like I was a spooked animal about to attack. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Well, you did upset me.”

“Princess, I—"

I whirled around on my toes and we came face-to-face (well, face-to-collarbone). The swiftness of my actions must’ve caught him off-guard because he cut himself short mid-sentence and the bulge of his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat.

The scorching intensity of my gaze was pointed directly up at him now, just daring him to speak another word. He didn’t. His mouth had set into a hard, impenetrable line that represented his oath of silence. It was a smart choice, but, god, he had gotten me so riled up that whether he was smart no longer mattered.

I just couldn’t help myself.

The gap between us shortened as I took a smooth step forward, keeping us connected by the eyes. A challenge in the form of a scornful smile broke across my lips. “No leaning in this time, huh?” I spoke.

Bellamy’s eyes twitched into squints, his jaw clenching in unison. It was strange how he took offence to being called out on something he had done—a common trait in those affected by frequently un-called-out arrogance, no doubt. I’d have to start helping him out with that.

A bomb was ticking beneath his skin and I knew firsthand how short the fuse was. Subconsciously, I think I wanted to blow it. Subconsciously, I think I enjoyed it: the arguing, the tension, the heat. I enjoyed how we knew exactly what set each other off and how intimate knowing such information about one another was. I enjoyed getting in his face and him getting in mine.

I enjoyed the moments when it would become blatantly obvious that the tension between us never originated from a place of hate or malice, but from somewhere deeper, fleshier.

Or was I so impaired that it was really just me?

Thoughts calculated behind his hooded gaze—of hate, of malice, of flesh, I wasn’t sure. And just when I thought he wasn’t going to reply at all, his neck hollowed with a deep inhale, and he leaned down to my height. My heart dropped to an unspeakable place. His breath was hot on the tip of my ear, “Did you want me to lean in?”

I stared at his shoulder, trying to conceal the shiver trickling down my neck and over my breasts and much, much further below. He lingered in place for a half-second longer before returning to full height. Can you guess the shape his lips made as he scanned my perplexed expression? It’s not difficult.

I was going to slap him. Not out of dislike: but because how dare he make me want him so badly? And in front of so many people? And without even knowing that I actually did want him and it wasn’t just the alcohol that was making us both sexually frustrated?

I swear to god I was going to slap him. My hand flexed, but before I could act, the universe made evident that it was on Bellamy’s side.

The sudden bellow of horns signalled a change of song. Our attention was dragged away from one another, turning to the celebratory howls and shouts echoing between those surrounding the bonfire. The flames had exploded to new heights as someone fed more wood to the base. It burned so brightly, so dangerously that if I didn’t know any better, I’d have mistaken it for a god.

The horns vibrated in the air, repeating over and over as more instruments were introduced to create something dark and haunting. Slowly, I began to smile. I knew what I was going to do now, and it certainly wasn’t slapping the smirk off of Bellamy Blake’s face.

“Sorry, Blake,” I voiced over the music. We were looking at each other now; somehow in those ten seconds we were distracted I must’ve sucked him dry of pride and consumed it myself, because I now wore the smirk, and he wore the confusion. One last time, I downed a gulp of my drink and said, “Places to be.”

And then I was gone, heading straight for the crowd of orange-skinned dancers, slick, sweating bodies, and pulsating horns. I’d hoped that last drink would kick in fast, especially if Bellamy’s eyes were to be as vigilant as ever.

part three {to be written}

[ollypopwrites]

From Depths Unknown; Part 1

Rolan x F!Tav (AFAB, she/her) *Tav is a Storm Sorcerer, but no actual reference to her appearance.

Rating: M

Tags & Warnings: [18+ MDNI] Language, Canon-typical violence, drinking, sexual content (very brief, very not detailed BUT slight dom/sub dynamics), slow burn, slightly enemies to lovers but not quite, background Bloodweave, the use of ‘idiot’ as a term of endearment.

Series Summary:

The entire first half of Rolan’s life was spent feeling helpless and angry. Even after escaping his childhood home, Elturel and then the Grove, fate seems to be intent on reminding him of how small he really is.

Tav is the gallant hero, always swooping in to save him and it is infuriating. To add insult to injury, despite himself, he actually likes her.

Notes: hooooo boy. This got crazy. It was supposed to be vignettes leading to some smut and now we have a whole multi-part fic exploring both Rolan’s character as an outsider of the tadpole crew but still closely acquainted and the weight of responsibility on Tav during the entire narrative of the game. Smut will happen, promise, but first — some light whump and heavy yearning.

Read below or on Ao3

“Did you lose something, darling?”

Tav had upended her pack, a huge pile of random junk, valuable magic artifacts, potions and rations by the fire. She was

Frantically digging through it, sorting through jewelry and shoving it aside.

“You haven’t seen my necklace laying around have you? The one with the pearl pendant?”

“I haven’t stolen it if that’s what you’re really asking,” he replied.

“Sounds like something someone would say if they did steal it.”

“Ha-Ha,” Astarion snarked. “Last I saw it was when I fed from you last night,” he sighed, “such a lovely chain wrapped around an even lovelier neck.”

“It was a gift from… someone special. I can’t find it.”

“When did you last remember having it?”

“I wear it everyday,” she groaned frustratedly. “I noticed it was gone when I got dressed after my bath upstairs.”

“And before that?”

“We fought off that horde by the lake,” Tav frowned and then gasped. “Shit. It must have broken during the fight.”

In her mind’s eye she could imagine when it may have happened. She had been positioned directly in front of the portal in which Halsin had gone into the Shadowfell. Gale and her kept directly in front of it to hold off stragglers, while Karlach and Shadowheart flanked in front of them. A flock of undead Ravens had descended upon her and Gale, clawing a scratching and she had lost her balance careening into the water. Some undead Harper’s had made an effort to keep her from climbing back up on the stone outcrop.

She had made it back to her position, but only barely. Tav still felt herself tense and worn down after what was the longest five minutes of her life. The dead just kept rising, new apparitions of horror springing up when they finally had the upper hand.

“I’ll be back.”

Tav stood and left the camp they had set up near the docks below the Last Light Inn. Her feet took her to the same edge of the lake where even now there were remnants of their battle littering the ground. She checked up on the stone outcrop where the portal had been, dancing lights guiding her eyes as she scanned for a glint of metal from the lights.

Nothing. She danced the lights closer to the water but it was impossible to see through. Tav dug for the last dredges of her magic to cast detect magic, she felt something below. Not too far but hard to pinpoint exactly where with her magic so spent.

Tav examined the water. It was just as dark as the rest of this place, and who knew what lingered below its surface. With a sigh, she took off her shoes and stripped down to her small clothes. She dipped her foot in, the water was as cold as it was when she was pulled in earlier that day.

Then she leapt in. Darkness surrounded her, the muffle of the water creating a sense of pure nothingness around her. In a way, it was peaceful, and quiet, but she had to find her way to the bottom and find that necklace. It was not too deep, but she had to fully submerge herself to reach the floor and when she did she tried not to think about what she was grabbing as she blindly felt around.

With only the vague sense of detect magic to guide her, she grabbed blindly. She felt the metal of armor, maybe a rock or a long rusted weapon, but nothing that felt like a thin necklace chain. She had to thrust herself up to the surface to gasp a breath of air.

Just as she went to dive under again she heard a shout, “what the bloody hells are you doing?”

Her head whipped around to the stone she had jumped from. Tall and lithe, standing rigidly straight with fists balled at his side and eyes glowing slightly in the dark. It was Rolan.

“Are you insane?”

“I lost something!” She said back. “Just a minute!”

His call of, “wait!” Was cut off as she dunked under again. Her hands frantically searching, focusing on the detect magic spell that would fizzle out any moment now. She let it lead her, let it show her the pulsing of the magic it was picking up from the bottom of the lake. There was no way of knowing if it was her pearl, but she had to try.

Her hands dug into the muck of the bottom of the lake, pulling some up and bringing it back to the surface. She could barely see, but there in her hand the pearl sat amongst rot and mud. She choked on a gasp, her eyes stinging either from tears or the grime that no doubt was in the water. The chain was long gone, but the pendant was there.

The gold of the delicate clawed setting that held the Pearl of Power was dirty and dented, but the pearl itself seemed to be in good shape.

“I found it!” She called.

“For the love of — get out of the water!” Rolan yelled.

Carefully she tread towards the stone again, reaching it and dropping the pendant onto the stone so she could pull herself out. Just as she lifted herself up, something caught on her foot, and then tugged. She hit her chin on the stone, teeth clacking together and then she slipped into the water again, skin scraping against rock and her vision going dark as the depths.

Rolan’s hand delved deep into the water, clutching at whatever piece of Tav he could get a grasp of and pulled. Her hand emerged, his hand tightly around her wrist as he grunted with the struggle to lift her above the water's edge. When her face emerged she gasped for breath.

“Something’s pulling me,” she yelled.

Rolan had little time to think, and just kept pulling as Tav’s free hand grasped at the rock and started to get herself onto it. As she did, the rest of her torso was revealed, then legs where he saw a long dead, gnarled and rotten hand grasping her calf. He let go of her with one hand to cast magic missile, the angry red jets of magic landing each hit until the hand let go of her.

Tav crawled onto the rock, coughing up water, and catching her breath. She stayed on hands and knees, her hand coming out to grab the trinket she had dived in for.

Rolan turned on her in a rage. “What in the hells is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” she breathed, “thanks to you. Appreciate it.”

“Weren’t you telling me not to go wandering off into the curse just yesterday?” He seethed.

“I told you not to go alone,” she clarified, “but I guess your point still stands.”

“Thank you,” he said sarcastically. “I watched you and your friends hold off an undead army just here earlier, another truly noble venture I’m sure — “

“We were trying to help lift the curse—“ she stood.

But Rolan’s ire was truly raised and he trampled over her words without acknowledging them. “You cannot truly be this stupid,” he spat, “you know what lurks in this land, what could possibly be so important you need to jump into the accursed lake?” Despite himself he found himself saying, “another hero’s errand, no doubt, the long lost heirloom of a poor, pathetic creature that will simper and whine your praises.”

Tav looked like she might hit him. Instead she grabbed her discarded clothes and started to walk away.

“You’re welcome,” he called after her.

“I already said thank you,” she turned to snarl at him, a spark of lightning curling off of her in her anger. “Would you like me to stay so you can yell at me more or can I go? Will that make you feel better? Will it bring Cal and Lia back?”

Rolan was charging forward before he could stop himself. “They are only gone because you can’t keep your nose out of other people’s business.”

Tav’s angry expression faltered, something he couldn’t quite parse flashed over her face. “Rolan -“ she started and then sighed, shoulders slinking into a hunch.

For the first time he noticed that she looked tired. The kind of tiredness that not even a good night's rest would fix. Bone -deep, mental and physical exhaustion written in the bags under her eyes, the downturn of her mouth. His stomach dropped, his jaw clenched and a new anger flared in him.

Prick, idiot bastard is what you are, Rolan, the thoughts set off in his mind, taking the flashing of rage with them. Can’t save the only family you have, and you kick the one person who can while they’re down. Useless. Idiot.

“Tav? Darling, are you alright?”

Both of them turned to find Astarion, accompanied by Gale who had a suspecting frown on his face. “By the stars, Tav, you’re soaked,” the other wizard said, coming forward, removing the cloaked cape he had and wrapping it around her shoulders.

“And quite underdressed,” Astarion quirked an eyebrow, “not taking advantage were you, little wizard?”

Rolan had hardly thought about her state of undress. Had purely been driven by whatever it was that made him run up when he saw her dunking into the lake. The worst case scenario had crossed his mind, she had fallen to the curse and it was pulling her under. It very nearly did.

Now he was very aware of it. Embarrassment and pure concentration to not look at her legs which were still bare kept him from saying anything in response.

“Rolan helped me, I fell into the lake.”

“You jumped into it,” he found himself saying.

“Why on earth would you do that?” Gale scolded.

“My pearl!” She held it up. “Chain must have broken earlier.”

Gale hummed thoughtfully, eyes slinking towards Rolan, then to Tav. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I believe another bath is in order.”

“Probably best,” Tav sighed, pulling some grime out of her hair. “Goodnight, Rolan.”

Rolan said nothing in return as Gale walked with her back to the shore, his eyes flicked up to the elf waiting for them. Astarion and him never spoke much, he was around and had a smart remark to provide at someone’s expense but they had rarely ever spoken.

There was something unsettling about the elf as he peered at Rolan while he waited for his companions to make their way. A stillness of his body that was unnatural, a look in his eyes that was half warning and half challenge. A predator, guarding its territory that almost immediately softened once Tav and Gale were next to him and they began their walk back to the inn.

Rolan rubbed his hands over his face, and made his way back to the inn. He needed a drink.

Tav had smiled sheepishly at Jaheira after requesting another tub of water. Gale and Astarion had slipped away after whisking her away from Rolan, and now that she was alone she found herself truly feeling exhausted. She bathed and went back to camp, found a chain from the endless piles of jewelry she had hoarded to sell for camp funds and slipped her pearl pendant back on.

The weight of it on her chest was comfortable, a sense of normalcy in a place that was far beyond her everyday life.

Tav played with the pendant as she laid in her bedroll, despite the tiredness her mind was reeling.

Rolan had been so angry with her. When they had rid the path of the goblins and held their little party she had comforted herself in knowing that the two of them parted on friendly terms. Her encouragement of his siblings to stay and help their kin had paid off, and she had spent a good chunk of the night talking with them.

The last time she saw him he was full of laughter, showing off his prowess which landed him a position as an apprentice with a well-renowned wizard.

Her mind played over their interactions. His drunken fury after Cal and Lia were taken, his resigned anger after they saved him from the cursed wraiths near moonrise - he was always so angry with her.

Perhaps he had a right to be. They had rid the path of the goblin threat and sent them straight into a horror beyond imagining. All her talk of doing the right thing, helping who you could and ‘playing hero’ as he put it was for nothing.

Laying in the dark with her eyes wide open became too much and she got up from the bedroll. She could grab some wine from their wares and head inside, not wanting to take anymore of the Last Light’s limited supplies.

“And where are you off to?” Shadowheart asked. They technically did not need a watch shift due to the Harper’s having their own but it was routine now.

“Need a drink,” Tav said. “I’ll be back.”

“No more dips in the cursed lake, if you please,” Shadowheart called after her.

Tav waved her off and headed inside. The Last Light was always somewhat active. Everyone’s sense of night and day was off kilter, at least one shift of Harper’s and the Fists were milling about at any given time. Healers were needed at all hours for returning scouting parties, and the bar with its meager offerings always had someone behind it.

She sat close enough to keep an eye on the children behind the bar, and look out at the space. There was still damage from the attempted kidnapping of Isobel, winged horror guts and blood stained the walls. Tav uncorked the wine in her hand and took a swig.

“You’re cut off for the night!” Umi said, head barely coming above the line of the bar with his hand pointing upward.

“I’ve had one glass, you little brat!”

Tav’s eyes slid towards the tiefling at the bar, robes still a little wet from fishing her out of the lake, and wearing his typical grumpy frown. At least he did not seem belligerent and the irritation in his voice held no bite for the child. Not like it had for her earlier.

“Give him a glass of mine,” Tav held out her own bottle. “He earned it.”

Rolan’s head snapped up and she immediately regretted speaking. It was meant to be a last ditch effort for a truce, but the way his face curled into snarl made her want to shrivel up and die.

“I don’t need any more charity from you,” he snapped.

Her heart dropped, her face got hot and she took a deep breath. Turning on her barstool, she leaned her back against the bar. She never could win with him. She wanted to apologize, she had been out of line by bringing up his siblings before. He had started it, but she was not too proud to own up to her own part in it.

It was clear he wanted nothing to do with her, so she turned her back to save him having to even look at her. She took a long swig of the wine, it was cheap and bitter, but it was what they had.

The scrape of wood made her look over. Rolan had sat in a stool on her side of the bar, not right next to her, an empty seat between them. He faced the bar, not looking at her as he held a tin cup out towards her. Tav leaned over to share some of her wine.

He was quiet, and that was better than yelling. And watching the activity in the inn was better than staring up from her bedroll all night. It would have to do.

“No chaperones with you this time?”

“They went off to… “ Tav trailed off, she didn’t know what Gale and Astarion were doing. Just that they slipped away as they had been doing more often lately. “Well, it’s not our business what they went off to do.”

Another stretch of silence. Tav played with her necklace in between sips from the bottle. They had to make their way to moonrise again tomorrow, finally entering the belly of the beast to figure out if they could free any prisoners and find a heading towards finishing all of this.

“What’s so special about it?”

“Hm?” She turned to Rolan.

His eyes flicked up from where he was watching her toy with her necklace. “The pearl.”

“Oh,” she said dumbly. “It’s a pearl of power.” She looked down at it, “an heirloom. Passed down from my father.” Her thoughts trailed off again, “when I thought I’d lost it…” she shook her head.

There was no world in which she imagined he wanted to know about her or her family. This was a truce, and he was being more gracious than she expected. She thought she may as well keep it as neutral as possible to prevent an argument.

Rolan was quiet again. For a long time neither of them spoke, at one point she heard the clack of tin on the wood and found he had put his cup out again. She poured him some more wine, and she felt at least relieved he was not unwilling to sit with her. Albeit quietly and only with her offering him wine, but it was something.

They sat quietly until the bottle was done. Tav felt her eyelids getting heavier and heavier. She thought she may finally be able to sleep if she laid down. Her heart still felt full of the weight of guilt, her body weak as if it knew only more horror awaited her the next day. But she didn’t get to rest more than one night, the chain of events of her life recently had made that very clear.

There was a lot she had to make up for, and a storm to weather before she could find harbor.

“If Cal and Lia are alive in Moonrise, I’ll bring them back,” she said, not having the courage to look at him. “I promise.”

She felt him staring at her but she still couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. Guilt weighed too heavily on her, the weight of the journey ahead looming over her in the face of yet another promise she was not sure she could keep.

Bidding him goodnight, which was met by silence, she walked away from the bar.

Tav had left with a small group to head to Moonrise, leaving behind the Archdruid who was dead set upon helping out around the inn. This encouraged others to pitch in, Dammon was lending strength to fixing up the broken railings and doors at the inn. Rolan made himself useful, he had magic to spare and nothing else to do.

He employed two mage hands to help lift a beam of wood to repair one of the holes that had been created by winged horrors dropping through during the attack. Isobel chanted out on the balcony, while he and Guex worked. Tav had been in the room when it happened, he thought to himself, always in the right place at the right time.

Except by the lake. Even now he had no idea what possessed her to strip out of armor to get inside waters full of bodies in a place which undead walked so freely. In his mind’s eye he could see her bare legs, and though at the time he had not thought about her state of undress now he found himself trying to piece together any snippets in his subconscious of what the rest of her had looked like.

“Rolan,” Guex called. “Bit higher, mate.”

“Sorry.” He said, the mage hands lifting the wood up.

His mind kept drifting to her. The way she played with the pearl she had so desperately been trying to find. Her laughter as it carried over the sounds of the crowd from her camp. More annoyingly the glimpse of her legs he had gotten just a couple nights ago. She was pretty, objectively, he had noticed immediately, but he wasn’t a naive boy so easily distracted by a pretty face.

The storm behind her eyes as she had gone toe to toe with him at the lake seemed to haunt him. what she said had hurt, yes, but he was a little distracted by the vision of her soaking wet and looking at him with so much feeling.

“Rolan, if you need a break just say so,” Guex said.

“No,” he growled, shaking his head, “no, I’m fine.”

He was a wizard. He could control his own mind. He focused on the weave, the sensation of it taking shape into the mage hands before him. Rolan made it a point to close the door on any further thought of her while he went about his business.

Until the second day with no word from any of the party that had ventured into Moonrise. He had even gone as far to venture into their camp, where the remaining four of her companions were sitting around the fire.

“Rolan,” Wyll greeted him warmly. “How are you?”

The Blade of the Frontier was an invaluable asset during their time on the road into the grove. Rolan liked him, although he preferred him when he wasn’t doing his folk hero act.

“I’d rather not say,” he said. “I didn’t come here to dampen your mood.”

“Have the Harpers seen any sign of our companions returning?” Halsin asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. Your tadpoles, they can transmit to each other can’t they?”

“There’s quite a distance between here and Moonrise,” the half-elf Shadowheart said. “I’m not sure our tadpoles can connect to each other so far.”

“Unlikely,” the Githyanki grumbled. “Attempting to do so is an unnecessary risk.”

“How?” Rolan asked.

“The ghaik tadpole could reach anyone, and give away our location.” She explained, haughty as if he was an imbecile for not realizing it.

“If anyone can get your siblings out of Moonrise, it’s Tav,” Wyll said, making eye contact with him.

“If they’re even alive.”

“Take your self-pity elsewhere,” Lae’zel replied. “You chose to save the offspring.”

“Should I have let them get taken?”

“No.”

A strange pause happened, Lae’zel expressionlessly staring directly at him .

“I think,” Shadowheart said, “what Lae’zel means is you made the right choice. Your brother and sister would have done the same.”

The only confirmation was a single nod from Lae’zel. “Your offspring are weak. Untrained. In order to maintain the continuation of your species you must protect them.”

“That’s her version of a compliment,” Wyll clapped him on the shoulder.

“Chk.”

Shadowheart laughed softly, and Wyll stifled a smile. “Join us,” he offered, “we have plenty of room by the fire.”

On the third day, Rolan was at the bar. Not drinking, well, not drinking as much. He liked to sit around with Umi and Ide, it felt sometimes like watching them play a game of pretend. Acting like grown up barkeeps, as if they’d been running the Last Light for more years than they’d even been alive. Everyone was willing to play along, and Rolan found himself playing the part of the grumpy regular.

“Hey arsehole!”

Rolan’s hackles went up at the sound of Lia’s taunt. Prepared to be annoyed at his sister — until he realized that it was Lia. A rush of relief spread through him so thoroughly that it made him shudder as he looked over.

“Oh, thank the gods.”

Lia was beaming, and behind her Cal had a goofy grin. They were there, in front of him. Alive and whole as far as he could tell, no trick of the curse making them strange and hollow. Just as quickly as relief came over him, anger flared. Nights and nights of constant worry not even dulled by multiple bottles of wine.

“Is that all you have to say, to me? Did you enjoy yourselves while I battled that wretched darkness? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry, we got captured by murderous lunatics.” Lia was just as ready to fight.

“I thought you were dead, you ass,” Rolan seethed. “Both of you!”

“We’re all safe, Rolan,” Cal finally said, trying to keep the peace as always. “That’s what matters.”

“Good thing you’re back!” Ide shouted from behind the bar. “He’s been drinking about it for a week straight!”

“I was just…”

Worried sick, grappling with the thought that I nearly lost the only family I had, rendered helpless and faced with my own failings.

“Overwhelmed.” He settled on. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” Lia folded first. “We should have been here.”

And how would they have done that? It wasn’t their fault they were captured.

“No - no,” Rolan winced. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have shouted. I’m sorry.”

Lia came up to hug him then. They were never very affectionate physically. Even when he had moved into their home he had shared a bed with Cal, Lia always teased them for the way they had to struggle for space as Cal grew stocky and Rolan grew ever more lanky.

But this was a comfort, to hold his little sister in his arms. Safe, and whole. Not even his pride could overpower the gratitude he felt to have them back, and as Cal’s bulky arms wrapped around them both in a steel tight hug he had to laugh.

“We thought the curse got you,” Cal said. “When Tav told us you were alive —“ his brother’s voice cracked and the rest of the sentence died.

Tav. He opened his eyes, half expecting to find her and her crew watching on as she seemed to be in every major upheaval of his life lately. But the only new faces were some deep gnomes, and a few other tieflings from their caravan from Elturel.

“Where is she?”

“Who?” Lia asked, rubbing Cal’s back as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Tav.”

“They needed to save face in Moonrise. Her and her friends had a big fight with the warden as a distraction while we got out.” Lia replied. “Apparently they’re posing as cultists.” His sister’s eyes narrowed, “why?”

“I — “ he started. “I owe her an apology. And thanks.” He cleared his throat, “but that can wait. I have a room upstairs and there’s baths, you two reek.”

“You’re such an arsehole.” Lia grinned.

“I’m starved,” Cal groaned, the only evidence that he was crying were some trails in the muck that coated his face. “They have food here?”

“We do!” Umi called. “But it'll cost you!”

The light of the inn was in sight. It had been a rough couple of days, but they had found their next heading. Tav was ready to debrief Jaheira, take a bath and sleep.

“The inn will be bursting now,” Gale said, “with the deep gnomes and the tieflings.”

“I hope they all made it okay,” Karlach said. “They’ve been through enough.”

“More than enough,” Tav agreed. “We will check in on them. Add that to the list.”

“Noted,” Gale tapped his temple.

As they passed through the barrier of light around the inn a weight lifted off of them. Traveling through the cursed lands was always exhausting, it was a suffocating darkness that covered the land and something always felt like it was lurking nearby.

After discussing with Jaheira and the rest of the camp, Tav took some time to check in with the rescued deep gnomes and tieflings. Barcus had bounded up to her before she could even take a mental count of who was present, dragging her over to Wulbren Bongle.

The leader of the Ironhands brushed both her and Barcus off, as if the former hadn’t just broken him out of a prison and the latter hadn’t begged so earnestly for her to do so. If she was not so tired she may have made a comment about it, but Barcus looked mortified and Tav didn’t have the energy.

As she moved on, she nodded to Lakrissa who was glued to Alfira’s side at the bar. There was no sign of Bex and Dannis, but she could only imagine their reunion was something they wanted to have in private. She saw the back of Cal’s head at the bar, heard Lia’s loud laugh and approached to find Rolan with them, leaning over the bar.

The two she had saved seemed better than she had found them. Clean, smiling and animated. Rolan’s shoulders were still an even line, but they seemed to have dropped a few inches, no longer settled up to his ears in tension.

“It’s you!” Lia grinned.

“I’m glad you lot made it back alright,” Tav smiled. “He’s been a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah,” Cal grinned. “But he’s our pain in the ass. Thanks for dealing with him while we were gone, we’ve got it from here.”

Tav just nodded. Rolan was staring at her, but she could not decipher his look. She awkwardly shifted and then said, “well, I was just checking in. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait,” Cal turned. “Thank you - for saving me. And the two idiots. I never thought I’d see them again.”

“It was nothing,” she shrugged.

“That black eye you're sporting says otherwise,” Lia said seriously. “I saw those hits you took. It wasn’t ‘nothing’. I’m not the best at showing it, but I love Rolan and Cal to death. They’re family - thanks for bringing us back together.”

Tav felt suddenly uncomfortable with the praise. Rolan had suggested before he thought she got off on playing the hero. His siblings' thanks felt like it would only prove his point further.

She just smiled, “I’m just glad you three are together again.” Clearing her throat, “I ought to check on my camp.”

Rolan stood suddenly as she turned, “Tav.” She waited, half expecting another comment about her heroics. “I’ve lashed out at you. Drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry. And thank you.”

With a nod she took off for a bath. She checked in on camp, hearing any intel and updates she needed from those left behind. Everyone quickly began discussing strategies and next steps, they needed to find their way to this Balthazar and find Ketheric Thorm’s weakness. There was also the matter of finding Art Cullagh’s lute, seeing if they could find any hint that Arabella’s parents were alive and figure out how to finally put this curse to rest.

Even after a victory there was still so much left to do.

She slipped away to sit on the outcrop of stone by the lake again. Everyone at camp meant the world to her, but every once in a while she needed her space. It was dark and creepy, but if she closed her eyes she could hone in on the lap of the water against the rock. A soothing sound.

“Not thinking of taking a swim, are you?”

Tav jumped, and turned. Rolan stood not far off, a bottle in his hands and to her surprise a small smile on his face.

“Gods, you scared me,” she placed a hand over her heart. “I wasn’t expecting —“ she cut herself off. She wasn’t expecting anyone, let alone him and smiling no less.

“I’ve got a bottle of Arabellan dry, if you’re up for it.” He walked up and sat down next to her, showing her the bottle.

Tav considered him for a moment. “Is it poisoned?”

“Very funny.” He said sarcastically. “I would not waste poison in a wine such as this.”

“And where did you find it?” She looked at the bottle.

“I stole it from the cellar, the last bottle,” he said, popping the cork. “I brought cups, but I know pulling straight from the bottle is more your style.”

“I’ll try a cup,” she hummed.

He poured them each a cup, and held his up to clink against hers before the first sip. Rolan hummed in pleasure. “Gods, that’s so good.”

“It is,” Tav agreed. The flavor bloomed on her tongue, smooth and without the bite of the cheap stuff she had been drinking of late. “What’s the occasion?”

“An apology. A proper one,” He muttered. “You went out of your way to help us, it’s only right you get something in return.”

“You don’t have to —“

“You were right,” he said before she could finish. “I wasn’t really angry with you. I was angry with myself. Angry at the gods awful hands we’ve been dealt on this journey.”

“It’s alright if you were a little angry with me,” she admitted sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have used Cal and Lia against you.”

“That was rather wretched of you.”

“It was,” she agreed. “But I think I more than made up for it.” She was teasing, testing the waters in this new peace they had found.

“I thanked you once already,” he said haughty tone overdone and just as playful, “don’t be greedy.”

Something about the tone, about the smile on his face and the words themselves spurred her imagination into overdrive. Him above her, wrenching an orgasm from her only for her to ask for more. Don’t be greedy, she imagined him saying it again, condescending and admonishing. A truly mortifying high pitched giggle escaped her. She took a gulp of wine, her body hot and shocked at the instantaneous reaction.

She was very glad he did not have a tadpole.

A silence stretched between them that made her itch, he did not seem to mind but she felt like she would start to fidget if she didn’t say something. Luckily, he spoke while she floundered for something to say.

“I never asked, are you alright?”

She did have a black eye and possibly a concussion. She had left camp before Shadowheart could offer some healing. “Bumps and bruises,” she said casually. “Occupational hazards, nothing to worry about.”

“Hm,” he huffed. “That’s what you get for being a meddlesome hero. But I shan’t say more, you’ve done too much for me lately.”

“Karlach, Astarion and Gale were there too, you know,” she said.

“Yes, well, I won’t be sharing my favorite wine with them,” he said stiffly.

“Oh, and what makes me so special?”

He took a drink of wine, looking into his cup. “You are — “ he started, “particularly infuriating.”

“I’m special because I’m infuriating?”

He grimaced. “Yes.”

“You don’t make a bit of sense,” Tav laughed in disbelief.

“I make perfect sense,” he said haughtily. “You’re the one jumping into cursed lakes. Or risking your life for someone who has never been particularly nice to you.” He drank the last of his cup, pouring another as he added, “top up?”

She offered her cup for him to fill. “I told you why I jumped in the lake. A precious family heirloom was at the bottom.”

“And the gallant rescuing?”

Tav frowned, taking a drink. “I don’t know. I just… if I can help, I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

Rolan didn’t seem to find that worth responding to. The silence stretched on again. He cleared his throat and held out his hand. For a moment she thought he was asking her to hold it, and she felt a strange tingle throughout her body. On his pointer finger was a ring, old and a bit scratched up, but with some kind of inscription in a language she couldn’t read on the flat surface.

“This was Cal and Lia’s grandfather’s ring.” He said looking at it. “Their mother gave it to me when I came to stay with them for good. It’s not enchanted, nor is it worth much but it — it’s proof. We’re a family, bound by something stronger than blood.”

That sunk in slowly for Tav as she pieced it together. She had questions: if Cal and Lia were not his biological siblings what happened to his parents? How long ago had he been one of their own? These felt invasive, and they had been getting along so she chose not to voice them; happy to have been trusted with a small tidbit of his past.

Delicately her fingers came out to run over the inscription. As she did her fingers brushed over his, and perhaps it was the wine, but she grabbed his hand to bring it closer to her face. The writing was maybe infernal, with some sort of emblem.

“What does it say?”

Rolan didn’t respond.

Tav looked at him, finding him very intensely focused on her. She dropped his hand, “sorry, I shouldn’t —“

“It’s fine,” he replied tersely.

An awkward silence filled the gap and she kicked herself internally.

Rolan cleared his throat. “It’s his title and rank, he was a Hellrider.” He pointed it out on the ring and she ran her eyes over it. “The Hellriders protected their lodges with wards, and could only be accessed with ward tokens. This was his.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Elturel?”

“Yes.”

“We had nothing there, even before it fell,” he said.

Tav nodded her head. “So, Baldur’s Gate was always in the plan?”

“An apprenticeship, regardless of where it was, that’s what I was after.”

“Gale says Lorroakan is a well-renowned wizard,” she left out the part where her friend called him a ‘cad.’ They were talking and getting along and she didn’t want to ruin it. “You must be excited.”

“When I get to the gates I'll be excited,” he sighed. “The journey so far has been one disaster after another.”

“We’ll get you there, Rolan.”

He looked at her for a long while. “Another promise, little hero?”

“I know how much you love when I’m gallant,” she smiled.

“That’s the problem with you,” he pointed at her with a smile playing on his lips. “I believe you. I believe you will get me there.”

Tav wasn’t sure what to say. Her face warm and her smile wide as she felt the need to look away from him. She drank the rest of her wine.

“So,” he said, “what’s the promise this time, Tav?”

“Rolan,” she began, “I promise that when we get to Baldur’s Gate, I’ll buy you a new bottle of Arabellan Dry. since you so generously shared yours with me even though I saved your ass from the Shadow Curse. It was rude of me to come to your rescue, and you’re being just so gracious about it.”

He laughed a rich deep sound that made her heart flutter, and the rest of the night her only goal was to get him to laugh again.

Part 2 will be out very soon! Thank you for reading 💜

[lakemojave]

Tonight at 6pm Pacific: The Direct Actors, A Baldur's Gate 3 "Adventure" pt. 19!!!

WE'RE BACK!!! Today we begin the 3rd season of our RP series and the 3rd act of the game! We've all had a hard time trekking through the Shadow-Cursed Lands and received some harrowing revelations, but we'll soon find out if the gang can pull themselves together! Come see @radiofreederry as The Green Knight, Elf paladin, @mayflowers429 and Nana as Leviathan, Dark Urge monk, @caputvulpinum as Micah Harper, Tiefling wizard, and myself as Delilah "Mama D" Harper, Halfling bard!

Character art by @bijillion, recap under the cut!

THE STORY SO FAR: On the way to a union rally, Delilah "Mama D" Harper and her grandson Micah were abducted and taken aboard an ilithid nautiloid, which they escaped with mysterious dancer Leviathan and the self-proclaimed "Champion of Ilmater and Paladin of Good" known only as the Green Knight. Each infected by a mind flayer tadpole, but so far immune from transforming into mind flayers themselves, The Direct Actors, as the party have come to be known, have arrived in Rivington, the gate to Baldur's Gate, and find themselves in the middle of a town with some big problems of its own...

LAST TIME: After defeating Ketheric Thorm and claiming his Netherstone, the Direct Actors prepared to depart the Shadow-Cursed Lands. As the rest of the party discussed their circumstances and the aftermath of the battle, the Green Knight scouted ahead for the road to Baldur's Gate, spending a lot of time alone in the shadows, dwelling in his grief. After dispatching an ambush of Githyanki sent by Vlaakith, the Direct Actors at last left the Shadow-Cursed Lands, just as the curse broke and the sun once again began to shine.

The party made camp just outside the town of Rivington as night fell along the Chionthar. As the Direct Actors settled in for the night, Micah was met by none other than the god Ilmater, who apologized to Micah for not being there for him in the suffering he had faced in his youth, and promised to be with him forevermore as penance, proclaiming that the position of his Chosen would be Micah's so long as he desired. Afterwards, Micah and the Green Knight talked, with the two reconciling after their previous fight and the Green Knight gifting Micah a new set of clothes he has acquired in town even as he waxed miserable about the nature of his immortality. Levi and Mama D, meanwhile, had a chat about both Lord Gortash, another Netherstone holder, and Mama D's emotional state.

As the party settled in to sleep, they were attacked by a horde of Gith, and followed them through a portal into the astral realm contained in the Astral Prism, where it was revealed that their Dream Visitor was in fact a mind flayer known as the Emperor, who held the Githyanki Prince Orpheus hostage, using his abilities to shield the Direct Actors from ceremorphosis. Everyone but Mama D had already figured this out. The party saved the Emperor, though the Green Knight vowed to return to free Orpheus and slay the mind flayer. Afterwards, as sleep took hold of the party, the Green Knight did... something that wiped his true name from their memories. Only Micah realized something had happened, and made it clear to the Green Knight that he was furious.

What did the Green Knight do? Will he and Micah ever be able to reconcile again? Will any more of Leviathan's memories return? Who is the sadistic shapeshifter known as Orin? What dangers lurk in the gateway town of Rivington? Find out in another exciting instalment of Baldur's Gate 3, starring the Direct Actors!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The handful will shout louder. A few fair men on the other side will argue and reason against the war with speech and pen, and at first will have a hearing and be applauded; but it will not last long; those others will outshout them, and presently the anti-war audiences will thin out and lose popularity. Before long you will see this curious thing: the speakers stoned from the platform, and free speech strangled by hordes of furious men who in their secret hearts are still at one with those stoned speakers—as earlier—but do not dare to say so. And now the whole nation—pulpit and all—will take up the war-cry, and shout itself hoarse, and mob any honest man who ventures to open his mouth; and presently such mouths will cease to open. Next the statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon the nation that is attacked, and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of grotesque self-deception.

—Mark Twain, The Mysterious Stranger, Harper's Magazine (1916)

[Robert Scott Horton]

[kilisia]

Why are More People not Talking about Isobel Thorm

ACT 2 SPOILERS AHEAD

Larian Studios really outdid themselves with this one in my opinion. From the surface when you meet her she seems like just any other character. Just Selûnite cleric that uses her moon magic to protect the last light inn.

(Isobel Selûnite cleric)

In my first playthrough I ran headfirst into the enormous battle that follows having no idea how important her character was. I let her fall and Fist Marcus took her. All hell broke loose and I fought my way through hordes of turned harpers. I continued to play the game as normal after said battle until a friend actually recommended that I backtracked on my saves and actually saved her. (best choice on god)

(Isobel doing her moon magics to protect The Last Light Inn)

Not much is revealed about her character after saving her. You don't find out to much about the character until saving Dame Aylin and also until you explore Moonrise Towers (if your thorough here). You can find an item that links her to Aylin within the towers, though this is quite subtle.

(Selûnite Brooch embossed with 'A + I')

There are several more hints towards this through letters, notes etc. Isobel does end up telling you after a while but I think this letter was the biggest punch in the gut for me

(Note found on Ketheric Thorm's Body that reads " Papa, I love you. LOVE FROM IZ")

Her whole story is so tragic, as is Aylin's, and Ketheric's. Playing though the act and learning about this set of characters made me emotional on a level that characters from previous videogames never has.

Despite everything, Isobel is still comes across as a ***MOSTLY*** happy character.

(Isobel Smiling)

Oh and of course I can't forget to mention... LESBIANS

(Isobel and Dame Aylin smooooching)

(Gif of Isobel)

So, to sum this all up... I think Larian really put a lot of thought into this character and the story is just so heart wrenching I cannot.

(Writers notes: I am perfectly normal about Isobel and totally don't want her to absolutely crush my skull with her thighs akldfhjblkadfjhkldfjhkl)

[ccycloneblogging]

actually that zombie apocalypse ask got me thinking. how would your critters(and angel) act in a zombie apocalypse au?

Whoops - I forgot to answer this one!

Sorry about that.

Check the Read More for the break down and the Toons' names

I feel like a lot of the toons wouldn't do great in a zombie apocalypse.

Cyrus (DogDay) would be very sympathetic and want to take the risk to save others, which would backfire on him. He's an amazing toon, but I don't think a quick costume joke will fool the undead.

Lunata (CatNap) is far more cautious, not wanting to take unnecessary risks. Of course, if anything happened to his Sunshine or his best friend Trix? He'd lose it. He's not surviving unless both of those two are alive. His illusion jokes will not help him here.

Bellamy (Bubba) would at least be able to set up a base and handle making traps and defenses out of almost nothing. Having his specialty being the creation of gadgets - he's going to be one of the last ones standing. For sure.

Trix (Kickin') can take one hell of a hit and stand back up. His ability to lock enemies into a musical number can at least get him out of a pinch. I'd at least like to say no zombie can resist the song Thriller. His biggest issue is that he is the type to act first, think later. Which can get him far, but probably will cost him greatly.

Cara (Bobby) is aggressive. She would best be suited for defending the base instead of scouting - as her specialty in word play simply will not do her any good here. She'd defend her loved ones to the bitter end, and if she's going down? A whole horde is going down with her.

Iris (Crafty) can break the 4th wall with ease, even taking little glimpses into the future. However... Her mind isn't the strongest and she will easily crack the more times she uses her abilities. She wouldn't last long unless she's guarded.

Harper (Hoppy) has the ability to run quickly. She can easily go out and grab supplies, but she is very forgetful and cannot hold her own in a battle if things get dicey. She'd need help, but she's not always the type to stop and think things through.

Key (Picky) would be an absolute BEAST. She will fight, and she will win. She's smart enough to keep herself armored up for battles, and though she is the group's cook, she is their TANK as well. She can and will go hand to hand with zombies and enough guard to prevent any bites - at least at first. Too long in a fight and her armor will be useless, and she will slip up.

Angel?

Well... They take no shits. They will survive, and they will do EVERYTHING to keep all of their toons alive as well. This human has fought too hard to just give up - even at their lowest point. They will get the toons to a safe place - and they will refuse to accept anything else.

[frownyalfred]

Could Dick's pack not be his small horde of red heads.

The addition of Roy Harper at the very least adds more a fun Oliver Green connection.

oh my god, just a pack full of redheads. little does he know, all Waynes are cursed to have the most insane, chaotic packs possible and his omega parent is absolutely suffering across town with his own redhead.

[veshialles]

Dr. Edith Harper Chisholm

-2102- Resident Psychologist of Vault 76, honorary Responder, "field medic". -2287- Traveling researcher, Priestess of the Forgotten God, occult expert.

Once an esteemed graduate of Vault-Tec University and a close personal friend to the Chambers and Hopper families, Edith Chisholm set out on Reclamation Day alongside her fellow residents to explore and settle in the ruins of Appalachia together.

Throughout her journeys, she grew ever closer to Jaden Chambers and Beverly Hopper, coming to care for them as her own children, and soon enough found herself romantically involved with Janice Chambers. Though initially fully loyal to Vault 76's mission statement of "reclaiming the wasteland", Edith soon became disillusioned with The Overseer's colonial vision when the mysterious Scorched Plague threatened the health and wellbeing of her newly-found family.

Although curing mutagenic infections fell far outside her typical area of expertise, Edith worked tirelessly to formulate a treatment plan, utilizing the resources left behind by the extinct post-war factions and following the trial of breadcrumbs left behind by The Overseer to seek out a solution to this monumental problem. While she remained acutely aware of the dangers, fervently analyzing and documenting the unique "telepathic" properties of the Scorched Plague is likely where her morbid curiosity with the occult and the unexplained truly began.

In 2103, after the Scorchbeast Queen was slain, and a cure for the plague was finalized and distributed, Edith's fascination with unexplained phenomena began to turn into obsession. Though her many encounters with so called "cryptid" and "mythical" entities served to fuel this fixation, the main driving force behind Edith's predilections came after Beverly Hopper's exposure to an unearthed mysterious artifact granted her with telekinetic powers, transforming Beverly into a kind of Psyker.

At first, Beverly's powers were greatly beneficial to the survival of the family and to the returning wastelanders, crushing raiders and crippling the abominable mutant hordes who would have seen them all dead or enslaved. But as the months drew on, and as Beverly grew in power, so too did she begin to grow reckless and careless as well, becoming as much a danger to herself and those around her as to her would-be foes. A force of raw fury and power to be reckoned with.

By 2104, Beverly's growing instability lead to tragedy when her family finally confronted her with their concerns, lashing out against them and mortally wounding Jaden when he dove in front of Edith aand his mother, taking the brunt of Beverly's telekinetic blast. Realizing what she had done, Beverly fled across Appalachia, leaving a path of carnage in her wake. Solemnly, Edith and Janice swore to stop their adopted daughter by any means necessary. Relentlessly they pursued Beverly until finally cornering her inside an abandoned nuclear facility, where a final confrontation played out, ending with Edith trapped inside the reactor core and suffering intense radiation exposure. Though she miraculously survived and was rescued by Janice, over the coming weeks and months, Edith underwent the slow and painful transformation into a ghoul, while Janice's health merely deteriorated.

Broken and grieving and irradiated, Janice and Edith returned to the homestead they had built, caring for each other until the end. Desperate to find some form of "understanding" in the wake of so much pain and loss, Edith sought out spiritual guidance and found her way to The Enlightened, fully indulging herself into the field of paranormal and occult research, etching crude wings onto her face and proclaiming herself as a Priestess of the Forgotten God.

Years later, when the Brotherhood Of Steel's fledgling presence made it unsafe for Edith to exist in the open, rumours began to spread among the Appalachian settlers about a dangerous and powerful mad-woman wreaking havoc and destruction somewhere to the east of Appalachia. A rumour which Edith has been chasing ever since.

[slxsherwriter]

Hello and welcome to my depraved little corner of tumblr. Here I write for a variety of slasher and horror characters. Primarily will be featuring drabbles with the occasional longer piece. Headcanons will feature from time to time

At the time I do NOT consent for my work to be translated or posted anywhere else.

Below you will find some more information on who and what I write.

MINORS DNI. Due to the nature of these characters and potential content, only 18 and older are allowed.

Characters || Rules || Masterlist || Masterlist mobile friendly || Non-slasher writings blog: @rewritethisstxry

What I will write:

Angst

Fluff

Smut

Platonic relationships

Alpha/Omega dynamics

What I won’t write:

Snuff

Rape, rape play, non con

Underage

Inc*st

Who I write for:

Michael Myers (primarily Rob Zombie based)

Corey Cunningham

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Rusty Nail

Eric Newlon

Jesse Cromeans

Asa Emory

Billy Loomis

Stu Macher

Ethan Landry

Mickey Altieri

Jedidiah Sawyer

Tex Sawyer

Thomas Brown Hewitt

Jason Voorhees

Evan MacMillan

Frank Morrison

Caleb Quinn

John Ryder

Leslie Vernon

Ethan Belfrage

Dr. Richard Sommers

Lawrence O'Neill

Lawrence Gordon

Robert Englund characters

Wayne Jackson (A Good Day for It)

Stuart Lloyd (The Last Showing)

Dr. Peter Andover (Fear Clinic)

Professor William Wexler (Urban Legend)

Doc Halloran (Behind the Mask)

Dr. Anton Rudolph (Python)

Jim Bickerman (Lake Placid)

Mayor Buckman (2001 Maniacs)

Warden Kane (The Funhouse Massacre)

Inkubus (Inkubus)

Sheriff Richard Berger (Heartstopper)

Scratch Monahan (Windfall)

Detective Gassner (Criminal Minds)

Mr. Meredith (Natty Knocks)

Tim Wexler (MacGyver)

Vaughn (Hunter)

Lyle Eckert (Walker Texas Ranger)

Costas Mandylor characters

Mark Hoffman (Saw)

The Warden (Death Count)

John Shepherd (Bloodthirst)

Agent Cole Bennett (Night of the Sicario)

Cylus Atkinson (The Horde)

Raymond Crowe (Saints & Sinners)

Jim (Blackout)

Chase Harper (Primal Doubt)

Stephan Lang characters

Norman Nordstrom (Don’t Breathe)

The Party Crasher (The Hard Way)

Miles Quartich (Avatar)

Fred Parras (VFW)

Holt Ramsey (A Good Marriage)

John Korver(Gridlocked)

Tony Cobb (Monkey Paw)

Nathaniel Taylor (Terra Nova)

Richard Brake characters

Winslow Foxworth Coltrane (3 From Hell)

Doom-head (31)

Dean Portman (Doom)

Otis Clairborne (RIPD 2)

William Colcott (The Gates)

Mr. Big (Bingo Hell)

Dr. Henry Augustus Wolfgang (The Munsters)

Norman Tyrus (A Good Day For It)

Bill Moseley characters

Otis Driftwood

Luigi Largo (Repo)

Darryl (Old 37)

Logan Burnhardt (Dead Air)

Frank (Fair Game)

Doc (Shed of the Dead)

Zach Garrett (Halloween)

Jake Spooler (The Practice)

Abner Honeywell (Natty Knocks)

Gimple (Minutes to Midnight)

Captain Harris (Welcome to Horrorwood series)

Farmer Sam (Hayride to Hell)

Bruce (Boar)

Jacob Sutter (The Horde)

Peter Van Hooten (The House of the Witchdoctor)

Deputy Henry Depford (Dead Souls)

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 2/5

Book Blurb:

In this dark and enchanting stand-alone fantasy from debut author Lynn Buchanan--complete with black and white illustrations and a full-wrap illustrated cover--discover a world centered around destructive, all-consuming monsters; the magical dolls designed to fight this force; and the artisans tasked with creating demon-slaying dolls. A touch cozy fantasy and a touch horror, The Dollmakers is perfect for fans of Studio Ghibli films, the works of TJ Klune and Travis Baldree, and readers of Juniper & Thorn and The Goblin Emperor.

In the country called One, dollmakers are vital members of the community. An artisan’s doll is the height of society’s accomplishments, while a guard’s doll is the only thing standing between the people of One and the Shod: vicious, cobbled monstrosities that will tear apart any structure—living or dead, inanimate or otherwise—to add to their horde.

Apprentice Shean of Pearl is a brilliant dollmaker. With her clever dolls, she intends to outsmart and destroy the Shod, once and for all—a destiny she’s worked her whole life toward accomplishing. But when the time comes for her dolls to be licensed, she’s told her work is too beautiful and delicate to fight. A statement that wounds and infuriates her; the Shod killed everyone she loved. How could her fate be anything but fighting them?

In an attempt to help her see a new path for herself, Shean’s mentor sends her on a journey to the remote village called Web, urging her to glean some wisdom from Ikiisa, a reclusive and well-respected guard dollmaker. But Shean has another plan: if she can convince the village of Web of her talents, the Licensor Guild will have to reconsider and grant her a guard’s license. And what better way to convince them than challenging Ikiisa and instating herself as the official dollmaker of Web? Once she’s done that, proving her dolls’ worth in the fight against the Shod will be simple.

As simple, that is, as calling the Shod to Web...

Review:

A girl who is determined to prove that her dollmaking skills are up to par ends up in a strange little town facing off against another dollmaker and the monsters inside the forest. In a world where dollmarkers create dolls that protect and fight against the Shod, vicious monstrosities that tear apart beings.... you have to earn your license as either a artisian dollmaker or as a guard dollmaker. Shean of Pearl is an apprentice and a brilliant dollmaker, her dolls are clever and beautiful, and she intends for her dolls to outsmart and destroy the Shod. It's all she's been working towards ever since her family was murdered by the Shod before her eyes. Yet when she goes to take her license test and is told her dolls do not qualify to become guard dolls she snaps and loses it. Her mentor sends her off to Web to glean wisdom from Ikiisa, a reclusive and well-respected guard dollmaker.... but Shean has other plans, such as stealing the job from Ikiisa and proving to the Licensor Guild that she deserves to have her license reconsidered to being a guard dollmarker. Yet Shean begins to discover that maybe she wasn't as right as she thought and that maybe she isn't as brilliant as she thinks and that there are bigger things to be concerned about than her desires... such as the monsters surrounding Web. This book was a rough one to read especially considering how annoying Shean is, reading from her POV had me wanting to tear my hair out for the most part. I didn't like or care for her if I'm being honest and would have much preferred if the story focused more on Ikiisa. The story was an easy read and despite being part of the world, you can read this as a standalone. Shean does grow by the last 70% of the book but by then I was already over her. Honestly if you are looking for a fantasy book with a unique magic system, I would say give it a go!

Release Date: August 13,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Avon and Harper Voyager | Harper Voyager for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[lakemojave]

Tonight at 6pm Pacific: The Direct Actors, A Baldur's Gate 3 "Adventure" pt. 16!

I'll be real everyone. The team is in a very dark place right now. We're in the middle of the Gauntlet of Shar and the team is in a particularly bad way of things. Come see @radiofreederry play Dhudlei Durite, elf paladin, my friends Nana and @mayflowers429 play Leviathan, Dragonborn Dark Urge Monk, @caputvulpinum play Micah Harper, Tiefling Cleric, and me play Delilah "Mama D" Harper, Halfling Bard!

Art by @terrafey, recap under the cut. See y'all then!

THE STORY SO FAR: On the way to a union rally, Delilah "Mama D" Harper and her grandson Micah were abducted and taken aboard an ilithid nautiloid, which they escaped with mysterious dancer Leviathan and self-proclaimed "Champion of Ilmater and Paladin of Good" Dhudlei Durite. Each infected by a mind flayer tadpole, but so far immune from transforming into mind flayers themselves, The Direct Actors, as the party have come to be known, have been pushed to their breaking point in the Shadow-Cursed lands, and now look to break the power of Ketheric Thorm and end the curse once and for all...

LAST TIME: The Direct Actors entered the Thorm Mausoleum, and after Dhudlei solved a puzzle relating to Ketheric Thorm's life and descent into villainy, they discovered a hidden entrance to the Gauntlet of Shar, the proving ground for the Lady of Loss' Dark Justiciars. Micah pretended to pray at a Sharran altar, continuing to delight in fooling the goddess.

After a battle with some Sharran constructs in which the party was aided by a horde of reanimated skeletons, the party met Ketheric's lieutenant Balthazar, who, believing they were True Souls of the Absolute cult, charged them with retrieving the Nightsong, confirming that it was integral to Ketheric's immortality. Now armed with this knowledge, the party dispatched Balthazar and his undead before resting for the night.

With Dhudlei barred from entry to the Gauntlet of Shar, the party decided to take their Sharran cleric Shadowheart along for the journey, and she quickly became fixated on completing the trials to become a Dark Justiciar. The party encountered the orthon Raphael had tasked them with killing, which Mama D accomplished by literally talking him into killing his companions and himself.

The first of Shar's trials was a maze to test stealth, which Leviathan cleared after a few false starts. After this was the so-called Self-Same Trial, in which the party's voices and forms were stolen by shadow versions of themselves, which ripped into each party member's insecurities and flaws in order to tear them down. Emotionally and physically exhausted after defeating their doubles, the party set up camp for the night.

A tearful Micah confided in Leviathan about his own death wish, and the dancer comforted him in his own manner before his other personality drunkenly beseeched Micah and Mama D to tell him stories of past days. Leviathan then admitted that he felt he was going to "die" soon. Mama D insisted that she would not let that happen. As the party fell asleep, Micah received a cruel message from Shar, mocking him for his attempts to fool her.

Will the Direct Actors make it through the Gauntlet of Shar? Will Shadowheart become a Dark Justiciar? What is the Nightsong? Has Dhudlei really just been chilling this whole time making tea and eating Oreos? Find out on another exciting instalment of Baldur's Gate 3, starring the Direct Actors!

[feral-roach-man]

Welcome, Welcome!

Hello, I am Harper, the leader of this particular horde. Specific gender depends, but I'm always somewhere on the male/masculine side of the gender spectrum. If unsure, use he/him for me. The roaches don't have gender, use it/its for them. It's a pleasure to meet you.

[lordeasriel]

I appreciate how deranged the Baldur's Gate 3 fights have been so far. I *definitely*was prepared to fight off a horde of cursed Harpers after wasting all my slots to save Isobel lmao in tears

[maypoleman1]

25th December

Christmas Day

Merry Old Santa Claus by Thomas Nast. Sources: Harper’s Weekly (1881) and The German Way website

Today is Christmas Day, a day that held spiritual significance long before it was designated Jesus Christ’s birthday by the early Church. Christianity’s chief rival to become the official religion of the Roman Empire was Mithraism. The Persian sun-god Mithras, worshipped by large numbers of soldiers in the Roman army, was allegedly born of a virgin in lowly circumstances; rose from the dead; promoted fraternalism and good works amongst his devotees and was born on December 25th. Although the Church eventually decreed Mithraism to be a satanic cult, they first adopted many of the tenets of Mithras’ own character and rituals and incorporated them into their own, new, religion.

The modern Christmas also borrows from other, darker and northern roots. At the heart of this is the ambiguous figure of Father Christmas, who well over a century ago, became conflated with the Dutch gift-giving winter spirit, Santa Claus, who was himself a distant descendant of the Anatolian bishop, Saint Nicholas. Father Christmas was originally a character in the British Christmas medieval mumming plays, and with his crimson robe and long white beard, was the embodiment of a winter season that appeared completely dominant in late December. The parallel figure of Saint Nicholas (who via Dutch setters, also became established in North America) fused with a much older pagan tradition of sky-travelling beneficence associated with the Germanic god Wotan, who rode the night sky during the feast of Yule, on his six-legged steed Sleipnir, rewarding the deserving with gifts and good fortune and punishing the wicked. Followed by hordes of malevolent elves who visited ill on the bad, Wotan and St Nicholas eventually came together as the slightly sinister chimney-descending gift giver, Santa Claus, in Northern Europe. In Britain, the homegrown figure of Father Christmas joined with his European cousin, thus making all three characters almost indistinguishable. However, formative nineteenth century contributions such as A Visit From St Nicholas (which portrayed the saint as a nocturnal elfin visitor, riding a small sleigh pulled by reindeer and entering houses via their chimneys) by Clement Clarke Moore in 1823; the Bacchus-like Father Christmas figure of the Ghost of Christmas Present in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, published in 1843, and the illustrations of Santa Claus in the 1860s by Thomas Nast all pulled together the essential elements of this rotund representation of seasonal jollity that we see today.

Festive greenery, originally a wish to remind people of the lost vegetation of summer, became ritualised within the Roman winter festival of Saturnalia. This household greenery later formed the basis of many Christmas decorations. These evergreens, who refused to die off in the winter, were thought to be endowed with magical powers, holly and ivy being viewed as particularly potent. Holly tended to be associated with male characteristics and ivy with the female: both were locked in timeless combat. The winter plant of greatest significance to the ancients was mistletoe, held by the Celts to hold the essence of the woodland gods in its berries. Mistletoe, unafraid of winter, was believed to be a cure-all, particularly if harvested at the time of the winter solstice. In the U.K., the most prevalent piece of greenery to be erected in family homes is the Christmas Tree - a relatively recent import from Germany thanks to Prince Albert, but which can probably trace its origins to the pagan Yule Log and the Norse Tree of Life, Yggdrasil.