#and the gods did reach their clerics so far

[lauranthalasah]

So Liam mentioned "priest" instead of paladin if he would go "follower" of Melora, which he doesn't seem to wanna do, at least for right now. It was really a small mention, but Melora's domains are Life, Nature, and Tempest... I can't stop thinking how fitting it would be if the previous guard of The Voice of the Tempest became a tempest cleric follower of the Wildmother!

[galedekarios]

gale's early access dialogue transcripts - part 3: dialogues regarding various decisions & quest progression

in early access, companions used to react much more to the decisions you made in dialogue as well as the overall quest progression pertaining to the main quest as well as side quests, and the events happening around them.

these conversations would be shorter in nature and were usually marked with an exclamation mark ( ! ) over their head.

some of these conversations survived the transition from early access to the full release, but they are very few and far between. the only ones that did survive are 1) gale's reaction to nettie poisoning the protag, 2) gale's reaction to saving mirkon, and 3) gale's reaction to saving arabella.

gale was much, much more responsive in early access and had conversations with the protag about a variety of topics.

following are all cut conversations / dialogues with gale (excluding the deer stew scene and loss scene, which i have covered here and here, but have decided to exclude because they are much longer conversations):

overview:

jergal's temple

reaching the druid's grove / emerald enclave

arabella the tiefling child dies / protag stood by and did nothing

protag killed lae'zel after lae'zel tried to prevent them from turning into a mind flayer

karlach vs anders, the paladin of tyr / agent of zariel

after edowin / the siblings brynna and andrick

killing the druids

arriving at the goblin camp

finding out that the absolute's brand is magic

about true souls

dror ragzlin & the dead mindflayer

ogre + bugbear couple in moonhaven

giving the necromancy of thay tome to gale (dialogue option in player-initiated dialogue / gale asks for tome)

on ethel

on ethel's deal

after finishing mayrina's quest

the zhentarim chest / rugan

the myconid colony in the underdark

defending astarion to gandrel the gur monster hunter

handing astarion over to gandrel the gur monster hunter

arka the tiefling (kanon's sister) kills sazza the goblin / protag stood by and watched it happen

letting sazza escape

finding out about priestess gut from sazza

below the read more, you'll find the transcripts of these 23 cut conversations.

where i can and still have them, i will include screenshots and, when i can find them online, i will include links to watch those conversation in video format.

jergal's temple [link to gifset]

Gale: Bad form, isn't it? Grave robbing? Judging by those undead guardians, the architects of this crypt certainly thought so. - Protag Option 1: I'm desperate, not proud. Best to take what I can get.  Gale: Then again, to be alive is to be curious.  - Protag Option 2: Dressing up the dead is pointless. They have no need for trinkets.  Gale: Never lost a loved one, have you? Then again, those who loved these loved ones are dust and bones themselves. - Protag Option 3: A good fight and fine treasure. What's not to like? Gale: I suppose that's one way to spin it. - Protag Option 4: Why care about decorum in a long-abandoned tomb? Gale: Because my mother raised a gentleman. Then again, to be alive is to be curious.  - Protag Option 5 [Cleric]: True. My god might not be particularly happy about it. Gale: You can pray for your sins later. I’m told that does the trick. Gale: Let's have a look at the loot. It isn't for your pockets only.

2. reaching the druid's grove / emerald enclave

Gale: So much for finding a safe haven. - Protag Option 1: This is a druid grove. With a bit of luck we'll find help here.  Gale: Druids master the ancient magic that is part of nature's fabric itself. They can make bloom, and they can make wither. Let's hope the latter applies to tadpoles.  - Protag Option 2: We won't linger long.  Gale: And we shouldn't – but we'd be remiss not to give the place a once-over. Druids master the ancient magic that is part of nature's fabric itself. They can make bloom, and they can make wither. Let's hope the latter applies to tadpoles. 

3. arabella the tiefling child dies / protag stood by and did nothing [link to gifset]

Gale: This place is a snake pit in more ways than one. That poor girl... Such sudden madness.... And what did we do? We stood by and watched. Her parents – we'll have to tell them that we failed.  - Protag Option 1: Our priority remains to find a healer. The most dangerous snake is in our heads, remember? Gale: Distinctly. But it hasn't poisoned my sense of right and wrong just yet. How about yours? - Protag Option 2: We're here on Zevlor's behalf. Let's not lose sight of that.  Gale: Yes, nothing like serving up a dead child as the appetiser to successful negotiations. - Protag Option 3: Her parents deserve to know what happened. And that we are not to blame.  Gale: So inaction equals innocence? There's a small corpse on the floor over there that might just beg to differ. - Protag Option 4: This is none of our concern. Where there's strife, there will be blood. Gale: And where there's blood, there will be vengeance. This troubled grove is about to become far more troubled still. - [Arabella died because protag failed the DC twice] Protag Option 5: The girl really should have left the druid's idol alone. Look where it got her.  Gale: If the errors of youth deserve an early grave, none of us would live to see a dozen summers. There is no justification for this tragedy.

4. protag killed lae'zel after lae'zel tried to prevent them from turning into a mind flayer

Gale: Lae'zel... that was brutal. Are you all right? I'm here if you want to talk about it. - Protag Option 1: Is there anything left to say? Gale: She was alive. Now she is dead. Might be worth a few words. Then again, maybe not. What a night... - Protag Option 2: She was danger to us all. She didn't leave me with a choice.  Gale: I was not judging, merely offering my sympathy.  One moment we are travelling together, then the next... - Protag Option 3: Don't bother. It's over and done with.  Gale: Words as final as your acts. One moment we are travelling together, then the next...

5. karlach vs anders, the paladin of tyr / agent of zariel

Gale: I have to say I don't know if agreeing to this hunt was such a wise idea. Who's to say who's the real villain in this tale of devils and masquerades? - Protag Option 1: Cheer up! It'll be fun.  Gale: Yes, I used to sign up for a round of Kill-The-Stranger every tenday back home [sarcastic]. When we track Karlach down, let's chat before we chop. - Protag Option 2: You're saying I shouldn't trust a bunch of devil-sworn pretending to be paladins of Tyr? Gale: I'm saying I really shouldn't have to point that out. When we track Karlach down, let's chat before we chop. - Protag Option 3: It's easy: I say who the villain is. Gale: My, so it's you who is Tyr then, the mighty judge of justice?  Go ahead, tell them. I'm sure they'd love to fawn all over their erstwhile patron.

6. after edowin / the siblings brynna and andrick

Gale: I have to say, it's one thing to have a parasite in your head, quite another not to know it's there. What's more, these people weren't on the nautiloid with us. Just how many mind flayers are at work in these parts? - Protag Option 1: The real question is: how does this all link to their belief in this “Absolute”? Gale: Mind flayers excel -> See Option 3 - Protag Option 2: Do you really think there may be more mind flayers around? Gale: This True Soul and his acolytes are ample proof of that...  They 're ample proof of a dread suspicion as well.  - Protag Option 3: Let's move. I don't mean to lose daylight pondering idle questions.  Gale: You really do dismiss these events too casually. - Gale: Mind flayers excel at mind games. To enthral completely is their bread and butter. What if they perfected their craft by convincing their subjects they're not thralls at all, but that they have free will? That the commandments they experience are the will of a benevolent god. How terrifying a level of perfection that would be.

7. killing the druids

Gale: If Silvanus is the mighty oak, his druids were but the weakest of his leaves, tossed by the winds of fury. I can't shake the image of what happened to the grove: the winds have blown and the harvest has come. The oak stands lone and barren.  - Protag [Druid] Option 1: A grove destroyed... I dont think I can forgive myself. Gale: After winter, spring will come, but I'm not sure we left behind much fertile ground. - Protag [Druid] Option 2: The druids caused the harvest. It was only just we did the reaping. Gale: Yes, well, I prefer to pluck apples and pick strawberries. They don't tend to weigh on one's conscience. - Protag Option 3: They were in need of a lesson – and we taught it well. Gale: One usually needs to be alive to reap the benefits of education. If anything, we taught them too well.  - Protag Option 4: They felt threatened and lashed out. A tragedy I wish we could have avoided.  Gale: Their action are on them, that much is true, but the consequences are ours to carry - Protag Option 5: Come, let's move on. What's done is done. Gale: Look around you. What's done is done, but what's wrong is also wrong.

8. arriving at the goblin camp [link to gifset]

Gale: Amid all this grandeur sunk into squalor, I wonder what dismal corner we'll find Halsin in.  - Protag Option 1: Any suggestions? Gale: Prisoners are treated the same by everyone: they serve as serfs, or they waste away in a dungeon. Stands to reason we'll find Halsin in either one of these less-than-appealing conditions.  - Protag Option 2: What grandeur is that? Gale: This must have been a splendid complex once, a temple of impressive proportions. Worshippers lived here. Pilgrims visited. They required food, shelter, ceremony, entertainment. Now that it's nothing but a goblin-ridden death-trap? Plenty of places to hide away a druid, I imagine. - Protag Option 3: With our luck? Marinating in a cooking pot most likely. Gale: A hearty serving of druid stew wouldn't do us any good. No, let's hope the best and keep this in mind: Prisoners are treated the same by everyone: they serve as serfs, or they waste away in a dungeon. If he's still alive, it stands to reason we'll find Halsin in either one of these less-than-appealing conditions. Well -more-than-appealing conditions come to think of it, when one considers the stew alternative.

9. finding out that the absolute's brand is magic

Gut: Hold out your arm so I can mark your flesh. It's charged with magic. Ordinary slobs can't see it; only us that follow the Absolute.  Gale: Charged with magic? Perhaps that explains the ease with which these goblins submit to True Souls.

10. about true souls

Gale: I can hardly wrap my head around what we've just heard. Let's list up the facts, shall we? There are other people here with tadpoles in their heads. They can hear the tadpoles speak to them, and they think it's a new god. I don't know about you, but to me, none of this makes any logical sense.  - Protag Option 1: I concur. There doesn't seem to be a logical explanation. Gale: And yet I suspect something... intelligent behind it all. Some carefully nurtured scheme. - Protag Option 2: I'm seeing too many coincidences – which tend to add up to conspiracies.  Gale: Evil cults and grand designs, is it? Mind you, I'll not even dispute the possibility. - Protag Option 3: I don't care about logic, I care about solutions. Gale: I'm not sure those are mutually exclusive. If we seek to solve we must seek to comprehend.  - Gale: But let's not lose sight of what we've learned here – what joins us and what separates us from these True Souls: They heard a voice we do not hear, a voice that binds them in servitude. As long as we're possessed of our own free will, I venture to say there's hope for us yet.

11. dror ragzlin & the dead mindflayer

Gale: A grand necromantic spectacle staged at the behest of a newfangled god to track down... us. Can't quite say which of these two wins out: to be honoured or to be horrified. - Protag Option 1: The real question is: why are they looking for us? Gale: Several guesses spring to mind, all equally plausible and implausible at once. - Protag Option 2: Not to worry: we easily tricked that hobgoblin – and his god. Gale: We tricked the minion, yes, but its master? I doubt it. - Protag Option 3: Can't say I'm thrilled to be a god's pet project. Gale: Horrified it is then. - Gale: Fact is we're being hunted, but at least we have the hunters at a disadvantage: even here, in the lion's den, they don't recognise us as their prey.

12. ogre + bugbear couple in moonhaven

Gale: One moment they were embracing each other in intimacy, the next they're embracing only death. Can't say I'm proud of our actions here.  - Protag Option 1: Me either. We should have left well enough alone Gale: Don't get me wrong, I know they'd have gladly made us their post-coital picnic given half a chance. It just feels wrong to turn lovemaking into life-taking.  - Protag Option 2: Playing it a bit fast and loose with the word 'intimacy' there, Gale. Gale: I'm not contemplating definitions, I'm contemplating our deeds. Don't get me wrong, I know they'd have gladly made us their post-coital picnic given half a chance. It just feels wrong to turn lovemaking into life-taking.  - Protag Option 3: Don't dwell on it. Ogres and bugbears are nothing but vermin. Gale: And yet they speak and bond and revel. Don't get me wrong, I know they'd have gladly made us their post-coital picnic given half a chance. It just feels wrong to turn lovemaking into life-taking.

13. giving the necromancy of thay tome to gale (dialogue option in player-initiated dialogue / gale asks for tome)

Gale: Much obliged. Narrator: you watch Gale perusing the book with a true wizard's fascination. A few pages in, something startles him.  Gale: A rough read indeed... I'll give it my undivided attention at a more appropriate time.

14. on ethel

Gale: You know, I think there's a little something more to Ethel than meets the eye. 'Hag' is the word they used.  If that's what she really is, she's beyond dangerous.  - Protag Option 1: If that's what she is, that means we killed two innocent men. Gale: But theit sister still lives. And I doubt Auntie has her over for tea and conversation. - Protag Option 2: Hags are powerful creatures. She might actually be able to help us with the parasite.  Gale: See Option 3 - Protag Option 3: She hinted at a reward. That's all I really care about. Gale: Beware of a hag bearing gifts. They're never gifts to begin with.

15. on ethel's deal

Gale: Netherese. A portentous word. Combine it with mind flayers, and it's... unspeakable. - Protag Option 1: What do you make of it all? Gale: What we can do is combine what we know and make our deductions. At the heart of it all, the problem is clear: we've been infected by a mind flayer parasite. So far, however, we've been spared the dread fate that is ceremorphosis. How have we been spared? It would seem the answer is that the parasite is somehow infused with Netherese magic – more powerful, more sinister than it has any right to be. The question remains, however: why? Infected, but unchanging. Blind cogs in an all-seeing machine. - Protag Option 2: If even a hag can't help us, who can? Gale: I... I actually don't know. All we can do is combine what we know and make our deductions- See Option 1 - Protag Option 3: It's all gibberish as far as I'm concerned. Gale: No, there's meaning to it. There has to be.  All we can do is combine- See Option 1 - Protag Option 4: None of this actually solves our problems. Gale: I know, but let's consider this: at the heart of it all, not only is our problem clear, but so is the motive of our enemy: power. All power has a nexus. Find it, and we may just find both the answers and the remedy we seek. - Protag Option 5: Get to the point if you have one. Gale: I was merely thinking out loud, but if you desire a point, consider this: See Option 4 - Protag Option 6: Enough talk. Let's go. Gale: Fine, but while we walk, consider this: See Option 4

16. after finishing mayrina's quest [link to gifset]

Gale: Hags really do redefine depravity, don't they? A promise kept in the cruellest of ways: a loved one returned, undead.  - Protag Option 1: This entire affair sickens me. I wish we'd had no part in it. Gale: We don't always choose the roles we play. All we can do is perform them to the best of our ability.  [Connor killed] At least the curtain's fallen on this tragedy. The lovers' tale is quite over.  [Connor alive] Can't say I'm very enthusiastic though, about the extra you just cast. - Protag Option 1: Hags thrive on corruption. It is simply their nature Gale: A nature that, as far as I'm concerned, deserves to go extinct.  [Connor killed] As extinct as the happiness Ethel cut out of Mayrina. [Connor alive] So does that abhorrent thing-once-man. For god's sake let his eternal sleep be free of this undead nightmare. - Protag Option 3: You have to admit Auntie Ethel knows how to have some fun. Gale: [disapproves] You can't possibly mean that.  [Connor killed] In any case, the man's dead for good. The spectacle has come to a close. Fun's over.  [Connor alive] Although, judging by the newest company you've decided to keep, you may just be depraved enough yourself to mean that after all.

17. the zhentarim chest / rugan

Gale: So you threatened your way into ownership of that chest. Now that it's yours, what will you do with it? - Protag Option 1: I say we hold on to it until we find the rightful owner. Gale: So that means you're not curious as to what's inside? Very well, suit yourself... - Protag Option 2: Let's seell it. We're bound to make a tidy profit.  Gale: See Option 1 - Protag Option 3: I will do what is meant to be done with a sealed chest: open it. Gale: Music to my curious ears!

18. the myconid colony in the underdark [link to gifset]

Gale: Spores that can raise the dead... These myconids certainly are fascinating creatures.  Protag Option 1: They make for good allies.  Gale: Agreed. And there are precious few of those in the Underdark. - Protag Option 2: They're more dangerous than I thought. We should be on our guard.  Gale: They will remain welcome hosts unless we turn hostile. Should be easy enough to avoid. - Protag Option 3: Sorry, but I don't share your fascination for fungi.  Gale: Nobody's perfect. 

19. defending astarion to gandrel the gur monster hunter [link to youtube video]

[Protag defends Astarion] Gale: How thoroughly invigorating it is to stand by one's friend in the face of danger. Even if that friend is an egomaniacal vampire with moral longevity of a mayfly. - Protag Option 1: We did the right thing and that's all there is to it. Gale: It's charming that you think that. - Protag Option 2: Are you saying that you would have thrown Astarion to the wolves? Gale: Never. What harm did the wolves ever do? - Protag Option 3: I'll remember you skepticism if anyone ever comes looking for you. Gale: ?

20. handing astarion over to gandrel the gur monster hunter

[Protag hands Astarion over to Gandrel the Gur Monster Hunter] Gale: I had a friend who had a dog once. Beautiful animal, but it got mean in its old days. Gale: It would growl and bark at everyone. Even bit him at the end. Gale: Yet still it was the saddest of occasions when he took the dog away for good. - Protag Option 1: It was for the best, I'm sure. Gale: I'm not sure the dog would agree. Gale: Astarion wouldn't. I'm absolutely sure of that. - Protag Option 2: Parting is never easy. Gale: ? - Protag Option 3: Put the mongrel down, did he? Gale: ?

21. arka the tiefling (kanon's sister) kills sazza the goblin / protag stood by and watched it happen [link to gifset]

Gale: Arka's thirst for revenge has been sated... and the goblin welcomed death with open arms. All's well with the world one might argue. And yet there's something unsettling about witnessing an execution. - Protag Option 1: I take no pleasure in it, but justice has been done. Gale: No one will mourn this goblin I suppose. Let's leave it at that. - Protag Option 2: Somehow that sounds a condemnation. Gale: I condemn nothing - but a question can be a mirror: Gale: If it's guilt you see reflected, the condemnation is your own. - Protag Option 3: I have no patience for the squeamish. Gale: You imply a weakness. I say a critical mind is one of our greatest strengths.

22. letting sazza the goblin escape

Gale: I know I said it's not inconceivable a goblin priestess could help us. And yet... was it really wise to set another goblin free so she can arrange introductions? - Protag Option 1: Passing up the promise of a healer would be far more unwise. Gale: A perfectly reasonable train of thoughts. But what if she leads her entire tribe to the grove? - Protag Option 2: What's done is done. Doubt doesn't help us.  Gale: I'm not quite done yet. What if she leads her entire tribe to the grove? - Protag Option 3: Keep your misgivings to yourself. Gale: But consider the consequences. What if she leads her entire tribe to the grove? -> Protag Option 1: I'll make sure that doesn't happen Gale: I'm not sure you can. - Protag Option 2: Getting rid of the tadpole comes first. Otherwise we might be the monsters that destroy this place. Gale: Harsh. But fair. If not given too much further thought. - Protag Option 3: I don't care, I owe this grove no allegiance. Gale: No allegiance, no. Though we don't need to sign its death warrant.

23. finding out about priestess gut from sazza

Gale: Booyahg – the goblin word for magic. Primitive to a fault, but not entirely without merit. To seek some goblin priestess' help would be unconventional to say the least. Then again, I'm not one to advocate conventionality.  - Protag Option 2: A goblin healer sounds absurd to me. Gale: I wouldn't dismiss the idea out of hand. Goblins come from a warrior culture: to heal wounds is a highly prized skill. - Protag Option 1: I don't care if a cure comes from a goblin, an ogre, or an orc: as long as it works, I'm happy.  Gale: My sentiments exactly.  - Gale: If this priestess is indeed a master in the arts of booyahg, it's not inconceivable she could be of help to us. And if she isn't, we might find items of interest among her shamanic paraphernalia. If her tribe doesn't kill us on sight, that is.

thank you for reading! please consider liking and reblogging this post to support my work. thank you.

coming up next:

-part 1: the three tadpole dreams -> completed -part 2: major cut scenes: the deer stew scene & the loss scene -> completed -part 3: minor cut scenes: abandoned temple of jergal, failed to save arabella, talking to the paladins of tyr and agreeing to go after karlach, edowin and the tadpole reveal, mayrina giving ethel's wand to her or breaking it, handing astarion over to the gur or defending him, reaching the druid grove, killing lae'zel, reaching the goblin camp & looking for halsin, killing the druids, priestess gut & the brand & the cult of the absolute, dror ragzlin and talking to the dead mind flayer, ogre couple, necromancy of thay, ethel, zhentarim chest, myconid colony -> completed with this post -part 4: gale's condition & the way it was treated in early access

taglist: @chainsawmascara, @randomfanner, @tacogoats, @khajiit-necromancer, @gwinharper, @galesenchantedpanties, @swampfaerie, @ardently-queer, @nirraein, @gale-enjoyer, @xiv-wolfram, @kairoswouldnever, @a-psychopathic-dream, @toboldlydammitjim, @mishtress, @vcxahlia, @fitzmagus,

i thought i'd tag the people i'd seen taking an interest in my original post! if you want to be taken off the taglist, or added, please let me know!

[dear-aubade]

Tainted Prayers

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Asylum AU

Notes: Religious themes, cultists, topics may be sensitive to readers

Hope you guys enjoy! I've taken some creative liberties (this is an AU after all) with adding in some of my own worldbuilding. I'd love to make a part 2 if there's interest!

Edit: PART TWO is up!

Every time Joel smelled that metallic tang curling beneath his nose, he tried to think of his grandfather’s farm. 

Old Grandpa Charlie had been one of those men who never did seem to lose their youth, even with age. He’d been robust, spry. There had been quite a few times when Joel had been out helping him clip the horses’ hooves or shear the sheep when his grandpa would suddenly halt what he was doing. He’d sniff the air, then turn to Joel with a twinkle in his eye.

“Smell that, boy?” he’d ask. “It’ll be rainin’ soon.”

The first time it had happened, Joel had made a frown of confusion so deep it was almost comical on his eight-year-old face. “But there ain’t a cloud in the sky—”

“That don’t matter.” The old man tapped the side of his crooked nose. “You can smell it, see. Smells like metal in the air.”

Sure enough, the next day there had been a downpour. 

It helped Joel to look back on such memories. Sometimes, if he pretended hard enough he was back on that farm, he could imagine that the metallic stench permeating the air was due to a coming rainfall rather than the blood spilled on the asylum floor. 

The poor woman stuck cleaning the mess met his eyes before he could avert them. She gave him a small, strained smile. “Father Miller,” she greeted.

He nodded back, stomach twisting. He didn’t stop walking. 

The woman went back to scrubbing the floor and Joel focused forward once more as he continued down the hall. His clerical collar felt tight, like a serpent squeezing his neck.

Eventually he was far enough where the metallic tang of the blood no longer reached him. Joel began to clear his mind, instead focusing on the task ahead. He’d been serving at the asylum for nearly twenty years and not once had he been assigned to patient collection. When he’d received the call for this particular assignment, he’d had half a mind to argue, but Bishop David had quickly reminded him that the task had been given by God, and as such rejecting this opportunity would be rejecting Him. 

Joel exhaled. God’s work, he thought. This is God’s work. It had become a sort of mantra these past years. He had to continually remind himself that Silver Lake Church had assigned him to the asylum because the tortured souls here needed him—he was meant to be a tool in God’s hands to aid Him in His mission of reformation.  

Joel held his keycard up to the lock beside the door. When he stepped outside, he squinted his eyes against the harsh sunlight. Gravel crunched beneath the soles of his shoes as he made his way out onto the drive and spotted another priest. 

“Mornin’, Father Clyde,” Joel greeted, approaching the man waiting beside the barbed wire gate. 

Father Clyde turned and a gentle smile split his face, calling attention to the wrinkles around his mouth. Joel didn’t know exactly how old the man was. Younger than Grandpa Charlie, yet still quite a few years older than Joel himself. 

“Good morning, Father Miller,” Father Clyde replied politely. 

“That the patient’s file?” Joel asked, nodding to the thin manila folder in Father Clyde’s hands. 

Father Clyde nodded. “This is your first time at collections, yes?” His voice was smooth—a contrast to his grooved face.

“Yes, sir.”

Father Clyde passed the file to Joel. “Today is going to be rather…unusual, I am afraid.”

“Unusual?” Joel opened the file to skin the information. “How d’you mean?”

“Many patients can be aggressive when we extract them from the bus, but today’s subject…well, her guardians submitted her blood scale number as a Ten.”

“A Ten?” Joel frowned. “And they only sent two of us to deal with her?”

“This one was described to be…different.”

The Blood Scale was an easy way for society to rank the color of one’s blood—and purity—from One to Ten. The general population fell within the range of Three to Five. Tens were the worst of the lot. Their blood was the color of the sky in the middle of the night—deep black like their demonic souls. 

On the other end of the scale, Ones had blood the color of snow on a fresh winter day. They were the purest humans to walk the earth, but the only Ones Joel had met were newly-born babes who didn’t even have the capacity to sin yet. By age thirteen, most people’s once-light blood had already darkened to at least a Three. 

Joel looked over the patient’s file once more. “If she’s a Ten, how come she’s not being sent to the East wing?” The East Wing was where they kept all Tens, with a few Nines sprinkled in there every now and then. Joel hadn’t ever been there, but the stories from that part of the asylum made his skin crawl. 

“If her guardians felt the need to send her here and Bishop David approved it, then that is all we need to know. It is not our judgment to make,” Father Clyde was saying. “That is revelation that Bishop David receives from God. It is simply our job to carry out the tasks we are assigned to.”

Joel frowned. “The file doesn’t say anything about what her crimes were.”

“It’s not about what she’s done, Father Miller. It’s about who she is. If she’s being sent here then that means her soul must be reformed, regardless of whether her blood is dark or light.”

The sight of the bus driving towards them halted their conversation. The gate opened with a screech, and the bus drove through. Its tires squealed to a stop.

Father Clyde took the file from Joel as the gate rattled closed. He nudged Joel towards the back of the bus, where the bus driver was pulling a keyring out of his pocket. 

“You the one collecting?” the driver asked, looking at Joel.

Joel nodded. The driver didn’t respond, he just merely twisted the key into the padlock on the bus’ back door and swung it open. Joel braced himself for an animal of a human being to throw themselves at him, for snapping teeth and sharp fingers…

Inside, fast asleep and curled up on one of the padded benches, was you. You were in a sweatshirt so large it seemed to swallow you whole. You looked tiny. Fragile. 

“Wake up!” The bus driver bellowed, thumping his hand on the side of the bus. The jarring sound echoed in the cramped interior.

You jumped awake with a gasp, scrambling to a seated position. 

Joel shot the driver an annoyed glance. “Was that really necessary?”

The driver didn’t answer him. He retrieved a small slip of paper from his pocket and approached Father Clyde. “I’m going to need you to sign this…”

Joel turned back to the patient. He had expected…well, anything but this. You were a Ten? Your hoodie was pulled up to your chin protectively and the cuffs of the sleeves covered your hands up to your second knuckle, fingertips barely peeking out. It was dirt-streaked and the hem was caked with mud. 

Your face was twisted into a fearful expression, but that didn’t make it any less darling. You had a soft face, strawberry lips, and there was a tiny little v between your brows as they creased in worry. And your eyes. They were wide, watery, and doe-like. You were shaking like a leaf, the poor thing. 

Joel took a step closer and you flinched. He paused.

“Hey, darlin’,” he tried in a soft voice. The nickname rolled off his tongue mindlessly. His hands were held out before him, as if trying not to spook a frightened baby deer. “Why don’t you come on out?”

You still hesitated. 

“We’ll get you all cleaned up and something warm to eat,” he continued. “How’s that sound, sweetheart?”

Joel could see the conflict in your eyes. You were obviously suspicious of the kindness in his tone, yet it seemed as if you wanted to trust him. You just weren’t sure if you could.

Slowly you got to your feet and approached him as one would a bucking horse. Your bare feet made no sound on the bus floor as you stepped—your shoes must have gotten lost in the scuffle to get her into the bus in the first place.

Your eyes flicked up and down his person, finally coming to rest on his outstretched hand. You stared at it for a painstakingly long time.

Then you delicately slipped your hand into his, your palm soft against his callused one. 

[astarionancuntnin]

Undisclosed Desires (Chapter 3 - Ending)

summary: back at your camp, your companions celebrate your findings of the day, concluding this quest. you realize your feelings for the vampire might be more serious than you previously thought, and with the courage the wine gives you, you take a step to do something about it

rating: E

word count: 2.6k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, sorceress tav)

cw: 18+. smut, porn with no plot, denial of feelings gets resolved, porn with feelings, alcohol induced sex, overstimulation, mating press, act 1 astarion might take advantage of tav's vulnerability but we're assuming that he's also already falling for her, possessive sex, creampie, reader admits her feelings, soft ending

a/n: FINAL CHAPTER i never expected to get there when writing the first chapter but i got really invested in the relationship of astarion and how i wrote reader!tav in this one. thanks for all your comments and feedback, and most of all thank you for reading along! <3

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You trick your lovers

That you're wicked and divine

You may be a sinner

But your innocence is mine

-

With the lack of visibility from within the dungeon, you never realized how much time you had actually spent down there. It’s only once outside that you realize how long it’s been, with the sun currently setting. Once you finally reach your camp, dusk has fallen and you spot the campfire already lit, with some of your companions surrounding it. Shadowheart spots you as you emerge from the forest path with Astarion, visibly tired, and bolts towards you, taking you in a strong embrace.

“Oh, thank the Gods you’re alright,” she pulls back, grabbing you strongly by your arms and stares right into your eyes, her worry turning into annoyance. “Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for you?! We were expecting you to be back hours ago!”

You smile softly, “I’m okay, really, we just… got into a predicament of sorts. Nothing to worry about, I assure you.” Before letting your friend’s mind wander too far, you pull out the artifact from your bag. “But,” you raise your voice to get the attention of the rest of your companions watching from afar, as you hold the artifact high and wave it to them. “We found the missing piece!”

“Fuck yeah, soldier!” Karlach shouts from her bedroll. “We gotta celebrate!”

Everyone else eagerly agrees and in a matter of minutes, you’re all drinking, laughing, shouting, and dancing around the camp. Except Karlach, of course, her leg still healing from that awful trap she walked in, but she is just as joyful as the rest of you and drinks along, laying on her bedroll in the middle of the camp. She wouldn’t allow a mere injury to keep her from enjoying her friends’ company. 

As the night settles down and some of your companions head to bed, you’re joined by the cleric, sitting down around the fire.

“So, you and Astarion, huh?”

“Ugh, pleaaaase, it only happened once,” you let your head fall between your hands.

“Really? Because judging by the state you arrived in and the new bite on your neck, I would think that–”

“OKAY fine,” you interrupt her. “...twice.” She gives you a playful look. “But it just, sorta happened you know? I swear I didn’t plan this!”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t.” She laughs. “I’m just surprised I guess, I didn’t take him for your type.”

“He’s really not!”

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,” she grins at you.

“I… I don’t even know myself,” your voice softens.

Your vision falls on Astarion who is standing by himself, far from the party, indulging in a bottle of wine by the side of the lake. You keep observing him as Shadowheart continues to talk.

“Don’t you think you deserve to know?”

You sigh. “I was sure I hated him. I probably did at some point. He’s so snobby and pretentious and arrogant and– Gods, he’s everything I despise in a person!”

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I thought the same thing about you when we first met?”

“Well, first of all, rude,” she laughs before you continue. “Second of all… not really, but it wouldn’t surprise me. That’s how people have always seen me. For years, I lived with the fact that I was unlikeable and unapproachable. I never managed to connect with people. I was convinced there was something wrong with me ever since I can remember. I was never able to fit in. But when I’m with him I’m… happy, somehow. Happier than I’ve been for years. For so long, I thought I would never feel any type of attachment to anyone, that I was practically doomed to live alone for the rest of my days. When I’m with him, I forget about all of this. I don’t know how to deal with that.”

You pause and she notices who you’ve been staring at all along. “Have you told him that?”You quickly snap back to her. “Are you insane?! Of course not!” You cross your arms over your chest, frowning.

“Maybe it would be worth giving it a try?” Her tone is soft and caring. For someone who hadn’t known you for that long, she seemed to understand you intimately.

Her question makes you wonder. A part of you wants to see where this would go, it’s true; you were curious about the possible outcome of this relationship. You had made peace with the fact that you would live on your own forever. You were always seen by others as a cold, ruthless sorceress. It wasn’t your fault your powers were stronger than the rest of your kind, but nonetheless, it put you aside from the rest. That, and the only other relationship you had had scarred you from its abuse; you didn't think yourself as someone worth loving, broken by her past, tainted by the only other man she got close to. Traveling with this group of weirdos is the most proximity you’ve had with people for years; a lot of these experiences with people are very new to you. You take one more sip of wine, your last resort to deal with those feelings.

Shadowheart takes your silence as an answer. “You know, you deserve happiness just as much as the rest of us,” she gets up and pats your shoulder. “You should at least consider it,” she says, before leaving for her tent.

You stay there for a few moments, pondering about what she just told you. You take a deep breath and get up to walk towards the lonely pale elf with your wine-induced courage. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

“Hey,” you approach him awkwardly.

“Well hello there,” he turns to you, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”

“Just wanted to see how you were faring, after today. Everyone’s enjoying the night, some people are even heading to bed, but I didn’t see you mingling with the others.”

“Oh darling, I’m doing just great on my own,” he gestures with the bottle of wine in hand. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head.” 

“Of course you do.” you roll your eyes. “Well, good. I’m glad.”

There’s a silence shared between the two of you then. You get this strong feeling in your chest that you need to express and yet, you just can’t bring yourself to say it. Everytime you part your lips to say it, the words get stuck in your throat. Maybe you’re not drunk enough to go on about your unspoken feelings. Maybe some things are simply better left unsaid, after all. You sigh and shake your head, abandoning your initial intentions.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to bother you any more than I already have,” you give him a soft smile. “Have a good night, Astarion,” as you turn to walk away, your smile disappears, leaving only disappointment. It quickly turns into surprise when you feel Astarion swiftly grabbing you by your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Wait,” he says. Your eyes meet and you notice a change in his expression, his eyes soften. “I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me, is there?”

“It’s nothing!” You force a smile. “We had a big day, I’m just tired and you must be too, I suppose, I wouldn’t want to keep you from resting,” your eyes fall to the ground, avoiding his glare.

He takes a step towards you, closing the short distance.

“You don’t need to go,” his voice is deeper.

“Listen, you really don’t have to do this, we slept together and it was great and it can just stay like that, there’s no need–”

He lifts your chin up to face him and you stop rambling instantly. You feel your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes locking with his.

“Tell me, what would you do if I kissed you, right now?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

Your eyes flutter open, your breath catching in your throat, “I would kiss you back.”

His eyes fall on your lips and you close your eyes as he lifts your chin higher and your lips collide. He kisses you with a tenderness you never would have imagined, with one hand holding your waist closer and the other moving from your chin to your cheek. You feel as if your heart is going to explode ; you kissed him before, but it was nothing like that. At this moment, time stopped, just for the two of you.

He parts from you carefully, remaining close. Your eyes open up to find him looking at you with his eyes darkened with lust. Given how you felt your breathing quickening and your face burning, you must’ve been looking at him with the same intensity. Finally, you speak up.

“Do you… wanna share my tent tonight?”

He smiles with half-lidded eyes. “I thought you would never ask.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol in your veins giving you the courage, but you find yourself kissing him back eagerly, getting lost in his embrace, and it takes everything in you to actually make it back to your tent with Astarion. The second you’re inside, you’re both removing each other’s clothing, recklessly throwing them away. You drunkenly stumble on your back and try to suppress your laughter before Astarion is over you, kissing you again. First your lips, then your neck, and your chest, down to your navel, and the mount between your legs.

Each kiss from him has you moaning so easily, as if he played you like an instrument. You don’t make the effort of even trying to suppress the sounds you make, you’ll just blame it on the alcohol tomorrow morning. His touch felt so good against your skin, like a healing balm over each wound from your past. His next kiss over your folds has you arching your back, and he grabs a hold of your legs in response, grounding you down. His breath over your pussy sends a river of chills up your spine and you tightly grab onto your bedroll’s blankets for support.

His tongue slipping between your wet folds makes you cry out instantly, as your core is extremely sensitive to any touch in your condition. You try to buck your hips against his tongue and his hold on you only gets stronger.

“Mhh, don’t you wanna be good for me?” He asks, between your legs.

“Y– yes,” you pant.

“Then stay still for me, love.”

His sweet words combined by his masterful tongue plunging into you make you whimper. He devours you as if you were his first meal in days, lapping at your entrance, drinking you in, tasting everything you have to offer. His nose, carefully placed over your clit, teases your sweet spot and you feel yourself nearing your climax. Sensing your desperation, Astarion loosens his grip on your hips, allowing you more movement. Your hands get lost in his curls, lightly pulling them to guide his face over your sensitive area. The build up in your stomach finally releases and you scream as the wave hits you like electricity throughout your body. Your hands fly to your sides, grabbing onto your bedroll for dear life, with the vampire between your legs ravishing you still. 

You cry out, pleading with him as the feeling becomes overwhelming and he leaves your sex to move back up, lifting your legs up in the process. Your lips meet with his, and you taste yourself on his tongue. You get lost in the feeling, messily kissing him back, only parting slightly to allow yourself to breathe. His hands sneak down to grab your wrists and pin them next to your head before burying himself right into your cunt. 

His thrusts are slow and deep, hitting the back of your hole every time. By now, you’re a panting mess, you’re seeing stars, and the only words leaving your mouth are his name, over and over again, each time more jumbled than the last. 

“I do love the way you say my name,” he murmurs.

“A– Astarion…”

“Just like that,” he purrs. “You’re doing so good for me.”

“Astarion…”

“My good girl.”

He pauses between his thrusts, getting stronger and stronger, and making you moan louder and louder. With his last stroke, he dives teeth first into your neck, drinking you in. He drinks from you like a starved man, his pace becoming ruthless. You feel him growl against your neck, his teeth sending a vibration through your skin, before removing his fangs from you. He picks up a punishing pace, drilling into you.

“You’re mine.”

“I’m… yours…” you barely manage to get the words out.

“Go on, be a good girl for me, tell everyone who you belong to.”

His words of praise send you over the edge again, you feel as if your soul was leaving your body, with your back arching into him, your eyes rolling in the back of your head and the air leaving your lungs as you scream out his name. Your cunt squeezes his cock and with a last hit, he releases himself inside of you, growling into your ear as he does so. His thrusts become erratic, filling you with his seed. You’re completely overwhelmed and your body trembles with the sensation. Astarion stays still inside of you, your warmth around his length providing him some sense of security as he comes down from his own high. He lifts his head up carefully, and his hands leave your wrist to hold your face instead, your foreheads barely touching.

You felt like in this instant, you could forget about all the misery you experienced, and with him, you could start anew ; he made you feel whole in so many ways.

“Darling? Are you alright?”

With your head between his hands, he strokes your cheeks tenderly, wiping the tears from your exhausted eyes as you admire each detail in his expression. 

I think I’m in love with you. The words resonate loudly in your head. 

He chuckles softly, “Of course you do. How about we leave the love confessions for when you’re less inebriated, hm?”

Loud enough to leave your lips, it seems. If he didn’t answer, you would’ve believed you only thought about saying those dreaded words.

You hum and feel the weight of the day crash upon you and fatigue taking over you as Astarion holds you close, lulling you to sleep.

—

The next morning you awaken, and you're surprised to find Astarion still wrapped tightly around you.

His skin is warmer than usual, probably a result from sleeping skin to skin with you. After your confession from last night, you were scared he would leave you in the middle of the night, like the first time you slept together. You’re glad to find him still cuddled up next to you. You’re aware elves don’t normally sleep, but he seemed so peaceful, his face was relaxed and you could trace his smile lines next to his lips, and his curly hair slightly falling over his eyes.

Too afraid to end this precious moment, but still wanting to be closer to him, you nudge yourself into his arms, your nose touching his chest. You’re unsure if he’s conscious, but part of you thinks it would be better if he wasn’t. Relishing this moment of comfort with him, you mumble your next words against his chest.

“I’m… not expecting you to say it back, but I meant what I said yesterday. I don’t know where this’ll go, but I know I want to be with you.” 

You feel his arms hold you tighter against him.

You sigh in relief. Whether his movements were intentional, whether he heard you or not, you’re glad to have finally gotten that weight off your chest.

Maybe you can learn to be happy again.

-

I’ve never felt like this before

My heart knew I couldn’t

And then you take me in

And everything in me begins to feel like I belong

Like everybody needs a home

And when I take your hand

Like the world has never held a man

I know I cannot heal the hurt

But I will hold you here forever

If I can, if I can

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME BALDUR'S GATE 3 / PART SIX

leave us in peace and we shall leave you in kind.

cut the crap.

we just want to go home.

enough of this charade.

i'll not play pretend anymore.

you'll soon learn what it means to ally yourself with the likes of this garbage.

i'm free now, and i'm never going back.

fuck them.

felt good letting off a little steam.

if i burn any hotter, i might explode.

don't get too close until i've found a way to calm down.

it's a bit early to be getting into tragic backstories.

let's save the scar-show for later after we've worked up an appetite for tragedy.

in the grand scheme of things, i'm inconsequential [to her].

she favored me like a child favors a captive pet.

it had the makings of a good stage show, but i did not want to be one of the players.

torture, bloodsport? or perhaps just a good old-fashioned walloping?

you owe me nothing.

i could extort you, if that's what you want.

you're teasing me now.

ignorance is alive and well it seems.

don't make me get the wooden spoon.

you'd best have one hells of an apology for me.

if you think your precious little god holds any power here, you're in for a surprise.

do you treat all your guests so poorly?

i don't like busybodies.

you are as thick as they come.

are you telling me you made love to a goddess?

i shared a bed with a goddess and yet i wasn't satisfied.

shall i share the story behind it or would you rather head straight to its sordid finale?

how are you still alive?

we've come this far together and we'll continue on together.

even i am tired of the sound of my own voice.

i'll rip your spine out of your asshole.

i'll use your blood to spice my stew.

i'll keep you alive until i've sucked the marrow from your bones.

killing me is a waste of time.

you bastard, you ruined everything.

this is an interesting way of thanking me.

a slap is all you deserve.

a hag was never going to help you.

they don't help anyone but themselves.

that double-crossing, filthy, lying hag.

focus on the positive.

forgive the aroma.

perhaps that is why i have survived so long where more fearsome peers have not.

your loyalty is admirable but misplaced.

his kind have charm beyond our mortal means to resist.

who'd keep a secret like that from his friends?

you can't trust anyone these days.

even in the middle of nowhere, he can reach me.

why do you insist on exhuming the past?

people think the biggest threat to a vampire is a cleric with a stake.

they're scheming, paranoid, power-hungry beasts.

i am what i must be, says what i must be.

how does it feel to be a devil?

i can't tell if you're being silly or serious.

you have to admire the man's ambition.

i promise i will not betray your trust.

you kept me by your side despite the menace i am.

i learned quick how to stay alive.

to feel invincible again.

this isn't where i thought i'd end up.

maybe when this is all done, you can show me where you came from.

i'm not normally one to begrudge someone their secrets, but..

i'm already blessed to have you at my side.

don't you cut a fine figure.

i am not some lower city coinlad offering you a tumble.

there is nothing so depressing as learning one's true value.

i could use someone with your skills.

they're ravenous predators with fangs like daggers.

it's hardly an irrational fear to harbor.

you've been decent to me, so far.

everyone's got their own fears.

maybe that's what i like about you.

all of this was for nothing.

if you're here to help, get to the fight quickly.

gods, i thought you were one of those beasts.

i'm not chasing after it, if that's what you're thinking.

the little beast's charming once you get accustomed to the smell of rotting flesh.

[towards-toramunda]

Thinking about more iconic lines from the show over the years instead of going to bed and created a list that is far too long:

- What’s my mother’s name?

- My best. Finally.

- I have so many flowers to bring to her.

- You were not born with venom in your veins. You learned it. You learned it.

- Don’t get on my ass about it! All I heard is that its pretty easy to do here thats all I took from what you said. (Bonus: its for the god of arts and crafts)

- At dawn, we plan.

- Doo doot doo doo doot doooo donuts!

- What matters more, the dream or the dreamer?

- Sleep well with your bad decisions.

- Nothing happens for a reason. It’s absolute fucking chaos.

- Patience is fine, but it can curdle into apathy.

- I’ve met the devil, thats not him.

- You never take copper. That's just kicking someone while they're down. You take silver if they're an asshole, and you take gold regardless.

- Time is one of my specialties.

- It’s entirely off-putting how disarmingly charming you are.

- How lucky I am to have had all of you. How lucky indeed.

- I smell like a crayon.

- I could tell by the bone structure and the contempt.

- I think I can punch ghosts now.

- Big moon, little moon.

- Pop, pop!

- I need chaos. I have faith in chaos.

- Molly said not to steal from happy people.

- I am going to tell you the story of how I murdered my mother and father.

- Smiley day to ya!

- I killed my family, I’ll throw you under a bridge.

- We’re on the moon bitch.

- She throws it. I shoot it. It explodes! NO STRUCTURAL DAMAGE! (FLUFFERNUTTER)

- I am all for faith, and I'm not going to pick a god. They can pick me. It'll be the first one that actually praises me and then maybe I'll fucking answer. I'll wait. They can fucking beg. And I will listen, which is more than they ever fucking did.

- I would like to RAGE!

- The worst thing that has happened to me has already happened.

- We're running; it's bad.

- You can reply to this message.

- Dagger, dagger, dagger.

- Opinions are like opera. Sure, you can listen to them, but why would you, really?

- There is no god that strides this world that I worship more than I worship your heart.

- I would like to live long enough to be someone else.

- Help, its again.

- Whoever it was, just put it back. I think they've earned it. Put it back.

- I’m fun scary.

- Sorry, babe. Gotta handle these ninjas.

- I’m the cleric? I’ve never traveled with a bunch of people I thought would die in front of me.

- He thinks I’m gonna go into the water for some fucking buttons.

- You are, at the moment, the luckiest person in Whitestone. Do you know why? Because you’re at the bottom of my list.

- You need me more than I need you.

- I protect him. He’s my boy. And I keep him safe.

- I made the earth remember him.

- Come correct or get corrected.

- Do not go far from me.

- Are you worth saving?

- How do I want to do this?

- Heaven to some, and hell to others.

- Fix him!

- Why do we tell stories?

- Do you spice?

- Listen you fucking jungle! I'm a paladin of the Wildmother. You're going to move or we're going to bust you wide open! We'll wreck this place. Don't make me fucking tell you twice!

- I am your god, long may I rein, eat of my fruits.

- Anybody can make lights. Anybody could send a message through a wire. I want to bend reality to my will.

- Would you like to talk before or after?

- What the fuck is up with that?

- To reach a hand down to somebody, they need to be beneath you! And I'm beneath nobody.

- The one eyed monster slayed my pussy.

- Time is a weird soup.

- I’m killing someone. Hold, please.

- Gold is a resource by which mortaldom climbs.

- Why are you so mean to me?

- Yours is the face I saw when murder entered my heart.

- This one time I saw a bug carrying a piece of bread that was like five times its size and he was carrying upstairs, like up and then he would turn, and then up, and then he would turn.

- I live as long as Whitestone lives.

- Vox Machina! Fuck shit up!

- I’m not disappointed, I’m just angry.

- Someone prayed for a miracle and there you were.

- We don't leave people behind. That's just the rule. You do not leave people the fuck behind.

- Call me child one more goddamned time!

- Finish it, Champion.

- I am of the Empire. But I am no friend to the Empire.

- I think it has been a long time since anyone has pointed out to you that you're a fool. Pain doesn't make people, it's love that makes people. The pain is inconsequential. It's love that saves them. And you would know that but you have none around you. You said so yourself, you surround yourself with lies and deceptions. And I wish for you, in the future, to find someone to mourn you when you are gone.

[eggedbellies]

This is one of my dealer's choice commissions! Thank you anonymous, this was fun!!

Title: Midnight Search Wordcount: 1848 Kinks: tentacles, eggs / oviposition, suspension Synopsis: Jackson is a cleric with a job to do; get some flowers for a healing potion. Of course, they only bloom at night - and it seems something moved into the bog whilst he was away...

“Now ain’t this a damn fine idea?” Jackson heaved a great sigh from the very bottom of his chest, striding across the slightly boggy ground, deeper into the darkness. His bleeding heart had, once again, driven the cleric off in search of an unusual herb. There was no doubt that this stubborn curse required a very specific potion and, like the fool he was, he’d not ordered in any of the dried and powdered one for quite some time. No doubt a result of the particularly muggy summer, cracking open his reserve had revealed rather a fragrance of rot. Just wonderful. So now, here he was, letting his good boots get soaked with muddy water, heading off to find a flower as night truly fell.

“S’better fresh, at least,” he mused, wondering if he should’ve dragged on armour over the standard robes he’d taken to wearing. But getting a ponytail into a helmet was a nightmare, and whilst the bog was not the most pleasant place to take a trek, well, monsters were few and far between out here. Sure, he’d fallen off of the adventuring life and settled, it seemed; let himself soften down a bit, get a bit of a belly. But that was the nice thing about living out here, just being a local cleric, taking care of his community. Jackson was proud of what he did, dangit, and he wasn’t going to let a little thing like having to venture out to get ingredients stop him from making a cure.

The light was fading rapidly, but that wasn’t a bad thing – this particular bloom only opened it’s petals at night, but it was easiest to spot in the twilight. His boots squelched, the sucking water-mud mixture drawing his legs down with increasing power. Last time he’d been along here, he didn’t remember the bog being quite so deep… the edge of his robe was soaking quickly, unpleasantly sticking to his legs. Eugh. Gross. Murmuring a low incantation, sunlight glowed softly from his hand, casting the twisted trees around him, creating distorted shadows that he stoicly ignored.

Driving onwards, the trees got thicker and thicker, and still there was no sight of the soft pink glow of the flower that he needed. Damnit. There had to be something – this was definitely where he’d found them wild before. Casting his eyes up into the canopy, searching for any hanging by slender vine, he missed the roots that were rising just above the surface of the water – and with a yelp, his foot caught in it, casting him straight down into the pool with a loud splash. A moment later, cursing loud enough that a few birds took flight, he managed to drag himself onto a higher patch of ground, shaking water roughly off his robes. But it was too late. Soaked to the skin, Jackson reached up to squeeze his ponytail, grimacing. The light had flickered out, his concentration lost in the fall.

“Damnit to all Gods and Hells,” he muttered. This might be a lost cause. And now there was something wet and cold on his leg, probably a leech, which, ew. His hands began to reach down, searching for the offending insect, just as it occurred to him that whatever it was – it was far too big to be a normal leech. Eyes starting to adjust more to the dark, they caught the sight of something thick, shiny, rising out of the water, winding up his ankle – and then everything was cold and wet, liquid rushing up his nostrils as the cleric squirmed and fought, unable to cast a spell as he was yanked unceremoniously through the water. Just as he accepted that consciousness was about the fade and death might be around the corner, he was thrust into open air.

Gasping raggedly, he scrabbled hard, hands gripping at rock, mud, trying to pull away from whatever the hell was still wrapped around his leg. Twisting around, he aimed a kick, but succeeded in nothing more than entirely losing his boot. In here, there was a soft glow – from where he had no idea, but it suffused the small cave in an eerie pink light – and the air was unexpectedly warm, even if it was still damp. There, rising out of the water in front of him, a mass of lumbering tentacles. No beast he recognised, or had ever seen before - “What in the Gods-damned hells,” he gasped, coughing and spluttering, “are you?!” aiming another kick, even if it was bare foot, he wasn’t sure what was going to happen here. He didn’t know many violent spells, a healer by trade, but as he tried to summon up a simple ‘ignis’, it was too late.

They were everywhere. Soaking and slimy, and yet unbelievably strong, binding his wrists, jolting him up towards the ceiling. The ragged gasp was choked off, body covered in a writhing mass in what felt like a split second; one forcing it’s way into his mouth, coated in sweet water as well as something intensely earthy and natural. The sensation of his clothes being torn away was barely perceptible, all he could feel was every inch of those strong tentacles sliding over his body. Thick, pressing in to every part of his body, rubbing between his legs, spreading his cheeks, cupping his balls, stroking along the length of his cock… around his torso, over his thighs, and arms, and neck, not an inch of him was being left untouched. Struggling to gasp in air past the one that was wriggling into his throat, unable to get out a single word, more focused on just breathing, Jackson let himself relax.

There was no way out of this. And seeing as his cock was getting harder and harder, body tingling all over, he might as well enjoy it, right? Actually, the tingling was getting more intense by the moment, fogging everything over with a veneer of pleasure – whatever this damn thing was, it must have some kind of aphrodisiac in it’s slime – he had to get out of here – but as the goo oozed into his mouth, he was sucking on it like it was the sweetest nectar he had ever tasted. He couldn’t seem to stop, by the gods, it felt so good – something wrapping around his cock, now. It was drawing it down into something cool and so very, very wet – and all that thought went out of the window as the first tentacle began to push it’s way into his pucker.

“Oh, fuck -” he groaned, although it came out more like a garbled “hfh” because of the tentacle oozing down his throat. The tentacles were spreading his legs further, as if to gain more access, inch by inch of surprisingly thick tendril working it’s way into his orifice. His cock twitched, rock hard as the petals wrapped around it began to pulse and tug. He cried out again, trying urgently to roll his hips into it, needing more, more – but the tentacles were holding him tighter, forcing his trembling body to stay entirely still as tears rolled down his cheeks – not pain, but bliss, his body entirely accepting it’s invader. And still it sunk inexorably deeper – before releasing a spurt of cool fluid that made his whole body shudder as one, burning so hot that the coldness of the tendrils felt like a blessing.

It seemed happy with the depth it had achieved, now, starting to thrust. And oh, Jackson had never felt so much like a toy – it was using him, fucking him, like he was nothing more than a hole. It felt so good – his brain was lost in the fizz of aphrodisiac goo and the deep pleasure of being fucked hard. His cock twitched again, then again – and he came hard, right as the tentacle struck deep again. Every drop was drunk down, but he didn’t seem to go flaccid; whatever the hell this thing was doing to him, it seemed like it was going to drain him dry. The thought sent a cold thrill through his spine, legs twitching erratically. Fuck, hell, damns and gods, he never wanted it to let him go. The thrusts were rough, bouncing him despite the way he was being held. His body was relaxing, allowing him to stretch, taking a thickness he never imagined. Eyes rolling back, everything became just a wash of warm light and being used…

And then, suddenly, it froze. Totally still. Whining, Jackson tried to wriggle, to grind, but it wasn’t moving. Just as his eyes were starting to open, wondering if it was about to digest him, something began to press hard against his pucker. It was thicker than even the tentacle, bulging it out, but there was no doubting it was going to come in. It pressed inexorably, millimetre by millimetre, and then – with a faint pop – the egg entered him. Shuddering violently as he released a pittance into the tube around his cock, Jackson went utterly limp – not that it made a damned difference to the grip around him. But there was nothing to do. Slowly, it rolled up inside him, shockwaves of pleasure before it popped loose and settled deep inside him.

Then there was another. And another. Before long, a whole parade of round eggs were squeezing into his body. Jackson shuddered. The tendrils started to loosen their grip, just enough to allow for his rounding belly. A rough gasp escaped past the drooling tendril in his mouth, struggling to get enough air before let alone now that it felt like his very lungs were being compressed. Pop, press, release, swell – he rocked in the grip as best he could, starting to feel like a balloon, the tentacle sliding in deeper with his sheer weight. As the last egg popped inside, Jackson shuddered through a completely dry orgasm.

And then the tentacle began to loosen. He was being lowered. The grip around his body began to drop – thinking that he was falling, his arms flailed, grabbing at anything – and then he was being pulled again, dragged through water. Enough forsight this time to inhale first. The rush, now somewhat reduced by the size of his over-swollen belly – his sore hole, twitching spasmodically – the feeling of the water pressing on him – he almost came again just from being rushed back to where he was found. Dumped unceremoniously on the stream, he panted in air, crawling just a few steps away before his legs spread. Overstretched as he was, it took only a few strokes of his overly tender cock before all the eggs were rushing out, splashing back down into their pool. When he could think again, rubbing his tender belly with one hand, Jackson looked up at the starry night he could see through the gaps in the trees.

Then, languidly, he lifted up his other hand, still clutching whatever it was he’d grabbed from the ceiling of the cave. The soft pink glow of the flowers stared back at him.

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me --”

[naazaif327]

Just to be clear on the state of things:

The Betrayers decided to side with the Primordials and kill all the mortals They created with the Primes. A war was fought, many mortals were slaughtered, and the Betrayers were not killed but sealed away. The Betrayers spent aeons trapped, plotting and scheming to escape, until they finally did manage to get out, and this time they decided that they didn’t just want to kill all the mortals, but torture them for eternity. A Great War was fought, many mortals were slaughtered and tortured, cultures and innovations and landscapes were turned to ash, and the Prime Deities once again refused to kill their siblings and instead sealed them away.

The betrayers spent the next thousand years plotting and scheming to pull themselves back into the material plane so they could defeat their siblings and torture mortal souls for all eternity. They even came close at least a few times, like the Crawling King’s attempt in Campaign 2. They’re still trying to get out and torture mortals for all eternity, and assuming Predathos is stopped, they will spend the rest of eternity trying to get out and torture mortals forever. If they ever do get out, the Prime Deities will (maybe) try to stop them but they will not kill their siblings and will always pull their punches, even if it means mortals will suffer.

Amidst this, mortals built a GodKiller weapon that might’ve actually killed the Betrayers that were trying to slaughter and torture them forever. In response, the Primes teamed up with their siblings to squash the entire city of Aeor while scolding them for reaching too far.

Now obviously Ludinus sucks, but assuming Predathos doesn’t just eat everyone and kill the universe, then that kinda doesn’t really matter to me. They succeed at stopping Predathos and then they can kill Ludinus or put him in jail or torture him or do whatever they think is justice. OR they fail at stopping Predathos and the gods all die and then they can still kill Ludinus. Either way they get their revenge.

But like, what other chance will mortals ever get besides now to kill the Betrayers who want to torture them for all eternity? If anyone tries to rebuild the GodKiller weapon, the gods will either smite them down or get their clerics and paladins and angels to kill them and destroy the weapon. The Primes will never ever let mortals kill the Betrayers (much less themselves). What other chance besides this does Dorian and every other mortals who was harmed or tortured or murdered by the Gods have for justice? The Gods created us and then turned on us and tried (and are still trying) to hurt us and kill us, but if things go on as they were the Spider Queen will never have to answer to Dorian for killing his brother or stealing his friend, unlike Ludinus.

And forget justice or revenge, is humanity to spend eternity carrying on like there isn’t a cage full of snarling feral dogs desperate to rip us to pieces sitting in the other room? Dogs that have broken out before and will do so again? Do I think Predathos or Ludinus are the best way to fix this? No, but beggars can’t quite be choosers.

If I were a mortal in Exandria who was shown the events of Downfall, my opinion would be that if the Prime Deities were ever put in a trolley problem situation where they had to choose between saving all mortals or the Betrayers, they would choose the Betrayers. And if that were the case, then maybe in our own version of this ethical dilemma (where we could get rid of the Betrayers but the Primes had to die too) it wouldn’t be so wrong to put our own safety first and let these old, tired, wounded divinities finally rest.

[swordbisexual]

A Party

Rolan Week Day Four

In which Rolan seeks Shaxibis out just before sunrise. 2.1k words

(cross-posted to AO3)

--

“Any minute now. Just you wait.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I swear!”

Gods, but Cal and Lia can be just as bad as the children. They’ve been circling back round to this argument all night, when they aren’t busy drinking or dancing or singing horribly off-key along with Alfira’s relentless lute-playing. Even during a victory celebration, Lia can’t help but see the worst - which Rolan finds all too relatable, and therefore annoying beyond belief - and Cal can’t help but try to keep her from matching, in their words, the “perpetual Rolan sulk.”

The subject of Cal’s optimism is the sunrise; a thing none of them have seen for days now, so long that Rolan has to wonder if they’ve been stuck here for the ages and eons it’s felt like beneath the interminable moonlit night. According to Cal’s reckoning, they’re less than an hour out from dawn, which has only served to rouse the actual children into staying up well past the wee hours just to see it. If anything, Lia’s arguing is likely only to serve as entertainment. She and Cal can be a right double act when they’ve a mind to it, and for once, Rolan is just glad that he’s not the butt of their jokes.

There is something lightening the air around Last Light Inn that feels more widespread and far-reaching than the cleric’s spell. While most of the Harpers are still at Moonrise making a last sweep for straggling cultists, Cal and Lia and Danis and Lakirssa all agreed, quietly, that they’d rather spend the night back here before setting back out with what remains of their fellow Elturians. They’ve scrounged up what they can from the wine cellar and made a proper party of it, or as best they can with what they’ve got.

To everyone’s great surprise, Shaxibis and her band of misfits all came to join them on their last hurrah. It’s fitting, really; the children swarm Wyll and Karlach just like they did back at the Grove, and even Astarion’s skulking in the corner feels nearly the same as his skulking during the party at the riverside camp. All that’s changed is the location, and the quality of the wine, and, well…

Everything.

The city is closer than ever before, and with it his apprenticeship. His future. That there is a greater threat looming feels like something he can actually face, and maybe even stand down, with the help of proper training. He could be more than the greatest wizard the Gate has seen. He could help, like Lia has begged him to from the start, and he could do it with all the heroism and flair as…

As…

Damnation.

Baldur’s Gate and all the accomplishment it promises has been far from the first thing on his mind, truthfully. For the last half hour, Rolan has been watching the door, waiting for Shaxibis to return. After her last duet with Alfira, she’d begged off, saying that she just needed some fresh air. No one else seems to have noticed that her brief step outside has stretched out beyond reasonable measure.

But for Rolan, he may as well be waiting for sunrise of another sort.

No one notices when he slips away as well, picking up a bottle of wine and two empty goblets along the way, stepping outside the inn and starting a slow, searching circuit around its perimeter. She could be anywhere - the lakeside, the cellar, even the upstairs balcony - and he hasn’t the faintest idea of where to start, or whether she actually wants to be found.

“The water is wide, I cannot cross over…”

There. The strings of an instrument; not as richly-toned as a lute, but not as sweepingly ethereal as a lyre, either. There’s a simple, mournful quality to whatever is being strummed, almost as enchanting as the voice it accompanies.

“Neither have I wings to fly…”

Rolan follows the sound of Shaxibis’ voice, soft and low, to the dock below. There she sits, alone on the wooden slats, her feet dangling to nearly skim the water’s surface. Little light makes it down here near the inn’s cellars, but her hair glows like a moon all its own, unbound from the knots she’s taken to wearing it in so that it waves around her neck and skims her bare shoulders.

She’s quiet, and in that quiet there is a new, soft loveliness to her. And that only makes his stomach roil and head swim even more.

Whatever instrument she plays is laid across her lap, its wooden body gently curved at the sides, and only strung with four strings that ring out like a chime with every sweep of her thumbnail. She slides her other fingers along the fretboard with an ease that looks like second, simple nature. This is not an instrument she has studied; this is one she was practically born playing, as much as part of her as her own hands. It’s so like how he naturally slips into his own self-taught spellwork, and like a spell, he’s so entranced that he can’t look away.

“Bring me a boat that can carry two, and both shall row, my love and I.”

He hangs back to listen. Most of the songs he’s ever heard her play are old standards, and always lively, dancing tunes. Things that inspire the bold to dance, and the meek to tap their toes in time, and someone as upright as himself to lean in, just a little, to better hear the sound. This song, though, is so sweetly wistful, and with the simplest of chords strummed on the simplest of strings, he feels it as a knot in his throat and an ache in his lungs.

Her voice trails off, and she turns her head to look just so over her shoulder. “I know you’re there, Rolan.”

Wincing, he steps out of the shadows and onto the dock. “And here I thought I was being stealthy.”

She snorts. “For a crowded city street, maybe.” When he doesn’t move to join her, she turns to look him in full, then pats the space beside her, cocking a brow. “Well?”

Rolan finally lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and he takes the last few steps to the edge of the dock. Carefully, he places the wine and the cups at her side, then sits down with the drink between them. With a small grunting huff through his nose, he tugs his robes up around his knees to keep the hem from dipping into the lake. “You know, you’d have a rapt audience inside.”

She looks down at the instrument in her lap and plucks a string. “This one is just for me, really.”

He gets a closer look. The body is bowed much like a violin’s, but it’s longer and slimmer, with a much less pronounced curve. The carvings on its body are similarly plain: only a pair of twin hearts, charmingly simple, with the notches of whatever knife hewed them out still visible along the curved tops. “What is it?”

Shaxibis runs a hand over the fretboard and smiles, fondly, making Rolan’s stomach flutter. “A dulcimer.”

“I’ve never seen such a thing before.”

“You wouldn’t have.” She strums it again, and he notices that two of the strings are closely paired together, and they echo one another with the same note. “They aren’t seen much in the bards’ guildhalls. Definitely not in tavern rooms.” Idly, she presses down on the frets, and the same tune she’d been singing moments ago hums beneath her touch. “Folk up in the High Forest hills play them at home, mostly.”

All he knows to do is uncork the wine and pour. “So that is where the great Shaxibis comes from.”

She wrinkles her nose at him, but she still takes the goblet that he offers up and drinks deep. “I’m the ‘great’ now, hm?”

“After all you’ve done?” He takes his own drink and swirls it beneath his nose, breathing in the scent of stone fruit beneath the richly tannic top notes. “I suppose you’re at least ‘good.’”

She laughs. “High praise.”

That laugh is more intoxicating than the wine at his lips. He wants to sing her praises as poetry, but for all his appreciation for the fine arts, he hasn’t even the slightest gift for them. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I would never.” She sets her goblet down and turns her attention back to the dulcimer in her lap, playing a few more bars of the tune, though she only hums along now, keeping the song’s words to herself. The song dwindles away again, and she sits in silence; strange, for her to be so, and it makes Rolan hold his breath as he stares into the deep red dregs of his wine.

Finally, she speaks again. “You’re lucky.”

Rolan furrows his brows and turns towards her. “You must be joking.”

She should be, because that’s her way, but the look in her eyes as she turns her face up to his is anything but droll. There’s a sad shine to that gold-flecked gaze, breathtakingly wistful, and when she smiles, it never quite makes it any higher than the curve of her cheek. “I mean it. To have a family like yours…”

He frowns with a sigh. “Not by blood,” he says. “I’m not…” He gestures in helpless circles with his goblet. “Not really their family.”

“You try telling Lia that.” Shaxibis picks up the bottle and tilts it towards him til he brings his cup over to be filled once more. “See what happens.”

“Fine.” He watches her pour a few glugs into her own cup and chews his bottom lip. “And what of your family?”

She raises her cup back in the general direction of the inn. “Could I join in on yours?”

The words seize him like a bolt of lightning, blinding his good sense for a moment and rooting him to the spot with sudden visions of what it would mean for Shaxibis to be a part of his life. To see her every day, to groan at her constant jokes, to secretly hope for her laugh of delight and hand over his and—

What are you thinking? Just as quickly, he comes to his senses. If anything, it was simply a figure of speech, an easy way for Shaxibis to deflect his question and declare that she is fond of Cal and Lia all in one fell swoop. She could not possibly mean it any other way, and he is a fool for letting his imagination run full tilt away from him at even the slightest suggestion.

Or… perhaps not.

“I didn’t mean…” Her eyes have gone wide, and in the dim light he can nearly see a flush darkening her cheeks. She licks her lips; suddenly, he cannot look away. “I just…”

There is a lightening rosy glow behind her now, reflected off the lake’s glittering surface beyond. Sunrise. So it is still real, and the curse was lifted, and the impossible truly is possible, isn’t it? That is what pushes him to try, to lean in, to tilt his head just so, to brush the pad of his thumb to her chin and bump his knuckle beneath in a wordless question that hangs between his tongue and parted lips on bated breath.

She kisses him, gently, with lips the color and taste of wine. Those lips are as bold as the rest of her, but soft too, soft in this quiet space between. A gentle hum in her throat, the warmest breath of air as she exhales against his cheek, and while she doesn’t move any closer, in truth she doesn’t have to. This is close enough - too close - and the millimeters between his nose to her cheek, her hand hovering at the edge of his jaw, all of those minuscule spaces are brimming with raw, powerful magic, a hum like thunder as steady and rolling as a drum.

Just as surely as she leaned in to him, she is the one who breaks them apart, and he aches with the cool kiss of the air in her absence. “We should go,” she says. “Before they come looking for us.”

Rolan drops his hand from her chin, but he still lets it hang in the space between them. “Shaxibis…”

She moves her dulcimer from her lap and swings her legs up to the dock, moving to stand. “You already thanked me once,” she says, scooping up her wine cup and the half-empty bottle as she graces him with another painfully wistful smile. “I don’t want to be greedy.”

[spiritproductionsart]

"Fear not my friend, I mean you no harm. I am not like other mind flayers." -

Meet Mycah, a deep-sea inspired mind flayer. I came up with the idea for him a while back thanks to BG3.

He is a "failed" mind flayer, in the sense that his ceremorphosis was flawed, leaving him incapable of being enthralled by the elder brain. His psionic abilities are far weaker than most mind flayers, but in exchange he doesn't have to follow the grand design.

-

In many ways I see the advantages of being like this. I can fly, I can speak to any creature in the language of the mind... But I fear for my very soul...

I was, and I suppose still am, still a man of my old faith. The gods came to me in a time when I needed them - and my clerical service did not go unnoticed.

Where now I hear the voices of all mortal beings, I once heard the voices of gods. The world is filled with so many songs, but... Ever since I became this - the gods' voices have been eerily silent.

I sometimes worry if I've somehow angered them... Angered them with a condition beyond my own control. Are they silent because they cannot reach me, or because they refuse to?

No matter. A cure will be found someday, I hope... I pray.

-Mycah, to one of his companions.

[freetobeeyouandme]

Chapter 13: Will Sets Himself On Fire

In which Mike babysits a possessed Cleric, a monster throws a tantrum, and Will has a rather extreme solution to their problem. And, yes, the title may give you a hint already. It's great fun, and it's up on Ao3 now!

Tags: M, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Fantasy AU, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Horror, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

Summary:

Mike Wheeler hates High School, so when he almost dies and falls through a portal to another world, he’s not going to complain. Especially not when that world does not only have swords and magic but seems to work exactly according to the rules of his favorite tabletop role-playing game. But his euphoria might be short lived because the party of adventurers he falls in with turns out to be the target of an evil god and the fate of the world might rest on their shoulders. So, exactly like his games of D&D. Except the wanna-be Paladin soon realizes that being a hero is much harder in real life than it is in-game. - Or, Mike gets isekai’d into a world where D&D is real.

An excerpt and taglist below the cut:

Excerpt:

Will follows his every move, head tilted towards him so he can hear Mike’s steps better. He had gone still while Mike looked through his sketches, but as Mike comes back to life, so does the Cleric.

Had the others been gone long enough for them to be safe? Was any distance safe when Will, One, and the demo-monsters shared some kind of hivemind?

But then again, One hadn’t shown himself. Either he knew that the cabin must be deserted because they would not all stay behind with Will, or he didn’t know where they were because Mike was right about the nature of their connection.

Outside it is well and truly dark, and Mike feels the exhaustion of trying to stay up all night start to tug on his eyelids. So, when was safe?

In the end it is the madness that grew in his own silence like bacteria in a vat that makes the decision for him. He grabs some more bread and meat from his pack and steps close to Will.

“There is no point in attacking me,” he says. “I’m alone.”

He hopes that isn’t the wrong information to give the monster in control of his friend.

“I have food, if you’re hungry?”

Will sits still, facing Mike in the way the blind did, his head angled towards him but missing him by an inch.

Mike watches him patiently, waiting for either approval or denial, and perhaps most of all for violence. When Will just continues looking at him he drops the food on his chair and rounds the dragonborn. Whoever had fastened his gag had done a good job, because Mike can barely get it loose, and he has both of his hands free and can actually see what’s going on.

Will tests his jaw as the binding comes loose, but remains quiet. Mike tries to interpret that as a good sign. He isn’t sure that he could have stopped the Cleric from casting a spell if he’d started to recite one, but his silence is, if more unsettling, at least less dangerous.

Careful with his steps he rounds Will, grabbing the food where he’d deposited it. He holds up the bread first, gently tapping Will’s mouth to let him know where it is.

But Will doesn’t take a bite.

“I’ll gag you again if you don’t want to eat,” Mike says, although he knows it’s a weak threat.

The thing inside of Will regards him accordingly. When Mike retracts the bread, it says in a voice that sounds far too close to Will’s: “I will not speak to you. Where are my friends?”

“Our friends are gone,” Mike says, trying to put the food away without taking his eyes off his enemy. “I’m all you’ll get.”

“Left behind for your inadequacy, I’m sure.”

Mike squares his jaw, trying to not let the words get to him. He had suggested this. Will was right, but he had chosen this because he knew they’d be better off without him.

He wordlessly grabs the gag cloth and reaches for Will’s jaw, meaning to refasten it.

Will – or the thing inside of him – understands perfectly, though, and that is when untying it in the first place becomes a really bad idea: He can’t see, but the moment Mike’s fingers brush the scales on his face, he turns his face and snaps at him.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added): @smalltownwheeler @wheelerpilled @wrong-energy @foodiewithdahoodie @doggozzy @gardenfairie @beelikesbirds @beverlysclown @yickarus @sourdough-el @hessolivagant @hesquietoday @oldfashionedmorphine @total-serene560 @bylersrise @hawkinsunderground @generalstorecashier @snixx @camel-casing @bylersbear01 @turningsoft @casatoan @maru-chu @mid13s @goldentrunks @bunnybylerfangirl @willbyersenthusiast @letterstomichelangelo @drowninginideas @fluffyfangirl @artsyna @absolutelynotyouidiot @bymarara @unknowmiau @are-you-reddie @elherself134 @longtallglasses @kennahjune @easilyentertained99 @bylerschapter @father-imperator @bylerina

[galebrainrot2024]

Gale x Tav Enemies to Lovers Part 15

Tav's POV - with a slow build, comes the promise of a massive, angsty pay off. Shout out to @thelittlepinkwitchblog and @stuffforthestash for helping me in the brain room and with the lore! Getting back into the rhythm after being away for a week. Had a little block because I'm excited to get to the meat, and in order to enjoy we must savor the build. Enjoy! Content Warning: death/suicide

“Farewell, my friend,” Elminster said, the seriousness in his eyes unmistakable. Tav’s eyes jolted back and forth between the two, heat pricking her cheeks. She felt dizzy, unbalanced by what Elminster was asking - what Mystra, their Goddess was asking. 

Had Tav not been studied in magic perhaps the news would have felt less jarring. To use Magic and to be studied in the art was to know lMystra. To be an extension of her. Seeing this knowledge dropped on Gale like his life was frivolous and replaceable repulsed her. It made Tav’s stomach rot. It made her feel the slow creep of a gag at the back of her throat. 

Tav looked Gale up and down as he bid his friend, “Fairwell, Elminster. I’m glad she chose you.” 

Tav stood, dumbfounded. Just like that - Gale was sending him on his way. As if the message wasn’t what it was from his ex-lover. 

Ex-lover. Even the idea of it made her skin creep, it felt like she was covered in black tentacles. She wasn’t naive - it wasn’t unheard of for Gods to have sexual affairs with their devotees. But Gale spoke of his relationship with her as if it was mutual, as if she could see him in the way he saw her, with the same reverence and appreciation. 

Thinking about the imbalance of power made Tav grow tight at her seams. Was his naivety invisible to him? Why did Gale give so much of himself to Mystra when she would never do the same? Would never see him as he seemed to need her to. 

Tav wondered if Gale had ever felt superior, to have bedded a Goddess. The emotion that broiled within her felt quite the opposite. It felt cold, and lonely.

Tav felt her muscles twitch as the adrenaline surged in full force. Her hair stood on edge. They’d been so vested in finding a cure - in getting to the heart of the Absolute - Tav realized she understood very little about how complicated his relationship with Magic must be. 

When he explained his folly about the orb, he had a heavy air about him. A weight that seemed to suffocate him underneath the lie of being unworthy. Tav felt guilt wrap her, remembering how her initial thought was thinking he deserved such a punishment for thinking he knew better than a God. Gale was reaching for an impossible goal. Instead of looking on solid ground he looked above for escape. 

Tav couldn’t blame him for that. 

In all of their lectures of Gods of course she learned they had dealings with mortals - blessing their chosen with extended life, clerical abilities and that to harness unique powers. Gods taking on mortals as lovers, though was thoroughly glossed over. 

Tav finally understood what her father had been saying from the moment she discovered her abilities. He had no magic in his blood, as far as she they knew, so her abilities were a surprise to them both. He rarely spoke about her mother but he didn’t indicate she was gifted. 

He told Tav humans were puppets to the Gods. Trifles. Children’s amusements. That if she were to study magic to stay grounded in everything that made her mortal lest she lose herself in the process. 

The Gods had no vested interest in individual mortals. Tav had seen it already: Shar and Vlaakith proved as much with Shadowheart and Lae’zel. It was one thing to read about in textbooks, it was another thing entirely to experience. The Gods had as much a vested interest in mortals as the people Wyll tried to polity flirt with along their journey. 

Mystra was asking - expecting - Gale to end his life like he was nothing. Tav needed to lie down.

The feelings hit her and splintered through her core like icicles. It made her skin clammy and cold. Often Tav felt it - unworthiness, the same self-deprecation she recognized in Gale. No Wizard in the realms would touch her after her final Blackstaff demonstration, a wound that still wept on occasion. It was so mortifying that Tav sought refuge in anonymity.

Tav gritted her teeth. To Gale, Mystra had been and was everything. Would be everything until his last breath. Even if Mystra the Goddess was nothing to him, Mystra was the Weave, and they were inextricable. Tav began tapping the tips of her fingers together and realized she was standing where the conversation had just been taking place, now alone. Shadowheart and Astarion were whispering, their bodies tilted towards Tav and their eyes shooting away from her when they caught her staring. 

“You can’t seriously be considering what he just said?” Tav ignored them and approached Gale, not quite able to match his pace as he started to walk away as if avoiding her and she clasped his arm.

Gale stopped and turned, his eyes dropping to where her fingers gripped, and she felt his muscles tense. “For Mystra to have sent him, the severity of her bidding could not be clearer or weigh more heavily on me.” Gale put a hand on his hip, the other running across his jaw and mouth. “Time seems so infinite when you’re young. A month is an age. A year is a lifetime… it is a strange feeling to realize how little of it one might have left.” He paused for what felt like eternity. “Of course I have to consider it.” Tav felt his body pull closer to hers as he whispered this, his tone laced with solemn regret. “She’s offered the clearest solution to our problem. All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes and let go.” Tav searched Gale’s eyes and they did not meet hers. They seemed to focus beyond on and yet into her all at once. His eyes traced her lips, her hair, but not to meet hers. “The slate will be clean. Wrongs will be righted. The Absolute will be gone.” Tav shuddered, “And I along with it.” 

Tav’s breath stuck like glue in her throat and her knees buckled. Sure, she’d be annoyed, angry with Gale even at times.. yet, the possibility of the world no longer including him felt incomprehensible. “We’ll find another way - I’m not going to let you blow yourself up. She can’t ask you to do this - it’s insane!” 

Gale’s nostrils flared and he tilted his head to the side and when his gaze met Tav’s she sank into his pupil’s black abyss and saw herself reflected in their severity. “Let’s save such certainties for later. I need time - to process. To think. Excuse me…” Gale sighed and lifted his hand as if to touch her and dropped it as abruptly and turned to walk to his tent. 

** 

As they sat around the fire, midday turned to late afternoon and soon the sun dusted the horizon with streaks of mellow purple. They were restless, no one yet confident enough to broach the glaring bulette in the room.

Tav was standing off to the side, chewing on her lip and pulling her amulet back and forth. Tav jumped when she felt the fingers tap her shoulders. “I know that Gale just received some difficult news..” Shadowheart began her long fingers resting delicately on Tav’s shoulder. “We were wondering if we should set up camp. It feels unwise to travel much farther late as it is and I’m afraid we’ve all had quite a bit of wine between us.”

The rest of the companions waved a bit dramatically as Tav glanced over. Ah. They must have nominated Shadowheart to ask for the plan. Tav knew they didn’t have an infinite amount of time. Every hour they wasted was a moment closer to becoming a mindflayer.  

“I think it’d be best if we camped for the night. Maybe ask Wyll if he can make dinner… practice for his future dates.” Tav tried to force a smile that didn’t come, her joke landing flat. Shadowheart flipped her hair with a nod, Tav assumed she was glad to escape cooking duty again. 

Gale did not emerge from his tent for dinner. Tav didn’t know if she should leave him or check on him. For the rest of the companions the choice would have been easy. With him she questioned every word, every action, mulled it over like an overly complex problem. 

Despite the fire before her, Tav shook. Shadowheart leaned forward on her knees, holding her hands up to the heat. Her eyes danced beneath her dark curtains. “I can’t believe Mystra actually expects Gale to just sacrifice himself like that. It seems like a waste of a fine mind if you ask me.” 

Murmurs of agreement swept through them and Karlach paced behind those seated, swinging her axe. “Mystra asking Gale to end his life… I mean this is a lot to take in. What do you think he’s going to do?” 

Karlach looked expectantly at Tav and Tav shook her head and shrugged quickly, looking away. “Oh… I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s of two minds.”

Karlach groaned and swung her axe into the dirt. It landed with a thud and she pulled it out like a knife into cake. “Well, tell him to pick the right one.” Tav felt her cheeks redden. 

“He won’t listen to me.” Tav said, pulling at her fingers. 

“He doesn’t listen to anyone,” Astation tossed, only mildly interested in the conversation. 

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Karlach said, “Fucking wizard’s, man they always need help picking the simple, obvious option. If Mystra can’t think of another way to stop the absolute other than sacrificing Gale, she is no God worth worshipping. I’ll say that to Gale in, you know, gentle terms. Lae’zel, you’re one of our resident experts - what do you think?” 

Lae’zel stepped away from sharpening her sword, even she compelled by the visitor in their camp and news to Gale. “Even the Githyanki have heard tell of the sage of Shadowdale. Some of his works have been translated to tir’su.” Lae’zel came to sit by the fire and Shadowheart bristled. “That doesn’t mean his every word carries wisdom. Near as I can tell, Mystra demands Gale’s faith but holds no faith in him.” 

“That’s what I’m saying!” Karlach waved her arms towards Lae’zel, her eyes widening as if to say ‘see?’ 

Lae’zel continued, “Why else would she demand Gale sacrifice himself and  perhaps so many others? Does she not think he can destroy the Absolute with his own immense talents?” 

“Well I wouldn’t call them immense…” Astarion mumbled under his breath and Tav shot him a nasty look that made even him wither. 

“Does she not know the mighty company he keeps?” Lae’zel said, undeterred, “Demanding as Vlaakith may be, she acts for the good of the Gythanki people. Mystra is concerned only for herself. Perhaps he can find forgiveness in a fiery death… but I cannot help but wonder why he’d want it at all.” 

Everyone was silent for a moment and Tav stared into the fire as if scrying. “To suffer on the Wall of the Faithless is no fate anyone should want.” Her voice was a whistle that brushed through them. “It’s cruel to ask it of him because she knows he’ll say yes. It’s wicked.” 

“I can’t believe Mystra is asking Gale to sacrifice himself,” Astarion agreed, scooting closer to Tav and putting a hand on her knee. She flinched but did not pull away. “It’s just a perfectly good waste of a cult we could be controlling!” Before Tav could scoot away she felt him lurch, Shadowheart nudging him. “And a perfectly good Gale, I suppose.” He said the final part with poorly disguised ambivalence. 

Anger simmered in her and Wyll’s calming voice placated her, if marginally. “Listen, I might invoke the triade from time to time and appeal to Helm, but I’m no man of faith. Not like Gale.” Wyll looked at the fire, tossing a stick into it. “I don’t know what drives a man to consider his own death to be an appropriate exchange for his goddesses forgiveness. To me, it all sounds like nonsense.” 

“To some of us it’s important.” Shadowheart interjected but Wyll shrugged. 

“The faith that matters most is that which you hold in yourself and the ones that most matter to you.” Wyll pointed to his chest and stood, “Big bomb be damned. He’s got everything he needs to defeat the Absolute already. Nerve, and powerful allies at his side. I hope he’ll come to his senses and see that.” 

Tav wondered if Gale heard how they spoke of him, how the others seemed to revere him - would they be able to convince him to spare his life even if she could not? The heaviest weight was one of knowing a future she began to see unfold might never come. One that built over years and was reignited by the parasites. Like a planet and moon, destined to be within one another's orbit.

She looked towards Gale's tent and saw him in the darkness, looking directly at her. If she hadn't been looking for him he would have blended into the night. When she spotted him, he held up a hand and offered a half-hearted smile. Although it had yet to pass, she knew then the waters of their relationship threatened to surge violently if they continued to be unaddressed. 

[crossdressingdeath]

pssst - useful Durge information here youtube

/watch?v=V5LHGZBoilQ&t=289s

Ayyyyyyyyyyy it's my good good hat man! So sad he dies if you reject Bhaal, it makes sense but still. But he's so proud of Durge for being a good little murderer, I love it.

Obsessed with him calling Durge a demiurge, by the way. Sceleritas a demiurge's job is the exact opposite of what Durge is supposed to do. I guess the creator of a dead world has still technically created a world...?

Interesting that Sceleritas was apparently sent to guide Durge when they reached their "age of majority", given we hear his voice in the pre-Orin Heal cutscene. Is that just him connecting to Durge in the present, or does he consider their age of majority being their first killing spree? Also, one thing I find very interesting is that apparently despite fully committing themselves to Bhaal they still need Sceleritas, which with the way he talks about it suggests that even at this juncture, having taken back the mantle of Bhaal's Chosen and agreed to their given task of ending the world, they still aren't totally loyal. There's still reason for Bhaal to think they need to be managed. (Also "I shall be sick, fetch the Bucket of Bhaal" continues to be an absolutely golden line.)

Sceleritas insisting that Durge's memory loss is purely brain damage makes sense, but it does contradict Omeluum saying that you don't remember because someone doesn't want you to if you ask him about it back in act 1. Possibly he was wrong. Possibly Sceleritas is wrong. I have some suspicions, but I'll get to that in another post. Him assuring Durge he still thinks they're very clever is precious, though. It doesn't seem like Orin's digging around damaged anything aside from Durge's memory, but it's still cute that Sceleritas feels the need to assure them. Sceleritas saying the worst thing Durge ever did was giving a beggar some coin without kicking or spitting on him is very sad, although given it happened while they were en route to the Devil's Fee I do have to wonder if Gortash was there. I bet he'd tease them about going soft. I also like that one of the things making Durge better than Orin is the fact that they experienced life outside the Temple; it's unclear when exactly they showed up, but given you can be any number of classes that require certain experiences that you wouldn't be able to get in the Temple (a cleric or paladin Durge can serve gods other than Bhaal and bard Durge must have gone to a bardic college at some point) they were presumably an adult by the time they arrived. Also once again we hear about Durge being sculpted from Bhaal's own gore, which is just all sorts of concerning. And confirmation that the Urge is unique to Durge! Which is fun. Also interesting that Orin's bloodline is so far below Durge's in terms of connection to Bhaal's; she really never stood a chance at gaining Bhaal's favour as long as Durge lived.

I assume if you ask Sceleritas about if you'll be able to spare your lover his answer changes depending on the lover in question. I'll have to keep an eye out for that when I do my evil run, since Kyvir is Gay As Fuck and so has zero lovers he could create more Bhaalspawn with. Although given Bhaal in general seems to give approximately zero shits about his kid or their comfort that has some very uncomfortable implications... And it sounds like the Urge is at least sort of gone if you take on the mantle of Bhaal's Chosen? Which kind of makes sense, if Bhaal assumes he's got your leash wrapped so tight around your neck you won't step out of line again. Also, very interesting that Sceleritas refers to the tadpoling as a rebirth for Durge; he's sort of right, but it's still interesting.

[baldurs-simp]

Can you possibly do a hurt/comfort Zevlor x a Tiefling Tav with them cuddling?

Yes! I love writing hurt/comfort! Thank you for requesting this! I feel like we need more Zevlor stuff.

Masterlist

You tried to help clear the way for your kin when the druids started trying to purge their grove of tieflings and outsiders. You were with a group to ambush the goblins that prove a threat to your people, but you got hurt in the process with an arrow straight through your shoulder.

You're lucky to be back in the safety of the grove, being healed from your injuries. Not so lucky when Zevlor - who advised against the ambush - walks into the healer's tent, yellow eyes directly landing on you.

"What did I tell you about this ambush? I thought I made it clear that I was a bad idea and now look what's happened to you," he fumes, stepping toward you, not regarding anyone else in the tent who was injured.

You roll your eyes at him, slowly pushing yourself off the bed while keeping a hand against the bandaged wound. "I wanted to help, Zevlor. I can't just stand here and do nothing while our people suffer, trying to do something so that we survive. It's not in my nature to just stand back and do nothing," you say, slowly stepping past him as you make your way out of the tent, not wanting to disturb those with worse injuries than you with the argument brewing with Zevlor.

He follows you, placing a hand on your uninjured shoulder to guide you out, helping you with each step. "And what if something else happened to you? What if you perished?"

"Then I am not worthy to be a cleric of Tyr if a few goblins can bring me down," you mutter, turning to face him as you reach your tent which is not far from the healer, thank the gods. "I am tired, Zevlor. I don't wish to fight about this now."

He sighs, nodding his head slightly as he gestures for you to enter your tent, showing that he won't continue to fight with you.

Following you in, he watches as you slowly make your way to your bed, staying close to you to catch you if you fall. Which you do.

His arms wrap around you as you stumble, keeping you from hitting the floor. "Let me help you," he tenderly whispers, waiting for you to nod as he slowly helps you to your feet again.

You allow yourself to lean against him, struggling to keep your eyes open as the adrenaline finally wears off and the loss of blood hits you. You just wish to sleep.

Zevlor gently helps you down on the bed, careful to not bump the wound with his hand as he moves the piece of hair that has fallen over your face behind your horn atop your head. While there, he wipes away a drop of sweat that has formed on your forehead. He knows he cannot reprimand you on your faith for leading you into battle when he knows he would do the same. It is a trait he so admires in you.

"Will you stay with me? For a while?" you ask, grabbing his wrist when he starts to pull away from you.

"I will stay for as long as you ask me to," he whispers, moving around the bed so that he can lay behind you.

He lays on his back, helping you adjust your position so that your head can rest on his shoulder and his chin rests on the top of your head, just between your horns that curl upwards. His arm wraps around your shoulders, his thumb gently caressing your arm as you settle into the position.

"I made a promise to myself that I would get as many as I could to safety," he says, keeping his voice low for he's not sure if you are asleep yet. "But I do not think I can see it as a victory if I were to lose you on the way."

You sigh, your face nuzzling into his shoulder as you reach for his hand to entwine your fingers with his. "Believe me, I wish to see Baldur's Gate once more. No mere goblins will stop me from that. Not if I can help it," you whisper, your eyes slowly falling shut as your head rests on his shoulder.

Zevlor feels your body relax as you fall asleep. He places a kiss on the top of your head and allows himself to relax as well. Now that he knows you are safely back in the grove and in his arms, he can relax and not worry about what might have become of you out there, outside of his watch.

[ordinarykeys]

Otto progression part 2! Here's a collection of my dnd character from throughout the year so far. Including some NPCs and other player characters. We recently had our 1 year anniversary for the game so I wanted to draw everyone's character and some memorable NPCs / Enemies from the game.

I'll talk about the images under a read more if you're interested.

So the first picture was Otto's new look after becoming divine. We thought it would be cool to try out the Gestalt system (which is leveling in 2 classes at the same time), and Otto had a combo of Death Cleric with a Homebrew Necromancer we found. I would NOT recommend the homebrew we found, the subclass I took turned out to be extremely broken without us realizing. It did make for an extremely funny combat where we were fighting a mini army, dropping Sickening Radiance down on them, and getting 100+ HP back once a turn through syphoning traits. Honestly it was incredible, and extremely fitting for Otto who basically became a God of Death.

Right after making the art of Otto's next outfit shit hit the fan hard, which made the very happy and cute expression in the picture just... completely unfitting for what happened. Otto grew up in a foster home along with their six other siblings, Everette(the eyeball ghost) being one of them, and raised by an old woman named Ingrid. They loved their home, and even after they reached the age they could move out to live on their own, they chose to stay and help take care of the home. Turns out, Ingrid has been a flesh puppet orchestrated by the "real" Ingrid, who was this powerful old Ascended(super powered humans basically) that wanted to keep Otto safe until everything came together for her to set off her plan to send them out into the Otherworlds(basically the dimensions that open up to the players when they become an Ascended, think of it like the "world map" name). Then it turned out Otto was taken at birth because Ingrid needed their blood to create an immunity to the BBEG's mind control effects, and used that to give to the other players. The reason Otto was immune at birth, is because their mom is the BBEG. So, it turned out Otto had been an Ascended all along, but their powers were suppressed and they've basically been lead down this path by their grandma. Otto's BBEG mom is the bottom right lady in the 6th picture with the white hair. Which was COMPLETELY UNINTENTIONAL OTTO'S HAIR HAS BEEN SLOWLY TURNING WHITE. I had begun the process since they became an Ascended, and then when we found that out I just... my reaction was just the surprised Pikachu meme. So we found out that the BBEG had been doing this for a while, having kids, and basically killing them and taking their power for herself. Before she had the chance to do that with Otto, Ingrid snatched them and went into hiding to start her whole revenge plot.

Anyways though, since then it's just been constant emotional turmoil of the party trying to grasp what the fuck is going on(again). But we're all having a great time. I mean between the emotional trauma. It's been hit after hit for our nb legend, their other bro was murdered along with one of their companions, they've been questioning their trust with the party, they had to defend their friend against another god of Death(who they ended up taking the powers up) and now that friend won't talk to them, and they're sort of just going through the motions. IN ALL THAT THOUGH, they did start getting close to one of the NPCs named Serfan that's been helping them out. They met because Serfan was hired to kill the party. :) Good times. He's in the group picture, if you look close enough you might be able to spot who he is.

AND FINALLY, THE LAST PICTURE, is how I imagined Otto's design progressing towards the end of the story. Tired, embracing their new self, and I thought they would just look cool with a big coat. Very regal feeling for someone that would take over restoring balance in the universe as a death god.

Anyways though thanks for reading! The game is currently on pause while one the players got busy over the summer. Hopefully we'll be returning to the game soon and finishing it up. Even after the game is done, I might still draw Otto. They've grown to be a fav.

[oinky-spoinky]

Circus of the dead sessions 0.5/1 (briefly told)

So I'm telling pretty much covering the big points on all of my sessions for a mini series here. Mainly cause I tend to ramble but also because it's been a while and I'm absolute shit at taking notes. So I have six players and henceforth we started with six character. (I also had them all make backups for reasons that will make sense soon) Bubbles- deep gnome rogue. Works at the circus as a clown. Jingles- [REDACTED] bard/warlock. Also works at the circus as a clown. Doug- Aasimar druid. Works for the god of death. Brought in by Arbor via letter. Derwin- Owlin cleric. Goes around healing people for a living. Brought in via letter by Arbor. Abel- [REDACTED] monk. Works alongside Arbor as an "assistant". Echo- Changeling warlock/wizard. Affiliated with the church. Brought in via letter by Arbor. They all spent their first session pretty much just walking around and getting to know each other/npcs. There are a lot of people working at the circus and I wanted to make sure they knew their way around. I gave them their maps and everything this first session too. The first official session is where things got interesting. They started out pretty normally as far as I can remember, they got their breakfast and they went to walk around a bit. They split and one half of the party tried to break into the haunted house for a while since it was closed due to a crime scene being cleaned up inside. The other half of the party went to the house of mirrors to try and get in. However, someone got too close to the door and got pulled in. They all eventually were pulled in one by one (foreshadowing) and were met face to face with a man named Thormyr, who did the tours and took care of the place. he convinced them to take a tour and they soon realized he is in fact blind, as he kept bumping into things and getting lost. They go through and things are pretty normal, until they reach a strange dead end room. It's completely empty except for what seems like six totally normal full-length mirrors inside. They enter the room and turn to look back at Thormyr, who had fallen behind. However, the last thing they see is his face before the door slams shut, locking them in. They're immediately attacked by some sort of apparitions that drag them each into their own mirror. They're met with a room that is pretty much a white void with the same mirrors inside. Except instead of their own reflections they're met with those of their backups. A voice tells them that they have to choose who leaves this place. Doug sacrifices himself and dies horribly. Enter Gary. Warlock Fire genasi. Bubbles sacrifices himself and has a heart attack. Enter Luigi. Aasimar Barbarian/Bard. Jingles chooses himself and kills his backup D.C. Derwin chooses himself and reluctantly kills his backup Extrah Xxtra. Echo chooses himself and kills his backup Jupiter. Able chooses himself and crushes his backup Cricket. After they all have to choose between their lives and the life of someone they know, have heard of, love, etc. they are free to go. Immediately upon leaving they see Thormyr standing at the door again, looking concerned. Jingles immediately reacts violently and punches Thormyr, believing he's the one that put them in this situation. However, Thormyr had 24hp and pretty much died immediately. Enter Arbor, who's distraught that they just got here and have already killed someone. They pretty much just go to bed after this.