#pillars of eternity edit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bragganhyl · 1 year ago

Note

'how badly do you want me?' for gaura and aloth please :3

Thanks, Anon, sorry, it took me a bit but here it is :D

this is your explicit content warning, do not click on the readmore if you do not want to be exposed to 4.3k words of smutty writing, please and thank you

Konstanten’s room was slowly filling up with steam while Gaura was taking off one piece of her armor after the other. She hummed a melody to herself – out of respect rather than discomfort – trying to tune out the lewd cries that managed to pass through the walls of the Wild Mare. In moments like these, the Watcher questioned if taking the tub in the brothel was actually preferable to the Luminous Bathhouse, but those questions would be set aside as soon as she remembered that at least, she got to be alone in the brothel. There was a time public bathing would have left Gaura unfazed, but that was before she was renowned as the Watcher of Caed Nua or the captain of The Defiant. That was before she was a piece in the game of powers that saw her as variable to be controlled. And there was a place where she might have felt comfortable surrounded by others, bare and – in some ways – out of her element, but in such a place she wouldn’t have been surrounded by people looking to her with either reverence or suspicion. She could do without the attention that she would have received in Periki’s Overlook.

But the rest of the crew headed that way. Aloth was especially reluctant to part ways with her that day. A soft tremor ran through her fingers as the Watcher recalled the way he held her hand, saying his goodbyes. She thought of his gentleness that she felt through the heavy gauntlet, she thought of the warmth in his gaze that made the sun streaming on them pale in comparison. She thought of the color of his lips after she gave him nothing more than a quick peck. She bit her own as she reminisced. The color promised a soft surface, a searing impact and an irresistible taste. Gaura didn’t notice that she stopped humming. Her movements slowed as she undid her belt, while her imagination painted the image of clothes being removed that belonged to someone else. An image of another getting shoved against a wall while she showered him in kisses.

The sound of the water boiling snapped her out of her musings. Gaura hurriedly took the cauldron and emptied its contents into the tub, half-full of lukewarm water already. She removed the last few pieces of her armor and the clothes underneath, excitement almost getting the better of her. As she stepped into the tub, the water began dancing around her legs lead by the ever burning flames bursting through her skin. She sat down, submerging herself to her neck, enjoying the rough bubbles assaulting her tense muscles. Soon, she was lifted by the movements of the water, her only support was the back of her head against the edge of the tub and her arms coming over its sides, anchoring her while she floated relaxed.

The trek up the mountain took time, Gaura mused as a sigh left her lips, Aloth could not have made it to the bathhouse yet. By the time he would, he’d be flushed by exertion and kissed by sunlight. The Watcher sighed. The water felt softer as she thought of the wizard. Or maybe she did. It was so easy to pretend that she was being touched, that she was melting as a response. It was easy to read more into the gentle impacts against the small of her back than the reality of them. It was easy to imagine slender fingers caressing her thighs and even easier to give in to the sensation. Gaura brought a hand to her breast as she parted her legs, while she thought of Aloth descending into the gently glowing pool. She envisioned a single droplet trickling down his lean body as she traced its path down her own chest.

Her daydreaming fragmented when her fingers found her folds and the small nub between them. Images overlapped with her movements, shifting with each flick of her wrist. She drew one circle and Aloth was leaning over the edge of the pool. His face was pressed against the tiles and Gaura was behind him, loving up his neck, kissing his shoulders, nibbling on his ear, as she reached forward and rubbed him steadily. The Watcher’s breathing grew staggered as she picked up the pace set by her imaginary self. Her mind was filled with the vision of Aloth on his back, sprawled out on the floor of the bathhouse, biting down on his lip, trying to keep himself quiet as Gaura grinded on top of him, filled by him, at a tempo that was far too selfish but she couldn’t help it. She allowed herself a quiet moan, just enough to fuel her fantasies without overpowering the sounds of the water enveloping her, the sounds she imagined echoing in the halls of the Luminous Bathhouse, the sounds that-

- that were suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door.

The Watcher froze in her movements. For a moment there was no sound, and no movement aside from the water around her rushing against her body. When she heard the knock again, her awareness returned to her fully – as well as to her more than compromising, arched posture. Even behind closed doors, Gaura’s hair fluttered shyly as she sat in the tub, her legs crossed, trying to repress the rage growing from her frustration by washing her face.

‘The room’s taken!’ She called out, snapping at the person behind the door despite her best efforts.

‘I know.’

The voice almost convinced the Watcher that she was still deep in her fantasies. When she didn’t respond, an impatient request followed.

‘Gaura, can you please, let me in?’

She got out of the tub in a hurry, nearly tripping over the edge of it. She was just about to grab the handle of the door, when she remembered to cover herself. The Watcher took a moment to ensure the towel she picked up was hugging her body securely and neatly, before she opened the door, and casually leaned against its frame. An easy smile brightened her face that hid all but the smallest hints at her craving for the wizard. Aloth blinked at her, his mouth slightly agape at the sight of her wearing nothing but a tiny piece of fabric and a small cloud of vapor rising from her skin.

‘I…’ he cleared his throat, ‘I hope I didn’t come at an inopportune time.’

Gaura chuckled, lust and mischief faintly ringing in her voice. ‘Quite the contrary,’ she stepped aside, ‘I was just thinking about you.’

‘As was I about you,’ Aloth stepped inside the room, strangely stiff. It was only then that Gaura noticed how out of breath the wizard was, how flushed his cheeks were and yet he closed the door behind him with a restraint that she would have mistaken for hesitance had she not seen it time and time again, usually right before they both gave in to their desires. ‘That… is why I’m here,’ he let out a short laugh, as he stepped closer to the Watcher, ‘I was wondering, if… maybe you could share the tub with me.’ He hid his hands behind his back.

‘Hm,’ Gaura closed the distance between them. Aloth did not move, he did not look away, merely his cheeks took on a slightly deeper shade as a heavy, but staggered breath escaped his lips. She glimpsed a spark in his lidded eyes that put an impish smile on her face. ‘I’m sure we can squeeze in,’ she said as she reached for a buckle on the wizard’s vest. ‘But I still can’t help but be surprised that you’d skip the bathhouse for a measly tub.’

‘The company more than makes up for it,’ he glanced down at the Watcher’s hands slowly undoing one buckle after the other. ‘As does the privacy.’

‘My, you must have craved both,’ Gaura teased as she undid Aloth’s belt and pushed his vest off him, ‘if you were willing to climb back down the mountain just to meet me here. Alone.’

‘Indeed,’ he chuckled as he took off his undershirt, ‘as foolish as it sounds, I… I couldn’t stop thinking about our parting earlier.’

He gingerly reached for the Watcher’s hands, and lifted them to his lips. He left a single lingering kiss on her wrist, while he placed shorter, sweeter ones on the knuckles of her other hand. Gaura laughed softly, turning Aloth’s gaze to her face again. He let go of her long enough to cast protective spells on himself, before he reached behind her head and brought it closer to himself. He rested his forehead against hers, fighting the urge to claim her lips.

‘I want you,’ he admitted quietly, breathlessly, but no less eagerly.

‘Care to demonstrate?’ The Watcher lightly nipped at his lower lip. ‘How badly do you want me?’

Aloth’s kiss was slow at first, but insistent as if he needed to drink Gaura in to shrug off the weariness of the road. Then a moment passed and the wizard only grew hungrier for her. The Watcher snickered into his mouth as he reached for the towel covering her and peeled it off with a gentle tug. He pulled her closer, and embraced her tightly seemingly ready to feed himself to the fire adorning her body. But he knew those flames: he knew that they did not scorch, they did not harm, they only lapped against Aloth’s chest with the tenderness of the lightest of kisses. Goosebumps formed where he was kissed by fire and a small tremor ran through him as Gaura reached for his hair and gently pulled it. The wizard sharply inhaled, warm, humid, smokey air filling his mouth until the Watcher latched onto his neck and allowed herself to be guided by her tongue along his shoulder. Only then did he remember to exhale.

‘Shall we take this to the tub?’ Gaura’s voice was deep with desire.

Aloth needed a moment to process the question, which was made all the harder by the Watcher’s warm breath caressing his ear. Eventually he gave her a few quick nods. ‘Please.’

‘Guide me, then,’ she hooked a finger in the wizard’s trousers as she took a step towards the tub, but her gaze remained fixed on him. ‘You see, while you were away my imagination was all I had for company,’ she walked with her back towards her destination, her hands firmly holding her lover by his waist, and her lips repeatedly finding their way back to Aloth’s.

‘It seems I have something to live up to then.’

Gaura laughed. ‘You better, you interrupted quite a nice fanta-’

Her teasing was interrupted when the Watcher’s foot hit a piece of her discarded armor and she was sent stumbling down on her back, pulling Aloth with her.

‘Gods, are you alright?’ The wizard pushed himself up, anxiously looking her over. Gaura was still laughing, however.

‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ she stopped herself, sniffing into the air. Something was getting singed. ‘The rug, however…’ she pulled Aloth down, wrapped her thighs around his hips and rolled over him in a few swift moves. She was still snickering as she claimed his lips again. Her smile faded to something faint, smug and satisfied as her hand trailed down the wizard’s chest, and he proved to be unable to resist her caress. He arched himself ever so slightly into her touch. His hand came to the back of her head, and kept her in place as he kissed back more and more desperately with each moment. And then Gaura reached his bulge. A quiet groan resonated against the Watcher’s lips and she pulled away to rid him of his remaining clothes. She grinned down at him as she was undoing his trousers, her anticipation warming her belly. Then a hand came to her wrist.

‘Please, I…’ Aloth swallowed, ‘I’d like to taste you.’

Gaura cocked her head, feigning to ponder his request. ‘I’d rather not risk lying down again, though.’

The wizard responded with a knowing smile. His free hand came to her thigh, his fingers idly traced a crack running along on its inner side.

‘I would prefer if you stayed on top, too.’

The Watcher shrugged and leaned over Aloth again. ‘How could I say no to you?’ She left a quick peck on his lips. Then another. And another. With each little contact the vision of his lips on her cunt became more and more crystallized. She savored the fantasy as she pulled away and shuffled over the wizard’s face. ‘Don’t forget to breathe,’ she reminded him, as she lowered herself.

The very first flick of Aloth’s tongue sent shivers along every fiber of Gaura’s being. He gripped her thighs tight as he latched onto her clit and lapped at it feverishly. The Watcher bit down on her finger, trying to suppress the sounds he drew from her each time he changed pace, rhythm, patterns. There was a sweet dissonance between the softness of his lips and the insistence of their movements, between the light brushes of his hair against her thighs and his fingers digging into them. He was unpredictable and meticulous and Gaura found it harder with each moment to restrain herself. It didn’t help that each time he sent her flames fluttering, they drew a shudder out of him, and his own sense of control demanded that he continued with more focus and with greater determination. He let out a few quiet notes, a barely audible but no less desperate whimper, as the fire dancing along the Watcher’s thighs lapped against his cheek and ears, and he nearly drove her mad by doing so. It seemed as if her muscles took control over her as Aloth overwhelmed her nerves and senses. She reached for his hair and dug her fingers into those dark strands while her hips began to move along their own rhythm. The wizard softly moaned against her folds when he felt her grind against him, but Gaura could no longer hear anything beyond her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Not his sounds, not her own cries, not the sweet nothings that left her lips which only spurred Aloth on. The Watcher lost her sense of time as her pleasure was building within her. Her sense of rhythm and pacing betrayed her on the verge of ecstasy. She lost awareness of herself, of selfishness or discipline. There was only Aloth, precious and generous Aloth, who was so perfect to lose herself in, in all the ways she could still name. She threw her head back and allowed the warmth of her arousal to spread within her like a wildfire and consume her entirely. Aloth slowed down to help her guide her senses back to herself, then left a few parting kisses on her thighs just as she was ready to get off him.

‘You are so, so good to me,’ Gaura leaned over him, eager to taste herself on his tongue. She laughed into their kiss when she felt the juices of her arousal coat his nose and chin as well. Aloth answered by reaching for her ear and by making a futile attempt at tucking a lock of her flame-hair behind it. She pulled away then. ‘I love you.’

‘And I love you.’

‘You made that evidently clear,’ the Watcher laughed. She pulled away and took off Aloth’s trousers. She waited until the wizard reinforced some of his spells protecting him from her hair, the moved to straddle him again. ‘Will you let me be selfish with you?’ She asked with an impish smile while she descended on his cock. She was merely grinding against his length, letting her arousal coat him, but Aloth already tensed up in anticipation. ‘I’ll take good care of you in the tub after I’m done, I promise.’

Aloth let out a quiet laugh. ‘How could I say no to you?’ He sat up, echoing her words, and reached for Gaura’s shoulder. He pulled her down with him as he laid back down. ‘Just… please, stay close to me.’

The Watcher placed a kiss on his cheek while she guided his cock to her heat. She slowly rocked back against him, stealing the wizard’s breath away.

‘Close enough?’

‘Yes, and no.’ Aloth laughed, his joy mingled into his moan as the Watcher began moving again on top of him, until the last notes he exhaled were voiceless and his face became a canvas of pure need. ‘I… can’t get enough of you.’ Gaura kissed the corner of his lips. For a single roll of her hips, she slowed down, as her lips locked with his proper and drank in the long, hungry groan she drew from the wizard. She pulled away slightly with a chuckle and picked up the pace again.

‘Neither can I.’

The Watcher thought of the daydream she had in the tub. The fantasy of Aloth sprawled out on the tiles of the bathhouse and of herself seizing her own pleasure. And a part of her was tempted to turn it into reality. But the Aloth in front of her, under her, had fantasies hiding behind his eyes as well. He touched her cheek just as the first quiet moan passed her lips. He watched her, pleased, for a mere moment before his eyes fluttered shut and he craned his neck back towards the floor. A smile brightened his face until his expression was contorted by his own pleasure.

‘Gods, I adore you,’ Gaura whispered. She couldn’t resist the sight of his lips, his eyes, his arching neck. Her mouth wandered and soothed, her teeth encouraged and claimed, while her body moved to a steady rhythm. She allowed herself to grew drunk the visage of Aloth as ecstasy was building within him and the sounds she was drawing from him. She was intoxicated by the light touches on her back, the fingers tracing her cracks, the caresses on the back of her head, the crackling of magic against her scalp. She in turn called him beautiful, she called him precious, through slurred words and through wandering touches, through increasingly hurried movements. And soon, she grew forgetful, she grew unaware, she was mesmerized by the wizard under her, too much to pay attention to her own self. Her hips rolled back harder against him, her kisses turned forceful enough to resonate in her teeth, until she slammed against him hard and hit a spot that got her seeing stars.

Aloth groaned under her and kissed her on her cheek. The Watcher only stopped for a moment, but even that brief pause felt excruciating – and yet, at the same time, inviting.

‘Wait,’ his hands trailed down Gaura’s sides, until he reached her hips. His grip was light, but firm. After some shuffling, Aloth gave her a slow and gentle thrust, hitting the same spot again. The Watcher’s moan lingered in the air between them. ‘How does that feel?’

‘Almost perfect.’

‘Almost…?’ Aloth thrust again, slightly harder this time, and now the Watcher was ready to meet him.

‘Now, it’s perfect,’ she smiled down at him, as she started moving again in earnest, and he followed along. Gaura soon buried her face in the curve of the wizard’s neck, kisses and nibbles became her anchor as she got swept away in her own movements and the precious, lovely friction that stoked the heat pooling in her loins.

Aloth was tensing up under her as well. He didn’t notice his grip tightening on her, or that he hastened his thrusts. There was a light stutter in the way his muscles moved, there was a light shiver lingering at the tips of his fingers that he couldn’t ease through touch alone. His mouth was filled with his moans that got pushed out of him each time the Watcher’s flesh hit his. Gaura’s lips were slick against his throat, her tongue felt hot against his ear, her hands wandered along his chest, enjoying the feeling of his heart pounding fast for her at one moment and the tremors that followed her light brushes against his nipples in the next. But she did warn him that she would be selfish. Eventually her hand traveled down between them, to the clit he’s been neglecting, but just as guilt was about to well up in him, she grew tighter around him and Aloth forgot everything but her warmth, her embrace, the fire bursting though her, kissing his skin. She cried out as she collapsed on top of him, drowning out his own voice, her climax eclipsing his. The wizard held her close and tight as he rode out his ecstasy, but she squirmed her way out of his embrace. She left one kiss on his face after the other, she left no spot untouched and for those few moments, Aloth was convinced he was melting.

‘I must say,’ he said once he found his voice again, ‘I do enjoy you being selfish with me.’

Gaura chuckled. ‘I promise, I won’t make you regret those words,’ she gave him a lingering kiss, while he pulled out. A few moments later, she got up and helped the wizard stand, as well. ‘Just like I promised I would take care of you, now.’ She gingerly hooked her fingers into his as he guided him to the bathtub. She frowned at the water, disappointed in the lack of steam, and just as she assumed, the water was cool to her touch when she reached out for it.

‘Allow me,’ Aloth gave her hand a light squeeze before he let her go. He rubbed his hands together then he drew some runes in the air. He uttered a spell as he touched them. Magic flared up at the tips of his fingers then spread down to his wrists. The wizard then dipped his hands in the water and in a few moments, vapor was rising from the tub once more. A satisfied smile lurked in the corners of his lips as he gestured at the tub, and when Gaura reached for the water, it was as warm as she left it.

‘Show off,’ she teasingly rolled her eyes at him, which was met with Aloth’s widening eyes as he became aware of his own smugness. Gaura laughed sweetly as she kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’m only teasing, love,’ she left another peck on him. ‘Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.’

The Watcher stepped into the tub and reached back for Aloth. The wizard glanced at the water bubbling around Gaura’s legs then grabbed the hand offered to him with an excited grin. They sat behind one another, with Aloth nestling between the Watcher’s thighs. It was a tight fit within the tub, with little to no room to move, but at least as they were, Gaura was comfortable. Meanwhile the wizard sat a little straighter as the water rushed against his waist. He took a deep breath then undid the bindings holding his hair bit by bit. He ran his hands through his dark strands and leaned back against Gaura's chest with a sigh.

‘Gods, this feels magnificent,’ he took the Watcher’s hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘You are magnificent.’

‘You know my plan was to help you get cleaned up,’ she replied as she played with a few strands of his hair.

‘Just… give me a few moments.’

‘Or you could just give me the soap,’ the Watcher pointed to a fragrant yellow bar. Aloth sat up with a groan but he didn’t hide his eagerness to return to her embrace. She laughed as she took the soap and lightly rubbed it against the wizard’s chest. He seemed to grow more relaxed with each movement of her hand. And in turn, she took her time, she remained gentle.

‘Gaura…’ when Aloth spoke again, his voice was hoarse and quiet.

‘Hmm?’

‘I heard that the pool in the Luminous Bathhouse can be rented for private events,’ he caressed her knee as he talked. ‘Do you think that I could… tempt you... for such an event?’

‘Aw, you’re getting greedy,’ she blew a kiss on her hair. In truth, her daydream surged from the depths of her mind, and her heart skipped a beat at the idea of making it real.

Aloth laughed. ‘Nothing of the sort, I assure you,’ he shifted his weight slightly, ‘or… I don’t think of it as greed. There are just some experiences that I… would like to share with you.’

‘Nice save.’

The wizard shrugged. ‘It’s true, though. There are so many places that I want to see by your side... Memories that I want to form with you,’ he bit his lip. ‘Things that I’d like to try with you.’

The Watcher smiled to herself. ‘I feel the same way,’ she laughed. ‘Although I must mention that a lot of the places I’d like to show you are in the Living Lands and we have giant hornets there.’

‘I’m sure the perils would be worth it.’

‘You are making it very hard to say no to your suggestion,’ Gaura shook her head. ‘About the bathhouse, I mean.’

Aloth said nothing, he merely angled his head to look up at the Watcher. Gaura could only meet his gaze for a few fleeting moments.

‘Fine,’ she pretended to give in. ‘I’ll see to the arrangements.’

The wizard smiled. ‘Thank you,’ he turned away and closed his eyes. ‘I have to say, though… I wouldn’t oppose to… using the tub with you again. If you are of the same mind, that is.’

‘You know that I am,’ the Watcher tucked a lock of hair behind Aloth’s ear. In her embrace, relaxed, soaked and glowing in the aftermath of ecstasy, he looked almost like a dream. And certainly more beautiful than the ones Gaura has been having. ‘How could I say no to you?’

#pillars of eternity #wrytinge #nsf vörk #aloth x watcher #aloth corfiser #oc fic: gaura #gaura sélfolgh #yeah tbh I was doing proofreading and editing part-by-part #so i'd say it's been pretty thoroughly checked but y'know if you see stuff that slipped through then no you don't i guess bye

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sun-marie · 10 months ago

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Guess who jumped into Deadfire 👀

#this edit's a little more janky than her poe1 portrait but i'm happy with it #i did change her to a meadow folk #and gave her the fighter + rogue class which in this game is called a SWASHBUCKLER !!!#and mannnn this game is already scratching a pirate itch I forgot I had 💗#pillars of eternity: deadfire #watcher sabina

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ampleappleamble · 11 months ago

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part 1 here

content warning: (imagined) dubiously consentual sexual activity, blood, consumption of gore, vomit

—

By the time he climbed into bed that night, Vatnir had read the chronicle thrice, cover to cover, and the sections concerning the Watcher of Caed Nua at least ten times over. It had been a simple matter to feign a debilitating episode of some vague malady during his midday sermon and thus forge an excuse to sequester himself in his quarters to "rest" while he devoured the book whole, over and over. He'd even gone so far as to forego his evening meal in favor of another reread, although he was too giddy to have much of an appetite anyway. Bela had spoken true for once– it was a fascinating tale, full of tragedies and triumphs and stakes that rose ever higher. Evidently, Dyrwoodan politics was much more dramatic and wrought with intrigue than he'd believed possible from a backwards nation full of hot-headed hayseeds.

He'd been surprised, too, to see a familiar name amongst the motley cast of farmers, tribals, diplomats and animancers: Glasvahl, the very man whose pilgrimage to Eir Glanfath had inspired him to sail to this deplorable iceberg all those years ago. He was just as shocked to find that Glasvahl's story was not only completely factual, but that the Watcher of Caed Nua had been directly involved in thwarting his clan's long anticipated passage into the White Void, as it turned out that she had personally sealed the Frost-Hewn Breach with an artifact bestowed upon her by Rymrgand himself. That little detail must have gotten lost somewhere between mouth and ear and had never quite made it to him in the version he'd heard, or else he simply hadn't thought it terribly important at the time and had forgotten it. He certainly wouldn't have let it slip his mind had he known then how important this Watcher really was, how powerful.

How beautiful.

He settled back into the fur-laden canoe that served as his bed and held the book as close as a lover, open facedown on his chest. There had been a few other illustrations of her throughout, depictions of her and her retinue performing various incredible acts of heroism, but it was the portrait, of course, that he pressed now to his heart, the portrait that made that heart leap and flutter inside him every time he looked at it.

Gods, what had gotten into him? His winters in this world spanned a century and then some, and here he was, lusting after some pretty young thing like a boy who had just sprouted his first wispy beard. It was utterly unlike him, and so he felt obliged to try to make sense of it. Much of her appeal, he figured, must lie in her exoticism– he'd only ever seen a handful of orlans throughout his life, and he'd had never actually had the opportunity to interact with one, so the air of mystery made her that much more alluring. Her coloration was enticingly evocative of the heat and brilliance of an open flame, a welcome change from the tedious blues and greys to which he was so accustomed, and he couldn't help but wonder how it might feel to run his hand over living fur for a change. Even putting aside her physical assets, if she had truly performed even a fraction of the deeds ascribed to her in her partial biography, then she was not only a woman of exceptional beauty, but one of strength, cunning, and bravery as well. And he couldn't help but be impressed– to the point of intimidation, even– by her many laudable accomplishments: she was a scholar, a chanter, a thaynu (whatever that meant), a warrior, a walker between worlds, a champion of the common kith, a woman who had treated with the gods themselves, a dragonslayer–

Phlegm rumbled in Vatnir's throat as he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. He knew that on some level, this childish infatuation wasn't about her, not really. It was about the idea of her, of a person with the potential to change everything for him– if only she should ever have a reason to. He didn't want her so much as he wanted her strength, her courage, her help in unraveling the twisted mess he'd made of his life. To him, she wasn't just a woman, she was a way out.

He chuckled wryly to himself as a ridiculous idea struck him. Ha! Maybe I ought to write to her. "Dear Watcher of Caed Nua: I have read of your many magnificent feats, and verily have you enchanted me. I would seek your assent to bond yourself to me in your Dyrwoodan custom of matrimony, but first I wonder if you might assist me with a small problem I have regarding an undead dragon..."

But no sooner had he dismissed the prospect as laughably absurd than he started to seriously consider it. What if, despite the puerile waste of time he knew it to be, he wrote to her anyway? What if, against all odds, she should actually answer such a missive? Gods, what if she came? What if she actually sailed to the Floe– doubtlessly in a majestic Vailian three-master that bristled with cannons and swarmed with servants– and she somehow used her incredible Watcher abilities to locate the dragon's lair, marching straight to it and boring into the very core of its monstrous soul with her piercing violet eyes before lopping off its head with one deft swing of her mighty sword?

And... what if he could then manage to convince or beg or cajole her into taking him with her when she left again? He imagined her leading him by the hand up the gangplank to her ship, inviting him into the captain's cabin for a welcoming libation. She'd pass him a bottle, take a drag off of her pipe and pass that to him too, still moist and warm from her mouth. And then... oh, then she'd smile at him seductively, her full, glossy lips parting just so, and she'd unbuckle her shining silver breastplate and let it fall, revealing the curves of her body underneath... and then...

The bandages wrapped around his hips suddenly felt uncomfortably tight.

Well, now. Not about her, is it?

He groaned miserably, the yawning void inside him aching now with want, and he cursed himself for his foolishness. No, it was not about her. It was about him. About his cowardice, his selfishness, his ineptitude. He was the reason everyone who came to this gods-cursed iceberg was going to die, crushed underfoot or blasted apart or torn asunder in the dragon's jaws– Hel, he was the reason they kept coming here in the first place– and he was too craven and pathetic to even allow himself to accept responsibility for the ceaseless slaughter, let alone try to put a stop to it. So he soothed his guilty conscience by indulging in a juvenile fantasy wherein he would somehow facilitate some impossible scenario that miraculously absolved him of all duty, all effort, all accountability, and then he generously rewarded himself for his ingenuity with a woman to gift him his heart's every desire. In reality, she'd probably sooner run him through than even think of permitting him entry into her cabin, and dying on her sword was one of the better possible outcomes of such a preposterous, futile scheme. It was far more likely he'd just get her killed too, if she bothered to answer his summons at all, and then he'd be right back where he started, his will to carry on depleted just that much more, another small part of him dying along with that distant, desperate hope.

So he clenched his jaw and tried to forget about it, tried to ignore the lingering arousal that still clung to his body like wet clothes, and he hunkered down in his little canoe, seeking solace in sleep.

He'd almost drifted off when he heard the distinctive click of the door to his quarters latching shut.

In the Land, living tended to be communal in nearly every aspect. Everything was, by necessity, shared– food, tools, medicine, fire– to conserve what scarce resources the clan managed to wrest from the ice or pluck out of the sea. This attitude extended to living spaces and clanmates, too, so no one walked alone, ate alone, bathed alone, slept alone. No one but Vatnir. He was special, different, leader and teacher and speaker for their god. It wouldn't be proper to treat him the same as any other ordinary elf. And of course, there was a practical angle to consider as well– it did no one in the clan any good to eat or bathe or sleep next to a man who turned stomachs and stoked fever simply by virtue of his presence. So it was only natural that he stand apart from the others, exalted and exiled both. In his younger years it had tormented him, this glorified ostracism, but with age had come grudging acceptance and eventually, wisdom. He had learned to cherish the privacy he had that few others did, to use it to his advantage, and so he had known that when he'd requested his personal quarters be fitted with a door, there would be no objections. In fact, he'd been given the very best door scavenged from the boat they'd used to sail to the Floe– the door to the former captain's cabin, one with a simple latching mechanism connected to the handle. But it had been installed before they'd known the severity of the iceberg's constantly growing and changing geography, so eventually the floor of the settlement warped, causing his door to latch only when very forcefully pulled from inside the threshold. So to hear his door close and latch, he knew, could mean only one thing: someone was in here with him.

Everyone in the clan had been in his quarters at least once– it was practically a rite of passage for fresh arrivals to the Watch to assist the High Harbinger when the time next came to clean his wounds and change his bandages, to acquaint themselves personally, intimately, with the living proof of Rymrgand's dominion over all. In lieu of any newcomers, the task usually fell to Valbrendhür, but Hafjórn filled in most of the time when the old man was unavailable, although everyone in the clan had done their duty. (He still cringed to remember when it had been poor, innocent Brythe's turn, how the girl hadn't been able to look him in the eye for weeks afterward.) In any case, a clan member joining him in his room after dark with neither permission nor forewarning was unprecedented and not a little alarming, so he quickly tucked his book behind him as he sat up to see who it–

Who–

Vatnir froze. It was not Valbrendhür or Hafjórn or Brythe. It was not a member of his clan at all.

A woman stood at the door to his quarters, an orlan woman with tawny skin and golden fur and fiery red hair that, bizarrely, floated about her as though she was underwater. He gawked at her, utterly stunned, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, his breath quick and shallow.

She was completely naked.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be. This couldn't be happening, it was impossible, made no sense whatsoever. This must be a dream, or a hallucination, or– or a vision, oh, gods, a real one? But what could it mean? Why her? Why–

He watched as the woman's hand slid off of the door's handle and fell to her hip. She turned slowly to face him.

And when she saw him, she smiled.

Oh gods, oh gods, oh–

It all certainly felt dreamlike, what with the eerie way she glided gracefully across the room, gradually closing the distance between the two of them. But it felt too real to be a dream, although not quite real enough to be real. Her form seemed to shimmer and shift before his eyes, and the dim light from his hearth didn't quite correspond with the shadows on her body, as though she were instead illuminated from within. Her hair drifted and swam in the air, hanging like a cloud of red smoke around her head and shoulders, mercifully obscuring her eyes, sparing him the terrible brilliance of her gaze. He could only just barely endure beholding her as she was, if he had to see those striking violet eyes looking at him, into him– oh, gods, he couldn't bear it.

A moment passed, and suddenly she was standing before him at the foot of his bed, close enough for him to reach out and nudge her with his toe– if he could actually bring himself to move at all. The most he could do was stare in abject fear and awe at the otherworldly spectacle before him, trembling in every limb.

"Vatnir."

Her voice was smooth and hot and slick, like fresh blood gushing from a slit throat.

Pleasure and terror entwined shot throughout his body like lightning, electrifying every nerve ending in him, and he shuddered obscenely in response. He did not, could not answer her.

Her smile broadened slightly, and there was something dangerous behind it, something cold and predatory. She laid her hands against her sternum, pressing them between her perfect breasts.

"I know your heart, child of dusk. Long have you yearned for the warmth of another."

A great plume of steam gushed forth from her mouth as she spoke, and it cascaded over the bewildered priest, obscuring his vision. When he could see again, she had produced a living heart, held like a sacrificial offering in her upturned hands. It burned with a flame that spat and sparked, hotter and brighter than any torch.

"You would have my heart beat next to yours. And I would have the same."

She thrust the flaming heart at him, and instinctively, he flinched away from it. Her soft laughter was like broken glass scraping stone.

"But wisely, you see that if I were to place it beside yours as it is now, it would reduce you to cinders."

She shifted slightly, and before he could blink she was in the canoe with him, one foot on either side of him. He knew orlans to be small in stature, but she seemed to tower over him as tall as any adra titan.

"You know what you must do, then, if you wish for my conjugality."

She shifted again, and suddenly she was on her knees, straddling him. This close, he could feel the blistering heat radiating from her, from the heart that lay in her palms, but the breath that brushed across his chin and naked gums was as cold as the winds of the Void. He dimly felt his teeth start to chatter.

"Smother it in the snow. Purge its impurities. Extinguish it, and my heart shall be yours, as shall I. Until the end of all things."

She forced the burning heart into his mouth.

He tried to scream, but only the hiss of sizzling flesh issued forth from him. The pain was blinding, but oddly, it only lasted an instant– and then the taste of blood filled his mouth, rank and coppery, and he choked and gagged on it as he writhed beneath her. Despite his best efforts to reject the foul meal, his body turned traitor and he swallowed against his will, a liquid warmth flooding into him, burning all the way down his throat, tingling in his joints and extremities, throbbing in his belly, leaving him feeling drunk, disoriented, sick. She cupped his face in her hands, ember hot and sticky with half-dried blood.

"You understand now the risks. Do you accept my terms, child of dusk? Will you treat with me?"

It was phrased as a request, but it was definitely a command. Her voice thundered in his ears, shook his bones, drove tears to his eyes. She gripped him by the horns that jutted from his jaws and pulled him close, closer, ever closer.

"Yes," he breathed. There was nothing else he could say. The heat of her heart inside him roiled and swelled.

"Then," she whispered, her chill breath raising goosebumps on his neck, "beg for me."

He swallowed again, thickly, choking off a groan, gasping for breath like a dying animal. She was so, so close now...

"Please–" he managed.

It was enough.

She did not fall onto him so much as into him, her body slamming into his with the force of a burning building collapsing into itself, pressing the breath from his lungs. She drove herself against him, her thighs sliding against his crotch, her belly filling the hollow of his own, her wild hair lighting on his face and crown and horns like drifting embers. She lifted her face to meet his gaze– he caught a glimpse of blue, ice blue glinting beneath the fiery locks– and then wrenched his head down to her level, crushing her mouth into his, forcing his jaw open, her breath still ice cold but her tongue red hot inside him.

And he moaned at last, sweat beading on his brow, heat and chill churning within him like a fever, the molten heat of her mouth crawling down into his stomach to mingle with the fire of her heart, and then back up through his veins to ignite the very tips of him, like how it felt when his fingers regained feeling again after the numbness of the cold had worn off. He was suddenly very acutely aware of what felt like a long, hot stone pressed into the flesh of his inner thigh, and his knees trembled as he thrusted timidly but insistently against her, his whole body aching for release, her horrible, haunting laughter ringing in his ears–

And he jolted awake as a pair of strong, heavy hands shook him hard enough to make his teeth rattle and his head snap painfully back and forth on his neck.

"High Harbinger! The Messenger! The Messenger is here!" Hafjórn's voice rang out far too loudly in the tiny room, his pale grey eyes glinting with fervor. Vatnir bit back a cry of shock, managing to only sputter and cough instead.

"What–" He could still taste her blood in his mouth, could still feel the warmth, the yearning ebbing throughout his body. "The– what? Who? The–"

Hafjórn looked at him as though he'd just asked what snow was. "The– the Messenger! Did you not feel his holy presence?" As if on cue, the structure shuddered around them as the ground rumbled and quaked from an incredible force crashing into it.

Oh, gods, it's back.

"I– y-yes, of course," he stuttered, panic rising in his gullet. "I just– I was just dreaming, just now, of... his resplendence. It– it must be a sign. A holy premonition. Of course."

Hafjórn's eyes widened with awe, then shone with admiration for his blessed leader. "Of course!" he cried, clasping his hands together in front of himself, enraptured. "Oh, glory be to Rymrgand!"

"Glory be," Vatnir echoed numbly. "G-go forth, brother, and meet our lord's servant. I must–" skyt, he had to think of something, quickly– "I... m-must tend to myself before I join you. My dream was... powerful, vivid. It... affected me. Physically." He hunched over, clutching at his stomach and throat, and gave a very convincing performance of a dry heave, praying that Hafjórn would take the hint and leave instead of, gods forbid, offering to help.

The other man winced beneath his roughly stitched-together hood– gods, did he sleep in the thing?– and hurriedly rose to his feet as the ground shook beneath them again. "Oh! Uh– certainly, High Harbinger. By all means, take your time. I, uh, I'll just... make sure the others devote themselves properly to worship until you arrive!" He shuffled awkwardly backwards to the open door, bowed his head quickly, and retreated into the hallway.

Vatnir waited for Hafjórn's footsteps to fully fade before he scrambled for the switch hidden inside the aurochs skull above his bed.

He managed to hold it together until after he'd gotten the sliding wall back into place, until he was safe, alone in his hidden room. He'd been numb and detached, his mind shocked into merciful silence and his body relying entirely on muscle memory– right up until he noticed that in his stupor, he'd unconsciously taken the fucking book with him, was cradling it against his chest again, like a child with a security blanket. His hands spasmed and he dropped it on the floor, staring vacantly ahead as the full horror of the harrowing experience struck him, little by little, piling on more and more, like a burgeoning avalanche, just waiting for something to give way–

He glanced down to see that the book had landed on its spine, had fallen open to display the portrait of the Watcher of Caed Nua.

He staggered to the other side of the room, fell to his hands and knees, and vomited.

And when he'd finished, he crawled beneath the table, thick cords of drool laced with snot and bile trailing from his ruined mouth, and he curled up into himself, shaking almost as hard as the walls around him were. What was that... that waking nightmare, that mad, spiraling delusion? It was unlike any dream he'd ever had, and Nyvardir allegedly kept his beer free of hallucinogens. He could only conclude it must be a vision, but Rymrgand had never seen fit to send him visions before, and if that was the first, he never wanted to go through another. What kind of lesson was he supposed to derive from that? What did it all mean? Was it a warning of some sort? An omen? A–

–I know your heart–

A punishment.

Vatnir twitched, and his gaze fell again on the book, still lying open on the floor where he'd left it. Of course that's what it was. Divine retribution. He had profaned this holy place with his lies, spilled the blood of his kin, traded away sacred scripture for worldly frivolites. And now he was reaping the rewards of his blasphemy– a vicious, sinister mockery of his deepest and most secret desire sent to humiliate and torture him, a message that his transgressions against his clan and his god had not gone unnoticed. Something between a sigh and a sob shuddered up out of him, and he pressed his masked face into his hands, as though he could hide from the revelation.

–smother it in the snow–

And then anger, righteous and indignant, boiled up inside him.

He had never asked for this, this clan, this body, this life. And yet, because he bore the Beast's mark, he was expected to endure without complaint, without even the most remote hope of the smallest sliver of relief, ever? That he was, in fact, expected to rejoice in his curse, to celebrate the fact that he would suffer, more and more, every day, until his inevitable death? He couldn't accept that, couldn't bear the notion that to live like this was his fate, indelible, inescapable. And as for his clan's jommydra, what else was he supposed to trade with? He had no other bargaining chips, no way to earn coin by laboring or stealing or fighting. He'd even gone so far as to weave flaws into his copies, glaring omissions and outright falsehoods to throw anyone who might actually be able to read it off his trail, to obscure and protect his clan's true lore. It wasn't as though Maribel or her customers would know the difference. And even if he hadn't, wouldn't that have been a small price for the clan to pay to afford him, their beloved scapegoat, the briefest reprieve from his constant agony? He had nothing else, barely even had the faculties to enjoy what little he could get his hands on, and now the Beast would deprive him of even his fantasies? How dare he try to take this from him, how dare Rymrgand send him a vision like that when all he had ever done since he'd first drawn breath was serve to the best of his ability, whether he'd wanted to or not–

–will you treat with me–

Vatnir sat a while, rage and fear and frustration washing over him in great waves as the tremors that shook his walls slowly grew fewer and further between. And when they stopped at last, when the dragon finally ceased its assault and again retreated back to wherever it had come from, he slowly clambered out from beneath the table and rose to his feet, his hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides.

A plan was forming in his mind.

Maribel and her sister were at least punctual, if little else. They would be back in a month. That might be enough time to come up with something. A story, backed up by some obscure myth or fable that he'd not used in any sermons yet, something to explain why this outsider has come to the Watch, why she must do battle with the Messenger. He was reminded, vaguely, of a half-remembered tale he'd once read about a messianic figure of some sort, a warrior who had befriended death and walked hand in hand with it, bringing cleansing oblivion wheresoever they trod–

–child of dusk–

Yes. Yes, he could work with that. He'd have a lot more planning to do, a good bit of reading, a little serious acting. But he was practically an expert at all that by now.

Reluctant but resolute, he plodded over to the book and rescued it from the floor, handling it with as much care and respect as his shaking hands could provide. He carried it to the table and propped it up, still open on the Watcher's portrait, so that she could inspire him as he sat down across from her and got to work, rummaging through his things for his writing kit.

It could work. It would work. He'd make it work, no matter how much he had to lie and cheat and beg. He lit a stumpy candle and fitted the heating dish for his sealing wax above the flame, carefully spread a thin slice of cream-colored leather out in front of him, and with a practiced hand and a jagged fingernail, he opened an old wound and dipped the nib of his quill into the blood that welled up from it.

The first step in his plan, he'd decided, was to write a letter.

—

"You're sure it's hers?"

Marri squinted at the vessel she'd pulled up alongside, her ledgers and cargo manifests forgotten for the moment. The enormous galleon dwarfed her tiny sloop, and although her eyesight wasn't what it used to be, she could still make out the name painted on the side of the hull: Hyridh ix Ensios.

Bela didn't bother looking up from her recently returned copy of New Legends of the Eastern Reach. "It's hers," she assured the Endings godlike, casually turning another page. "Zamar may be old, but his memory hasn't failed him quite yet. She commissioned it right after her return from Hasongo, he told me, and now it's just about finished. Distinctive name, isn't it?"

Six beady magenta eyes rolled in unison. 'It's nonsensical," Marri grunted. "And it doesn't tell us where the captain of this newly commissioned ship is, either."

With a huff, Bela slammed her book shut, shooting a glare at her decrepit sister. "You truly do think me a fool, don't you, Maribel?"

"Can you blame me?" Marri snarled, glowering right back at the bigger woman. "First, you let that horrible priest have that precious book of yours that you keep boasting about having lifted from that Waelite temple every chance you–"

"I lent it to him!" Bela protested. "And in case you haven't noticed, I got it back. And I wouldn't have had to lend it out at all if someone hadn't smoked all the good whiteleaf before we got to–"

Marri swatted at her dismissively. "Bah! You're lucky he gave it back, postenago, and luckier still he managed to restrain himself from befouling it with any of his myriad discharge." She shuddered with disgust, spitting a wad of phlegm on the floor of the cabin at the mere thought. "And then, you accepted his request to deliver this ridiculous thing to the most sought-after kith in the Deadfire– and for no extra charge!" She held the aforementioned burden aloft in her gnarled hand: a thin scroll of tanned hide, sealed with azure wax that had been stamped with the emblem of the aurochs.

Bela pouted, twisting a thin, wiry flower stem between her forefinger and her thumb. "I... oh, I felt bad for him, serre," she mumbled. "He looked worse off than usual this last time, all pale and haggard. And when it comes to him, that's saying something." She winced and lowered her voice, as though discussing a deathly ill family member just outside their sickroom: "He said the dragon came again. Killed eleven of his followers. And there I was, come to snatch away the only token he had of his sweetheart..." She smirked and gently patted the book's cover, unable to help herself.

"You're a child," Marri snapped, "and so is he. And you still haven't told me how we're supposed to track down this Watcher he wants us to give this stupid thing to." She sneered down at the little scroll, scratching at an open sore beneath one of her curving black horns. "Doubtlessly it's just some insipid love letter anyway. We should have thrown it into the sea as soon as we–"

"Calloste!" One of Bela's long doe's ears twitched, and she rushed to the cabin's open door, listening intently.

A woman's voice raised in song, clearly well-trained... a shanty, one known to be a favorite of–

Bela laughed triumphantly. "We will find her," she chirped as she yanked the scroll from her sister's knobbly fingers, "by finding her ship first, of course, and waiting for her to return to it. As she is now." With that, she rushed out of the cabin, bounding eagerly after her quarry, and Marri only sighed and shook her head as she turned to the cabin's tiny window and watched her sister flounce up the pier.

The Watcher was not difficult for Bela to catch up to, and she seemed pleasant enough, despite displaying the slightly stiff and formal demeanor befitting a woman of her station. She accepted the scroll graciously, and although her eyes hardened a bit when she noticed the symbol of Rymrgand embossed in the wax seal, she still thanked Bela, tipped her generously, and then continued on her way like any other customer. Marri noted with glee how the orlan stood just a bit too close to the dark-haired elf accompanying her, and laughed out loud when she slipped an arm around his waist after Bela had turned away from them. Ha! Serves that priest right, the little creep.

As soon as Bela stepped back into the cabin, Marri turned to her, her snaggletoothed mouth twisted into a petulant scowl. "You're splitting that money with me," she demanded.

"I wouldn't dream of keeping it all to myself, dear sister," Bela cooed, snapping a bronze ōa in half and tossing the skinny woman her share. "So you saw her? She's a magnificent little woman, ac? And her beau! So handsome, but so austere." She laughed as she stuffed the money into her coin pouch. "Poor Vatnir! Cuckolded before he could even introduce himself to her!"

"Yes, yes, it's all very amusing, I'm sure," Marri grumbled, cramming her paperwork back into her desk drawer and taking up her spyglass and sexton. "Now, if you're finished playing errand girl, can we get back to building our trade empire and earning our tickets back to the Republics, if it's not too much trouble for you?"

Bela rolled her eyes and shouted the order to lift anchor, and in minutes, their little sloop was in open water again, speeding off toward the next opportunity.

Nothing holding us back now, she thought, and a chill wind filled their sails, carrying them off into the blood red horizon.

—

#fic wip #i'll almost definitely agonize over i mean uh edit this further #and add an extra lil epilogue before posting to ao3 #but i wanted to get it out here already #so uh here's the rest of this one!#thanks for reading ♡#pillars of eternity #vatnir

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thymbraeusrising · 9 months ago

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#video games #mass effect #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #persona 3 #persona 3 fes #kentucky route zero #cyberpunk 2077 #metro 2033 #pillars of eternity #ghostwire tokyo #the evil within #mass effect trilogy #mass effect legendary edition #help me decide #help me please

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nicastamatis · 1 year ago

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this is the third time this week that ive fallen asleep playing pillars of eternity. i PROMISE that this doesnt reflect the quality of the game.

#pspsps. if youre reading this you shpuld check out pillars of eternity definitive edition availabe on pc and switch. btw.

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gibsonwitch · 2 years ago

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inara dolcá, moon godlike from the vailian republics

#game: pillars of eternity 2 #oc: inara #poe2 #have a crappy lil screenshot while i try to figure out how to make better edits

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thevellaunderground · 7 months ago

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The Harmonious Convergence of Gaming and Music in Baldur’s Gate 3

Baldur’s Gate 3 is not just a game; it’s an experience that transcends the boundaries of interactive storytelling and auditory artistry. The game’s soundtrack, a masterpiece crafted by the talented Borislav Slavov, is a testament to the emotive power of music in gaming. Let’s delve into the creation of this iconic soundtrack, explore similar musical masterpieces, unravel the significance of the…

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rpgchoices · 11 months ago

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Useless rpgs recs. Videogames (not dating sims) where you play or you CAN play as a character who is wlw or mlm

Names and characters/explanations under cut (might contain minor spoilers):

Just a note, when I say romance I mean that there is actual story and plot related to it. Otehrwise for games like Fable or Skyrim (no romance) I will just write "Marry". For the romance games, a more detailed list of characters and romances can be found here.

Dragon Age Origins: You can romance Leliana (f) or Zevran (m) even with a character of their same gender

Dragon Age 2: You can romance all your companions (but Sebastian) indipendently from gender

Dragon Age Inquisition: You can romance Josephine (f) and Iron Bull (m) with any gender, and you can romance a lesbian character (Sera) or a gay character (Dorian)

Greedfall: You can romance Vasco (m) or Siora (f) with any gender

Dragon's Dogma: You can romance any character with any gender

Jade Empire: Sky (m) and Silk Fox (f) are romancable by any gender

Fable series: You can marry a character of your same gender

Skyrim: You can marry a character of your same gender

Enderal: You can romance Jasper (m) or Calia (f) as any gender

Pillars of Eternity: Deadfire: You can romance all your companions with any gender

Pendula Swing: The protagonist is canonically wlw, and you can romance male and female characetrs

Hero-U: The male protagonist can romance male characters too

Cyberpunk 2077: There are different flirts (female characters) that can be romanced by any gender, plus two full fledged romances a wlw and mlm one.

Expeditions: Viking: There is a female character (Roskva) and a male character (Ketill) who can be romanced by any gender.

Expeditions: Rome: There is a female character (Daianeira) and a male character (Caeso) who can be romanced by any gender.

Pathfinder Kingmaker: This game has multiple romances that can be romanced by characters of the same gender, mainly for wlw. Regongar is the one male character who can be romanced by any gender and also in a poly relationship with Octavia. Octavia, Kanerah, Kalikke, Nyrissa are the female characters romancable by any gender.

Pathfinder Wrath of the Righteous: Similar to Kingmaker, there are multiple characters romancable by male or female protagonists.

Rogue Trader: One male character and two female characters can be romanced by any gender.

Gamedec: Ken Zhou is the only romance option in game and can be romanced by any gender.#

Black Geyser: The romances are minimal, but there are multiple female and female characters romancable by any gender.

Always sometimes monsters (and sequel): you choose both the gender of the protagonist and the one of the romance.

Divinity Original Sin: If you play alone you control two characters who can end up in a romance (not fully written, almost subtle) indipendently from their gender.

Divinity Original Sin 2: All the companions can be romanced by any gender.

Disco Elysium: If you choose specific dialogue choices it is revealed that the protagonist (Harry) is attracted to men.

Baldur's Gate 1 and 2, enhanced edition: The enhanced edition adds Dorn and Hexxat who can be romanced by the same gender.

Baldur's Gate Siege of Dragonspear: Two romance options are not gender locked.

Baldur's Gate 3: All the companions are romancable by any gender, plus there are some more flirts/less developed romances.

Assassin's Creed Odyssey: Multiple characters through the game are not gender locked for romance.

Eternal Home Floristry: You play as a gay man.

80 Days: The protagonist (a man) is clearly in love with a man, you can also romance a male character.

The Technomancer: You play as a male character, one of your romance option is mlm.

Sorcery!: If you play as a male character you can still romance Flanker, who is also a man and is the one romance option in the game. If you play as a female character there are some dialogue choices that can establish your character as wlw.

Knight Bewitched: The protagonists are two women in love.

Dreamfall The Longest Journey: One of the protagonists (Kian) is a gay man.

Dreamfall Chapters: Kian and Saga are respectively a gay man and a pansexual woman.

Newfound Courage: The protagonist is a gay boy, but also the whole game is about being queer.

Haven: You play as a couple of lovers, who can be two women or two men.

Fallout 4: Some of the romance options are not gender locked.

Morrowind: There is a mod to romance (links of all mods here).

Solstice: Visual novel but not dating sim, you play as two characters and one of them is a gay man.

Mass Effect Trilogy: multiple companions (nb, f or m) can be romanced with any gender.

Mass Effect Andromeda: multiple companions can be romanced wtih any gender.

Hades: The protagonist (the son of Hades) can romance a male character (and enter into a poly relationship).

Icewind Dale II: mods

Icewind Dale: mod (one male character who can be romanced by a male protagonist).

GAMES I FORGOT (EDIT):

The Red String Club: you play as two gay men who are a couple.

Please keep in mind that this is the post I constantly update:

#pillars of eternity #enderal #baldur's gate 3 #rogue trader #dragon age #etc etc #wlw and mlm games #useless recs #i haven't done one of the useless recs in a while

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herearedragons · 3 months ago

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lord huron lyric prompts, "🔥 of all the strangers you’re the strangest that i’ve seen" and/or "🎄 and the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams " <3

Thanks for the prompt!!

Lord Huron lyric prompts

content warnings: sad. allusions to self-harm. implied past violation of boundaries. stays sad until the end but that's because the resolution is going to be in another prompt fill from this list

and the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams (The Watcher x Devil of Caroc, 1883 words)

In Mae's worst nightmares, she's happy.

There's blood on her hands, more often than not, and the air is full of screams; a different voice each time, some poor stranger at the mercy of her skill with a variety of torture implements.

Their faces are never clear to her. They do not matter. The only one who does is the man observing her work: the same face, the same attire, the same shadowed eyes as she saw in the ruins of Cilant Lîs.

The Grandmaster.

She doesn't know if he truly looked the exact same back then, or if it's just memories bleeding from one life into the other.

She does know that, thousands of years ago, she loved him.

Well, he loved him. She was a man, back then; an elf, and some kind of magic user, she's pretty certain.

He loved Thaos so much that it made him sick.

She can feel it, in those dreams: the overwhelming rush of catching just a sliver of that coveted attention, the incredible effort it took to keep his hands from shaking, the ever-present gnawing at the back of his mind, asking himself how can I get more.

It was all he cared about. The cause, the actual purpose of that torture — those were just meaningless details to him. It got him a moment of attention and a few words of praise, and so he was more than happy to do it again, and again, and again.

And now Mae gets to watch it happen every time she makes the mistake of falling asleep.

It's not the gore or the screaming that echoes in her mind once she'd jolted awake; it's not the awareness of just how many of those interrogations she'd conducted that makes her sit still in her bedding and stare into the darkness, wishing she could purge the memory of it from her mind.

It's the joy.

It's the feeling of something beautiful, of something wonderful just around the corner, there for the taking if you're brave enough to reach for it.

Never mind what "reaching for it" actually entails.

It's Maerwald's voice, of all things, that rattles around in her skull as she covers her face with her hands and breathes, fighting the urge to claw at her own eyes, to claw that feeling out.

For love of the gods. The gods' love. For their love.

She understands now the old Watcher's wretched wailing, the way he clutched himself and stooped his shoulders as if he was trying to disappear into himself, to fold his bony frame into nothingness.

For their love.

For his love.

Mae's never been in love, in this life. As the dreams continue, she grows more and more certain it should stay that way.

If that's what love is, she doesn't want it.

If that's what love is, no one should want it, but least of all her, now that she knows what her soul is capable of.

"What was it like, to have your soul thrust into a cold metal vessel?" Zahua asks, as they trudge through the snow somewhere in the Russetwood.

"Bend over and I'll show you," the Devil of Caroc snaps back.

Despite herself, Mae laughs.

It's not really what she says, it's just — gods, it's hard to explain.

She'd probably say the exact same thing, in Devil's place; maybe that's it.

There's a tiny creak as the bronze golem turns her head to look at her, and then Zahua makes an attempt to explain himself, and Devil's attention goes back to that.

They keep walking. In the obscuring safety of her hood and her height, Mae allows herself to smile.

There's something comforting about knowing that she's not the angriest person in the group anymore.

By the time they make the journey back to Caed Nua, Mae has to admit that she's at least a little interested.

It worries her, at first — that's the first time someone had caught her eye since the nightmares started — but after giving it some thought, she comes to the conclusion that it's probably safe.

It feels nothing like her dreams. It's light and fun, and it's not going anywhere anyway; with her creeping insanity and Devil's... well, everything, both of them have bigger things to worry about than chasing each other.

A laugh here, a compliment there. It's nothing special, but she's kind of surprised that Devil's been going along with it.

It's not the mechanical knowledge Mae had pilfered from Galvino's departed soul. If Devil just wanted that, she wouldn't have bothered with flirting.

Gods know what she's getting out of it, but whatever it is, Mae's glad.

Maybe they can just have this for a while. The world won't end just because of a few words exchanged between friends.

The screwdriver feels both alien and familiar in her grip.

Mae's never done this before, but she remembers doing it hundreds of times. She can conjure up an image of what's supposed to happen if she closes her eyes: a set of six screws undone, Devil's chest plate popping out, exposing a mess of machinery that makes her dizzy even to envision.

In that image, it's Galvino's hands doing the work, not hers. Just like when she calls upon Maerwald's Watcher prowess, it's his hands she envisions gently holding the face of the person he examines for soul sickness.

It's safe to say it's getting crowded in her mind lately, but at least artifice and soul-healing are more useful skills than torture.

Devil's eyes stare up at her, solid black but reflecting the lamplight in a way that makes it look like she has yellow shiny pupils. She's lying perfectly still on that workbench, but Mae sees the essence swirling under the bronze plates and knows that she's not at rest.

Swap the screwdriver for a blade, put Thaos in the corner, and this could just as well be one of her nightmares. There's a part of her that's very aware of that.

"What're you waiting for, an invitation?" Devil asks with a get-it-over-with edge to her tone.

She makes a good point. Mae latches on to that, using that second of delay to regain her balance, pushing the unwelcome thoughts away.

"I am, actually," she says. "May I?"

Devil rolls her eyes with a faint scraping noise.

"Yeah, yeah, just get on with it."

The funny thing is, the ripples of her essence smooth out a little.

Something tells Mae that Galvino never bothered with asking for consent.

Doing Devil's maintenance stops being scary after a while.

The first time, Mae's hands are cold with terror the whole way through. About three repetitions later, that's gone; now that she's run through the routine a few times, it's all a matter of keeping her focus and not messing up.

They talk as Mae works, which helps her keep track of how Devil's doing, and forces Devil to pay attention to what Mae's doing, which is good, because the end goal is for her to be able to do it herself.

She's fine with staying for now, but Mae doesn't want to become a tether for her the way Galvino was. If Devil ever decides to leave, she should be able to do so.

Mae knows, by now, that she'll miss her.

Talking to Devil is somehow both easy and precarious. Easy because there's no need to hold back and choose her words like she's used to doing; precarious because it always circles back to them poking and prodding at each other, trying to get a laugh or any reaction, really, and sometimes in chasing that Mae will almost say more than she means to.

She manages, for a while.

Then, one day, they're trying to get something out of Devil's knee joint during a camping stop; a piece of gravel, or something like that, that got lodged in there during a recent fight.

As Mae lifts up her leg, trying to figure out the best way to access the part that's stuck, Devil chuckles and says:

"'Least buy me a drink first."

It's just the kind of quip they'd normally be trading back and forth while Mae works, but her mind is so deep in the problem that she barely processes it.

Not looking up from her attempts to scrape the gravel out, she absentmindedly replies:

"I would, if you could drink it."

Devil goes very still. Even her essence withdraws, sinking deeper beneath the surface like she's trying to retreat into herself.

Mae realizes what just happened, and feels a chill run down her spine.

Oh, gods. Oh, fuck. She'd just said that she - she said that she would, if Devil was still folk.

Now it sounds like she's letting her down, the way some people she'd known would let down an orlan. Sorry, it's just, maybe if you weren't —

Only somehow it's even worse, because it's not if only you weren't born this way, it's if only you hadn't had this done to you.

"Right," Devil says flatly, and looks away. Mae's still stuck staring at her knee, but she can hear her neck creak a little.

Mas has never thought that something other than the nightmares could bring out that claw-your-eyes-out feeling in her, but having Devil think she sees her as lesser than a person still in their own body — that hits the mark.

She swallows, which does nothing to stop her heart from pounding in her throat.

"I mean," Mae says, "It would just be a waste of coppers, you know? Maybe we just skip the drink."

She's not fully sure what's happening to her, but it's in her hands and in her chest and in her throat and in the pit of her stomach, and it feels like being bitten by one of those cave spiders.

She's so preoccupied with that that it takes her a second to notice the shift in Devil's essence, which is that it starts moving again.

Then, she hears a faint, creaky laugh.

"Knew you Goldpact Knights was stingy," Devil says. "Didn't know it was that bad."

Mae manages to laugh through the spider-venom feeling, and say:

"Wait, potions work on you, right? We should get Aloth to brew one that just gets you drunk."

The banter picks back up after that, and a few minutes later she finally gets the pebble out.

Once that's done, Mae walks back to her bedroll, picks up her cloak, and walks off into the brush. Once she's certain she's a reasonable distance away and there's nothing trying to eat her in the immediate vicinity, she curls up at the base of a tree, buries her face in the bunched-up cloak, and bursts into tears.

She cries voicelessly until she feels dizzy — because she'd never want to hurt Devil, because nothing she's learned about her has made Mae like her less, because if there was a way — if she could do anything —

Because she wants to give her everything, but she doesn't have any of the things that Devil actually needs.

She's in love with someone she can't have, just like she was thousands of years ago.

And, if Mae's nightmares are any indication, it's going to make a monster out of her.

#pillars of eternity #the watcher #devil of caroc #devil of caroc x the watcher #oc: watcher mae #herearedragons writing #maevil tag #I SAID I WOULDN'T EDIT THIS ANYMORE AND I WON'T

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adozentothedawn · 2 years ago

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#pillars of eternity #for the new gods poll that is coming up #i have to make this one first though cause I want to link it in the big one #and since you can't edit polls here we are

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bragganhyl · 2 years ago

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#pillars of eternity #uuuuh if pallegina's line sounds weird it's bc she didn't originally have one in this scenario #i did some suuuuuuuper super less than minimal editing to her goodbye line if she gets left behind... so yeah #i was just bothered by the lack of reaction from her don't @ me

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bharv · 26 days ago

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On defined vs customisable protagonists

Taking a break from DATV for some musings on this. This isn't really an essay, just a ramble, and I'm trying to steer clear of spoilers and heavy critical stuff.

I'll discuss the Dragon Age franchise, the Mass Effect franchise, and Baldur's Gate 3, Pillars of Eternity and Cyberpunk 2077.

Basically, I want to talk a little about ways in which a game's set up can help and hinder us in understanding our protagonist, the pros and cons of voiced protags, and what works in my eyes and what doesn't. I hope this also helps people to think about how they draw characters as well!

Firstly I want to say that people will have different reasons to prefer a more defined protagonist or a more open one. Ultimately it comes down to expectations from roleplay in my eyes. There's not a right or wrong answer in which is "better" but I think there are things that help us to engage with both types.

Establishing what we know (and being consistent with it)

Essential to both types in my eyes is establishing what is known. I'm going to use Commander Shepard as my first example here. We are told instantly that Shepard is an experienced officer, has an expertise in one area, and is being considered for a significant promotion. This allows us to infer that they get the job done, and that they have to have a degree of competency (whether or not they are by the book or more loose with the rules) and that they take their job seriously. The game then gives us some good flavour choices around family values, historical trauma, what they look like and what kind of expert they are, but make no mistake; this is a veteran soldier and you are on that road with them. It's a masterpiece in creating just enough freedom for ownership of a character while telling a very distinct story; if you are paying attention at the start, you know exactly what kind of person Shep has to have been to be considered for this role, which makes for a really clear path through.

Hawke in DA2, which was almost certainly designed to mirror the success of Shepard, follows a similar path. We know that Hawke is a refugee, and has a family, and fought in a recent battle. I would argue where Hawke is weaker to people who enjoy customisation is in setting them against their family; your Shepard could be a wunderkind or be eighty years old, have any number of emotional resonances in their personal life. Hawke is much more definite in age range, relationships and social status, which gives less freedom in making them truly your own. However, DA2 is highly consistent with Hawke. Perhaps you can only really customise the face and the attitude, but that attitude ripples through all of your interactions and creates a very distinct character that is easy to become attached to.

Dragon Age Origins does a very different thing by threading through the origins into inferences throughout the story. The knowns are that you will be the Warden and you will have to save the world. How you get there offers enormous choice. You can be a self-serving politician trying to weasel your way back into power, or you can be a devout Andrastrian on a path to martyrdom. A lot of this choice comes from the choice that is allowed with a non-voiced protagonist in sheer range of responses, a pathway that games like BG3 and Pillars of Eternity have continued.

It is essential you are clear with your player early in what is known about the character, both to help them establish them in a world and avoid disappointing their expectations. If your character is a rookie, say it! If they are an expert, make it clear. You can do this through action too - it doesn't have to all be written out.

To voice or not to voice

To me, personally, Shepard is one of the only truly successful voiced customisable protagonists. I have others I like very much (V in Cyberpunk 2077 and Hawke in DA2) but they are much more a slightly editable character on a defined narrative journey. The moment you put a voice on a character you are deciding tone, meaning and intention, and if your written choice doesn't accurately reflect your tone, it breaks immersion. Shepard walks a careful line that is aided by them being "on the job" for much of the time. Formality helps! It creates boundaries that we instinctively understand from our world.

If you have a voiced protagonist, then you have to either record a ton of lines allowing for anger, diplomacy, fun, inquisition and dismissal, and if you don't do that? You probably should have just set up a more defined character and told their story, and been clear in that expectation from your establishing moments.

Oh, Lore

One thing I really liked in BG3 is the way you could toggle on and off lore friendly options during character creation. It gave you the chance to say actually no, I don't care, or make sure you were creating within that world if you did. But regardless, if you have established lore, you have to carry it through. If you have a ton of backgrounds for characters, you have to make sure that's meaningful. A Grey Warden should be able to sense Darkspawn in their first encounter; it's a huge part of their deal. A Qunari character, if you have not specified that they are Tal-Vashoth and strictly from one background, should be able to reflect positively on their religion and cultural upbringing or see things through a non-Andrastrian lens. This is where it can be easier, even if it is disappointing, to set stronger boundaries in the creation of characters. For the most part, people are okay with limitations if it gives them something to work with. In Inquisition there were complaints about how much or little the backgrounds really added to the experience of being the Herald of Andraste, but they did choose backgrounds where there might be a rough knowledge of what was occuring at the conclave. It's okay to leave some things for people to fill in the gaps, but consistency is key.

Learning as the character learns

One clever way to establish connection but allow for discovery is for the characters to learn as we do. The Dark Urge in BG3 is an obvious example of this, but I'd also add in The Watcher in Pillars of Eternity too, and even V from CP77. Whatever they thought they are, they are something more, and it allows us to keep all of what we thought we knew about our characters and find out more along the way. It allows the game to take us down a path of the present, not the past (even though all of them ARE discovering events of the past!) by making it about what a person sees themself as, what they want to be, and what they have been. It sidesteps invalidation of ideas by creating narratives that are inherently biased as they are memory, allowing us to take or question the information we are given as we are given it. It trusts an audience and the player to invest their own opinions in the burgeoning narrative.

To do this, you need to make sure that the player has a good grasp, again, of what they do know. Good grounding is essential here. Think of the prologue of Pillars of Eternity, where we can establish a character's whole value system, or the pre-heist time with V which allows us to establish an enormous amount of relationship building and relationship to the world around them. Take that time, or it will fall apart.

#okay that's it for now I've run out of time #I may come back to this

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