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thedreamlessnights · 5 months

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Hi! I’ve got a request for Astarion and Dark Urge Tav. Like they got together through act 1 and 2 and confessed their feelings for each other, but when they go to see Gortash become Arch Duke Tav realizes that she used to be lovers with Gortash before her memory was wiped. Queue angst and hurt/comfort and fluff and hhhhh Gortash loses plssss

I absolutely loved this concept and had so much fun writing it! Dark Urge's route changed me as a person, and I honestly feel like it's a perfect match for Astarion. Thank you so much for sending this in, and I hope you enjoy!

Aching (Astarion x F!Reader - Dark Urge)

Warnings: Major spoilers for Act III of Baldur's Gate - particularly for the Dark Urge playthrough. Mentions of blood, killing, death, and suicidal ideation. Dark Urge being Dark Urge. Hurt/comfort, self-loathing, angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 4.6k

Like so many other things, the sight of Lord Enver Gortash tugs at a painful spot in your skull.

You’ve come to differentiate them: the gaping, aching tug of your lost memories and the sharp, swift yank of the tadpole. Somehow, his presence pulls at both of them in equal measure. There’s something on the edge of your tongue, but it won’t be said. A memory behind your eyes, but it won’t be seen.

One thing is clear enough - you know this man. For better or worse, the two of you have met before.

Karlach clears her throat behind you, and you return to yourself: not lost in the dark void of your memories, not consumed by the itch for blood. Wyrm’s Crossing.

Gods, you’d nearly forgotten. You’re in the middle of a throne room, surrounded by dozens of people, here for the coronation. Wyll’s father stands in the center of the room, all but a meat puppet under the Absolute’s control.

The Absolute, which Gortash is a part of.

The soon-to-be Archduke sees you, and something shifts in his gaze. His expression softens. Given all the trouble you’ve been causing for him, that expression comes as a shock - but what he says next is jarring to your core.

“Dearest patriars, but a moment,” he requests. “I must greet a most important guest.” He strolls toward you, arms spread wide as he steps forward, and smiles. “Crawling back from her bloody disgrace - it’s my favorite assassin! Gods, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

And suddenly, you are two pieces of a whole. One longs to step forward, knowing him, wanting him. The other longs for nothing more than to jolt away from him - from the misery you know he’s been causing. Not only to you, or even Karlach, but to your home; Baldur’s Gate.

“Hang on,” Karlach says. “What? You know each other?”

As if you could have possibly known that. As if you’d been willfully keeping it from her. As if your amnesia is a silent betrayal.

“We have important matters to address,” Gortash says dismissively. “My reunion with Karlach can wait.”

Gods, it’s all too much. You’re trying to think, but your mind is swimming in front of your eyes. Your skull throbs. Your heart thuds unevenly in your chest. Something in you is fundamentally disrupted.

“Don’t talk to me,” you manage to spit out. “Talk to her.”

After all, she deserves it. Ten years in Avernus, a flaming engine in her chest, a slow, painful oncoming death that none of you can prevent - or at least, not while she’s refusing to go back to the hells. She deserves a talk with the man who betrayed her. More than anything.

But Gortash won’t be swayed so easily, it seems. “No offense to my old friend,” he says, not even bothering to look at Karlach, “but it’s you I have been dying to see. After all, you abandoned us some time ago, leaving a rather uncomfortable hole in our plans.”

Fond. His expression is unmistakably fond.

You don’t know what plans he’s talking about, though. What to say to him? Should you treat him like a friend, exploit his familiarity down to the hilt for the sake of the information you might obtain? Should you be honest and find out more of your lost self? Do you even want to?

As it turns out, it doesn’t matter what you’re planning to say. Gortash sees your face, and that’s enough. “Oh, I’d forgotten,” he remarks, “your memories are quite lost, aren’t they? Orin told me she’d made a fool of you.”

Orin. A picture flashes in front of your mind. Warm blood, oozing from a gash in your head, streaming down into your eyes. A sharp, fierce tug of betrayal that digs into your chest, sours in your mouth like milk.

Then, another image. A recent memory: Orin. A gruesome suit of skin. A bloodthirsty tongue. The Netherstone in hand.

But Gortash is still talking.

“To think you and Karlach traveled together all this time, and she hadn’t the faintest you were one of my nearest and dearest,” he’s saying.

Karlach tenses, and you suddenly feel sick. Your hands go slick with sweat, and you can feel, not see but feel, the others silently fuming behind you.

All of this is adding up to one big, horrific picture. A conclusion you despise but can’t deny. Something affectionate in your chest. The admiration in his gaze. The way he’d greeted you. Nearest and dearest.

Lovers. You and Gortash were lovers.

The walk back to camp is the most painful of your life - that you can recall, at least. You’d rather be feral again, tied up like an animal on your bedroll, attempting to bite Astarion.

Part of you wishes you’d decimated Gortash the moment you’d laid eyes on him. If you had, all of this could have been avoided. The swirling guilt in your stomach for something you don’t even remember. The sting of reproof from nearly every single one of your companions. The betrayal in their eyes.

You’d done this. All of it. The Absolute, the march on the city, the tadpole now squirming around in your brain. You and Gortash had planned this out, and now you’ve fallen victim to it.

It seems like a disconnected idea, a person you can’t imagine being. The further you go on, the less you recognize your old self. The more you despise it.

Gale had certainly chewed you out. Karlach isn’t talking to you. Gods, even Shadowheart is angry. Shadowheart, who should know more than anyone else what this is like.

Astarion, at least, doesn’t seem as upset as the others. He’s liked his tadpole for the most part. Is some odd part of him grateful for your role in this? For the power it’s given him? You can’t tell.

You should be able to tell, shouldn’t you?

When the silence becomes unbearable, you grab a bottle of Berduskan Dark as a peace offering and join him at his tent, crawling through the entrance and sprawling yourself over his various pillows. “Do you hate me tonight, too?” you ask lightly.

He raises a brow and rolls one of his shoulders, feigning annoyance. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his tone teasing and casual. “It’s not often I find out the woman I’m with is behind a horrible, malicious scheme to control an elder brain.”

Your words of penance fall flat even before they’ve touched your tongue, so you pour him a glass of wine in response.

He smiles. “Trying to win me over, darling?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’ve caused quite the commotion around camp, you know. Gale is positively furious.”

That sensation of guilt comes again, but this time, it’s overpowering. It makes you want to crumple in on yourself, to erase the horrid, evil parts of you that are left like bloodstains on a white shirt; things that won’t be scrubbed away, present and never-escapable.

“I didn’t know,” you start, firmly but barely kept together. “I swear, I had no idea-”

“Relax, dearest,” Astarion says. “As you know, me and the tadpole are the best of friends. No need to explain.” He pauses. “Although,” he says, suddenly becoming very interested in inspecting the brim of his glass, “you and Gortash seemed to be old friends, too.”

You know what he’s asking you, and you don’t have it in yourself to lie to him. Instead, you slowly nod, pouring yourself a glass of the wine, too. Gods, do you need it.

“We were lovers, I think,” you finally answer. “I can’t remember anything about it, but… the way he talked to me. It seemed like we were more than friends.”

He pulls a face. “Well. I certainly hope he won’t be serving as my competition. You can do so much better.”

You stare at him: the sudden tension in his shoulders, the pasted-on, confident smile that plays on his lips, the dark glint to his gaze.

“You’re jealous.”

He scoffs. “Jealous?” he exclaims, laughing a little. “Of course I’m not jealous. Honestly - it’s hilarious. A Bhaalspawn and Bane’s chosen. In another life, I would have been rooting for the two of you.”

But there’s a crease between his brows, and he won’t quite look at you. You reach out for his hand, and his expression softens. He playfully rolls his eyes, but he takes your hand all the same. “And what is our vicious little mastermind thinking about?” he asks, leaning toward you.

“I’m thinking,” you say, “that Lord Gortash could never compare to you.”

“Oh?” he asks, moving in a little further. He loves preening for compliments, and you love treating him to them. “Do go on, dearest.”

You trail your thumb over his knuckles. “Well, he’s clearly nowhere near as handsome as you are.”

Astarion tilts his head. “Of course he isn’t. The man couldn’t hope to compare with a… world-endingly handsome vampire.” He squeezes your hand, lifting a brow. “Anything else?”

You can’t help smiling now. “His taste in clothing is awful. Didn’t you see his boots?” you ask. “Tacky.”

He scowls. “I did. Horrendous, honestly. And at his coronation, no less,” he remarks, tutting. “Well. I’m glad to see your standards have improved, darling.”

“As am I.” You take a sip of your wine, swirling it in your hand, enjoying the feel of Astarion’s grasp in the other.

With him, you can almost forget the worst parts of yourself. The others, as much as you love them, only make your crimes seem so much worse. There’s a constant forgiveness sought with each conversation, a debt you can never repay that lingers underneath the way they see you. But not with him.

He mirrors you. He sees you. What you really are, not what you were, not the echo of your old life. All your past grievances, well… those don’t matter to him. Everything you’ve done, he considers himself worse.

Part of you thinks - if the two of you actually make it through, that is - that bit by bit, you may actually heal. Maybe, you’ll actually have a life with him beyond the tadpoles, and beyond Baldur’s Gate. Maybe, the two of you will build something far beyond those who once controlled you.

And then the night comes.

You leave Astarion in his tent to trance, telling him you mean to sleep even though you have no intention of doing so. You never rest well, but it’s aggravated, lately. The Urge is always at its worst during the night. The shadows reflect your darkest self back at you, and your fingers itch for blood. Your mind becomes a haze of gore. Your teeth fix on a tender part of your cheek and press down until you taste iron.

You’d like to say that this part of you is a clean split from the other - that it’s easy to tell where the Urge ends and you begin - but it’s not. Your thoughts so often drift. You’d been the one feeling that sickening sense of satiation when Alfira lay dead at your feet, her blood drying on your skin. And it’s you who feels a strange tug toward Gortash - some lingering yearning that won’t be scrubbed away.

And you try. Gods, do you try. You take a rag and sit at the river and rub until your skin is raw, trying to get the metaphorical blood off your hands, trying to cleanse yourself of the want that pulls at your chest when Gortash slips into your thoughts.

But it doesn’t work. It doesn’t work at all.

The way you want Astarion feels different. It’s grounded. Natural. Being around him feels as easy as breathing. Gortash, though: there’s something so very strong there, something ripened with time and obsessive, almost. Something that wants him no matter what you tell yourself.

You want to win this. You want to look at the faces around camp and tell them that their faith in you is not misplaced; that you are capable of what they want you to be. You’re more than the monster in your thoughts. When you’d resisted killing Isobel and Astarion despite your butler’s commands, you’d thought there was a chance for that to happen - for you to become something outside of your murderous tendencies.

Now, you’re not so sure.

Your role in the creation of the Absolute has changed things. This feels… unforgivable. Not that Alfira’s death wasn’t already unforgivable, not that you haven’t already sinned enough, but… it’s tallying up to a truly heinous amount of perversion that you can’t fathom anyone here tolerating, much less accepting. Astarion, maybe, but he deserves better than this.

You’ve already tremendously ruined things, and on top of that, you find out you were responsible for turning all of the people you care about into thralls?

It’s enough to shake you to your core. Enough to sow doubt in your mind, spreading like a slow poison through the veins of your thoughts, slowly choking them away, slowly consuming you.

You really might lose.

Gods, are you strong enough to win the long-fought battle against yourself? Do you have it in you to completely turn away from your past? You won’t give in without a fight, of course, but what chance do you have against Bhaal when he’s in your very mind, rooting himself into every inch of you?

In the days, you have hope, but in the nights, when you’re alone, you feel certain you’re doomed. That perhaps, this side of you will take over, and you’ll be absolutely helpless to stop it.

The true question is this: when the darkness takes over, will you still exist; forever trapped in the body you once had control over? Or will Bhaal’s presence ravage you, body and soul, and leave nothing of the thing you once were?

You really can’t decide which is worse.

You’re used to your hands shaking, by now. Your fingers have often trembled around the hilt of your blade, itching to drive your knife deep into sweet, bleeding flesh.

This is different.

It’s fear that takes your body, not the Urge. Fear that compels you, not Bhaal. Are you afraid to lose to Orin, or afraid of what you might become?

Astarion stands behind you, observant but tense. The two of you have come so far now that it almost seems foolish to think of losing. He’d defeated Cazador. He’d resisted the Ascension. If he’d found it in himself to turn away from his darkness, can’t you?

Yet, some part of you still thinks you might disappoint him. Some part of you still fears the monster that lies within yourself.

Astarion rests a hand on your shoulder, knowing you all too well. “You can do this,” he says, lightly squeezing. “I know you can.”

And the sheer, beautiful belief in his eyes - belief in you - is enough to have a little hope again. Not much, but some. You can do this.

You step into the center of the circle, hands around your blade, and you believe.

It all goes by in a blur.

Orin is a viper, tightening her strokes around you, striking fast and hard. Her movements are rapid and graceful, her dance lithe and experienced. Even in her slayer form, there’s a deadly beauty to her actions. Every slash, every wound she inflicts on your skin, is a vicious reminder that she’s nothing but practiced in this regard.

Perhaps she’s forgotten, but you are, too. And, this time, your pride doesn’t blind you to the threat she poses.

Your body moves instinctively; for once, you let the Urge guide you freely. You leap out of the way of her claws, dig your blade into her side. When the scent of blood hits the air, you rejoice. When you feel pain, you bask in it.

Flashes of your past echo in front of your eyes - being in the pod, blood gushing into your eyes. You remember the agony of her betrayal, the fear as you’d smashed your skull into the glass again and again and again. Anything to escape what she’d done.

It’s despair that takes over you, not fear. It’s your fury that deals the final blow, not the Urge. And when Orin finally falls, your blade in her ribs up to the hilt, you feel no relief, no satiation.

Only grief. Nothing but grief.

You don’t know what you mourn for - your old self? The life she’d robbed you of? No - no, you despise your past. You despise who you were. So what tugs at your chest this tenderly? What force brings you to your knees?

For just a moment, you almost forget about Bhaal.

Of course, he won’t be forgotten - not here, not in his own domain. Not when you’re his creation. Sceleritas Fel is in front of you, applauding your victory, calling you the Chosen One.

“He is near,” he says. “He comes for you.”

Fear flutters through your chest. Bhaal’s Chosen. It tempts you, even now. The Urge has slithered into the very heart of you, kept somewhere in your ribs, so dark and alluring that you can barely breathe.

It salivates at the sight of the blade slicing through your butler’s chest, sways at the sight of his blood. His body rises, limp and lifeless, and it’s all you can do to stare, still breathless from the fight, still silently devastated, as more blades cut through the skin one by one - impaling him until his blood seeps onto the stone below; dark, crimson liquid shining over the cold floor.

And in his reflection, you find Bhaal.

He is everything you’ve felt in the Urge and more - the sweet whispers of death in your ear. He’s the honeyed tone that compels you to serve him, compels you to bring forth destruction in his name. In chaos, he triumphs, and in blood, he revels.

This is a gift. An offering to you, his Chosen.

You could accept. You could stop fighting against your destiny, against this thing you were born to become. You could do what he asks, and wreak beautiful havoc on this world. You’re exhausted. Every muscle in your body aches - not from Orin, but from this never-ending fight against yourself.

How strong you could become, remedied of these burdens. How well you would please your father. It would be so easy. All you’d have to do is accept…

And then you see Astarion.

His face is paler than usual, a tension in his shoulders, a quiet exhaustion in his eyes. You see him now, as he is, and you see him as he was in the ritual chamber: the temptation of power right beneath his grasp, begging to be taken. He’d sacrificed so much. The light of the sun on his face. The relief of hunger. The burial of his shame. All of these, he’d refused, but he’s finally free. He wants that for you, and you want it, too.

No matter the cost.

So you refuse. You look Bhaal in the eye and refuse his gift, knowing what it will mean for you. And when he threatens your life, you refuse again. No matter the cost, you think. Death is freedom in its own way.

The sudden agony that wracks through your body is unlike any you’ve ever known. It boils through your blood, singes body and soul, brings down you to your knees with the very force of it. Your chest seems to cave in on itself, expelling your inheritance to Bhaal with every beat of your heart.

Even when he lifts a hand and raises you into the air, you feel crushed - suffocated. Your teeth grind against each other, your skull throbs in agonzing waves, blood flows steadily over your tongue. Your heart slows, your essence fades. Sharp, blinding pain overtakes your vision until all that’s left of you is the shallow, scraping breath in your lungs.

All at once, everything fades, and you’re left in darkness.

And in the darkness, there is finally peace.

Being revived feels like a cruelty. Death is sweet and calm and simple. Emptiness. Oblivion. It is silent, and you are grateful.

Until you’re not.

You’re not, because you’re no longer dead. Something rips you from your painless sense of stillness - throws you back into the misery of life. You fight against it, but it’s pointless; you have no say in this, and it will take you where it desires.

You find yourself in flesh again, find the familiar sensation of your tender skin. You find yourself before Withers, bruised and broken, but reborn.

He’s a sight for sore eyes, but there’s something else that lies in your chest. A silence that hasn’t been there since… since before you’d woken up on the nautiloid, confused and alone, not a memory to be found aside from meaningless scraps and a face you didn’t recognize.

The Urge is gone. All that’s left is you.

It feels empty.

This should feel heroic, this return of yours that leaves you panting with the throes of death, covered in blood and on your knees. You’re back, you’re alive, and gods, you’re glad to see your friends and your lover, but it’s empty.

You deserved to die, didn’t you? It was your horrible knowledge, the one you kept tucked away even from Astarion. That never-ending guilt. After your crimes, after all the horrid things you’ve done with these hands, this body, before you’d lost your memory - you’d most certainly deserved to be put down.

You don’t dare look at Astarion, but you look at Withers. Surely, he must know what you are. Surely, he must know what you’ve done.

“I deserve to die,” you tell him, your voice shaking as much as your body. “For all the evil I have done.”

Withers stares at you, his expression unchanged. “The sole way to atone for thine actions is to do better, in a new dawn,” he says - and gods, he smiles. He’s proud of you, you realize. Proud of your resistance. “That dawn has come,” he announces.

And if he will not be swayed, you suppose you won’t, either. You’re alive, whether you like it or not. Whatever pieces are left of you and the life you might live, you’ll put them together. You’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.

The important thing is that you’re finally free.

“Bhaal tried to extinguish thee,” Wither observes, “but his wrath is imprecise. He only succeeded in killing the part of thee he knew. The Urge that drove thee to terrible acts. The spark of brutality that made thee his. But there is a new part of you that hath grown during thy travels. That part, Bhaal could not extinguish. And so, instead of destroying thee, he hath made thee anew.”

“You get to start over,” Astarion says. He gazes at you, a mixture of leftover fear and relief and care. “To be the person you want to be. Not what someone else made you to be.”

And gods - even in the worst of yourself, you know that he sees you - wants you, all the same. If you’re at his side, you’re sure you can do anything.

“Greet the bloodless dawn, child of none,” Withers says, and for once in the shabby remembrance of your life, the guilt that haunts you finally sweeps away.

Gortash knows you’re coming, you think. After your stint at the Iron Throne and the foundry that now lies in ash, he must. Your memories are mostly lost to the aether, but you do know this - he’s no fool.

Still, when you see him again, there’s that strange, leftover twinge of your past. It’s dead now; whatever warmth there was in his presence has become ice. Your old self has died along with your Urge, rotted away like your need for blood. After all, the part of you he cared for was maniacal. Brutal. Not as bad as Orin, perhaps, but deranged. It sickens you to know he cared for someone like that, when you’ve despised yourself so.

It sickens you even more to know that he knows no guilt for his actions. How much have you suffered over your own deeds? How often have you awoken in sweat, drenched from head to toe with the fleeting remnant of your past deeds tainting your mind?

And here he is, smug and so sure - of himself, of this path, of Bane. And he knows no regret, or guilt, he makes no apologies. A part of you may have once loved him, but no more. Whatever he’d once seen in you, it no longer remains.

You wonder if he can tell. After all you’ve done to him, after the havoc you’ve wreaked on his plan, does he realize that the person he cared for no longer exists? He seems not to. Not until Karlach launches at him and you draw your blade, willing to kill when it’s necessary but not craving an ounce of blood more.

The fight is long and brutal, but it’s familiar. You have your friends at your side, people you trust even more than yourself. It flies by in a blur, only ending when Karlach’s axe sinks into Gortash’s gut and he crumples to his knees, letting out a final rush of air before he goes still.

Like so many other events, this should feel triumphant, but it doesn’t. Like so many other things, this isn’t fair. Gortash is gone, yes, nothing more than a body on a floor, but there’s no celebration, no relief.

Karlach has gotten her revenge, but she will never get her life back. She will never regain what he took from her.

You have the Netherstones, yes. But gods - that doesn’t stop the sickening feeling deep inside.

You head home with nothing but grief and an aching body, your hand held tight in Astarion’s, and you finally allow yourself to fully mourn the life you’d lived - the things you’d done, and the people who no longer live because of you.

With Gortash finally gone, the air of the camp changes. You’re so close to your goal, but there’s an underlying tension that fills the air. It has you making your way to Astarion, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into his neck.

He holds you close, his thumb trailing over the nape of your neck, and the action slackens the tension out of your muscles.

“So,” he starts, “how are you feeling, now that your old lover is gone?”

You huff, shaking your head. The action brushes your nose with his skin, and you can smell him all over you. The warmth of brandy, the sharpness of rosemary. “I don’t remember any of it,” you say, words soft. “I… don’t really feel anything.”

You recall his numbness after Cazador. Dame Aylin’s emptiness after smiting down Larroakan. Karlach’s grief after killing Gortash. Even after your fight with Orin, there hadn’t really been relief. Just… a sense of loss.

He gently takes your face in his hands.

You’re scared, really. You’re so close to succeeding, so close to getting the tadpole out of your mind, and yet, you’re terrified out of your wits. What the hells are you supposed to do, now that failing holds the most weight?

“Do you really think we’ll win this?” you ask him. Your fear slips into your voice and breaks it, and you wince.

“Of course I do,” he says. “I don’t know about you, darling, but I have no intention of dying again.” He presses his lips to your forehead, the gentle touch soothing away your fear. “We’ll get through this. Trust me.”

And, despite the fear, the pain, the loss - despite every curve that life continually throws at you, every defeat you muster through, you know he’s right.

You’ll get through this; just like you always do.

#astarion x reader #astarion #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #astarion x dark urge #baldurs gate 3 x reader #mywriting

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choiceofgames · 5 days

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New game! “Werewolf: The Apocalypse — The Book of Hungry Names” — Unleash Rage and wield spirit to heal the land and rebuild your fallen pack

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Shapeshifter. Mystic. Hero. Monster. You are a werewolf, and you are all these things. Werewolves are the living earth's last guardians, created by Gaia, given the gift of shifting between human and wolf forms, and called to stop humanity from destroying the world.

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#choiceofgames #choice of games #interactive fiction

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acre-of-wheat · 1 year

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I know in this house we’re all about supporting Kit’s wrongs, but I do want to take some time to analyze another dear sword lesbian’s wrongs.

Our dearest Jade Claymore.

You’re telling me this face has done wrongs?

Sadly. Yes.

The High Aldwin

Elora disappears into the woods and Kit wants to set off to continue the mission. Jade has other feelings, and drops this statement about what they owe Elora. It’s an interesting moment, because only an episode ago it was, “where the princess goes, I go,” but Kit rides off alone.

I think Jade knows Kit well enough that she fully expected to catch up to her. To save face, Kit couldn’t turn around and go back, but she could certainly take her sweet time walking down the road.

Later on they discuss Elora’s inability to demonstrate magic, and Kit once again wants to keep moving forward to continuing the mission, and Jade has this to say.

This is just a straight up lie, girl! Sorsha’s last instruction to her is to stay with Kit, to guide her, to pull her back from the edge.

I think this is an intentional tactic from Jade though. Jade has very subtle ways that she manages to manipulate or instruct Kit. Because of their difference in station, their history together, and Kit’s stubbornness, direct conflict doesn’t really work. Jade’s weapon for influencing Kit is showing her disappointment in the princess or, in some cases, outright lying.

I think there is an important call back to this, in Children of the Wyrm, where Jade goes over the edge of the world not to save Airk, or for Elora or Sorsha, but just for Kit. Because for once love is more important than duty.

The Battle of the Slaughtered Lamb

The reveal that this relationship was orchestrated by Sorsha is a huge blow, but the last line here is the real betrayal. If Jade didn’t ever believe that Kit would be in a life or death situation, then all of Kit’s dreams, all of her plans and fantasies, were just that to Jade-- so much make believe.

I think we give Kit a lot of shit for her mistakes, but she does always apologize. It’s worth noting that there is no apology from Jade here.

Whispers of Nockmaar

Hmm, I can think of someone who could have used your backup about this about an hour ago...

The Wildwood

By far my favorite Jade wrong.

Kit is actually trying to negotiate a release-- and it probably would have worked too!-- and the typically so in control knight with her anger on a tight leash just can’t keep it together enough for it to work.

Love this for her. Get everyone killed, babe.

Prisoners of Skellin

This is not technically a wrong! But it is a type of betrayal for Kit that I think is worth discussing, because these two absolutely won’t.

The devastation.

What is most interesting about this is even though Jade is the one to bodily remove Kit from the tomb, Kit’s rage focuses solely on Elora. It’s Elora she blames for not reuniting with her father, it’s Elora she vents her frustration on.

I don’t think Kit is even capable of remaining angry at Jade, because for Kit, Jade is all she has, and she can’t risk chasing her away. When Jade tells her that she’s leaving for Galladoorn, Kit pitches a fit, but then comes to her with a kiss and a smile in the night. When Kit learns that Jade lied about her training, Kit avoids her for awhile, but all she says is, “I’m just glad you told me.”

So when Jade wraps her arms around her and drags her away from the father she’s been missing her whole life? That rage has to go somewhere else.

The Gales

We’re going all the way back to the beginning with the last one, because it is the only one I can’t defend Jade on. It’s not her accepting a place with the Shining Legion, or even picking the absolute worst time to tell her best friend that she’s leaving, it’s this.

For what, Jade? There is literally no more time left for Kit. Jade is consumed by her dedication to duty, to such an extent that she believes that extremely queer Kit should marry a man she doesn’t know, to have heirs she doesn’t want.

What are our responsibilities to those we lead? To our parents? To our loved ones? To ourselves?

Must we all give up something for what we believe in, or is love the most powerful force in the universe? What mantel from our parents is worth picking up, and which is worth running away from?

The show hasn’t answered all these questions yet, but I hope it has time to explore them, and I know that Jade will be an important part of that exploration.

#jade claymore #kit tanthalos #willow #willow 2022 #tanthamore #i have so many feelings about these two

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ruthlesslistener · 1 year

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happy 4/20 here's some headcanons about the shit bugs used to get elevated

Alcohol: good 'ol alcohol. Found everywhere in every tribe of Hallownest, brewed in pretty much every way possible. Unregulated in trade by pretty much all tribes except for the stuff the Pale King consumes, which is often strong enough to give an entire room alcohol poisoning (wyrms are resistant to pretty much all toxins). Even the Hive have fermented honey and nectar, though they are much stricter about who indulges; it's more often exported for trade than consumed. Among the tribes, limitations only exist among the beetles and mantises, as both have violent tendencies and are liable to pick a fight when drunk; mantises regulate it to festivals and mating season, when sparring is likely to happen anyways, while drunk beetles outside homes and bars are often picked up and stuffed into trash cans to sober them up (and hopefully teach them a lesson in the meanwhile)

Gulka venom: an intoxicating substance with mildly hallucinogenic effects. Unregulated in trade, though that's mostly because there is no trade- the Mosskin refuse to collect it for other tribes, going out of their way only for the snail shamans (who are herb-masters with great healing knowledge) You'll have to harvest it yourself if you want to indulge, and that means there's a bit of a black market for it in Hallownest

Shamanistic Death-Herbs: a blend of relatively common herbs that, when dried together in a certain way, creates an extremely toxic blend if consumed or inhaled (when burned). Typically used to give those suffering a peaceful, painless death, it has powerful hallucinogenic effect under its killing threshold, and is one of the few toxins that can affect void creatures in any way (it puts them to sleep/makes them high). The fear of the void worshipers using them in battle against her moths was one of the excuses the Radiance used for her genocide against the snail tribe, though the shamans themselves have strict oaths to use them only for healing, and have never broken those oaths or used them against another tribe (at least, as far as the few who remember the age of dark can recall)

Bitterroot: an anti-contraceptive and abortion drug that can have an intoxicating-but dangerous- effect if too much of it is chewed. Grows primarily in the Crossroad region, and is heavily regulated in Hallownest- it is easily attainable and available to all, but herbalists are required by law to cut it and sell it in specific portion sizes for different species of bug, to prevent fatalistic overdosing. Tribes with overlap of the growing range tend to follow this rule, though it is not as strictly monitored as in the City (where many different species of bugs congregate, and thus require different doses to be effective)

Lifeblood: A life-boosting substance with magical roots that invigorates the self, at the risk of overestimating limitations and causing irreversible harm to the body when infused with it. This risk, while minimal with supervision, was what the Pale King used as an excuse to ban it, when in reality the main reason for the ban is because it is directly tied to an unascended abyssal god (the Lifeblood creature). Pretty heavily regulated in the Pale King's realm, but is used pretty regularly outside of his lands because nobody outside the most religious of the Beetle Tribe gives a shit

Brightpede poison: an extremely bitter, cyanide-based toxin that, like the death-herbs, can get one high if consumed in extremely small amounts. Secreted by pink and yellow-banded millipedes in the Deepnest region, used most commonly to kill political enemies or ease the passing of mortally wounded individuals. Harmlessly intoxicating to wyrms and their kin

Smokeweed: marijuana. It grows pretty much everywhere in Hallownest where greenery thrives, and is used both recreationally and medicinally, though the extent of it varies from culture to culture. Among the mantises, it's reserved only for strong warriors, to ease pain, battle-rage, and battle-lust. In the City of Tears, use is limited to smokehouses to prevent air contamination in close quarters, but is perfectly legal in private quarters, cheap to buy, and is typically recreational or therapeutic (there is, however, more variation in strains and expensive variants available to those of higher social rank, with the blooms grown in the White Lady's gardens going for the highest). In Deepnest, it's technically limited from the working castes to prevent injury, but is allowed during times of leisure and is unlimited to the injured or sick (if trade allows it). The Mosskin, Snails, and the Moths typically used it for religious reasons. Only the Hive have strict regulations against it (as they do with everything else).

Shrooms: Several species of mushrooms in Deepnest and the Fungal Wastes offer a variety of intoxicating and hallucinogenic effects, with a variety of different toxicity/fatality levels. Really only the Mantids know how to correctly harvest and identify each species responsible for each effect, a secret they hold closely guarded within their own tribe, but that doesn't stop certain individuals from different tribes to come in and sample the shrooms (and, if overdosed, become a fun little treat for the mantises)

The sap and nectar of the White Lady: really only attainable if you go praying to her for reproductive help, as it is an intense healing agent and potent aphrodisiac. Momentarily cures infertility, and brings about a high, but also induces heat. Tea can be made from her bark with similar (but less potent) effects, but again it must be provided from her willingly, and such examples are rare. Technically intoxicating, but only given to those struggling with infertility, miscarriages, suffering from injuries related to childbearing or birth, etc

#hollow knight #hollow knight headcanons #yeah i had to make some of them up but also like. kinda at a limit for bug drugs in canon #most of these dont work on gods rip pk and escaping his depression

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landwriter · 1 year

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Oaths | Dream/Hob | 51K | Explicit | Ongoing Ch.10: Oaths of Darkness and Light (4K)

Falling In Love, Magical Realism, Dream is a Beautiful Fey Creature and Hob is a Handsome Bandit, Protective Hob Gadling, Protective Dream of the Endless, Historical References, Scotland, Middle English, Border Reiving, Adventure & Romance, Fairy Tale Retellings, Alternate Universe - Historical/Medieval/Fairy Tale, finding beauty in hard times, Oaths & Vows, Curses, Outdoor Sex, First Time Blowjobs, Frottage, Anal, Kissing in the Rain, really a lot of banging, Hair Braiding, Dirty Talk, Ballads, Duty, Friendship/Love, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, Canon Echoes, Self-Denial, Repression, Tenderness, Confessions, Bathing/Washing, Strangers to Lovers, Lovers to Friends, Friends to Idiots, BAMF Hob Gadling, (absolutely fucking feral Hob Gadling), unhinged words and deeds, or: a man and a fey walk into a meadow and they're both equally insane

He moved hidden through the mirk and moonless night. He had no need of torch or light. Rain had patiently gathered, and under the cover of darkness, finally rushed forth, announcing itself upon alder and birchleaf. Hob was glad for it. Within himself, he felt a forge. Desperate, consuming flame licked beneath his skin. His heart was a hammer in his throat. He was fevered with hope, and all he could do was follow the Ettrick upstream, to Miles Cross, to Dream. Only when he arrived before the stone bridge did the agitation in his heart settle at last. He moved into the shadowed gorse, and waited. It was easier than he thought; easier than being in Aikwood as though he were not tethered by his smarting heart to this spot where Dream would appear; easier even than making the journey of less than hour with the strange animal fears that something would stop him from arriving here. He waited, as the rain exhausted itself the night became quiet again. He waited, and thought of Dream, these last two days, alone. With no one to give him advice, no one to wish him well, no one to clasp his arms. With no one to tell. With nothing to do but hope Hob might be true to his word. Hob wished he could reassure him, even now. Wished that he was as fey a creature as they, that he might send sign on bended wing to his love. An owl or sweet nightingale, calling into the night in a tongue only Dream would understand: He loves you. He waits. He loves you. He waits.

And as surely as the Ettrick Water ran, surely as the day did fall and break, did Hob with a certain heart his journey make. Or: the wyrm-ening.

[Read on AO3]

#it's here!#the sandman #dreamling #oaths #oaths update #my writing #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman fanfic

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linddzz · 3 months

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Oooh wip game! Do tell more about the Audacity in Human Form pretty please 👀🤲🏻

So the actual idea I had for the entire Issue that gets in the way of them getting together was:

The Time Out Orb followed by all the forced personal growth in Season1 gave Morpheus juuuuust enough self awareness that he has started to figure out who the common denominator of all his failed romances is. Combine that with his human fetish and you get him actually kinda being afraid of what he might do to Hob if they went All Out Romantic.

Which leads to: The moment he lets himself admit to himself what his feelings are, he's doing the internal equivalent of desperately holding himself back like a beast on a fraying leash, while horribly aware that Hob keeps doing the equivalent of serving himself on a platter to said beast.

(he has NOT grown enough as a person to know that if he doesn't want to keep having these tense moments of Temptation then he maybe should take a break from seeing his Good Buddy Pal.)

The upcoming chapter is probably gonna be the longest of them all, and it's where Morpheus has his little "Oh. Oh. I'm. Not gonna be able to be Chill about this" moment :)

From Hob's POV the "holding himself back on a leash" is gonna keep looking like this little moment from the chapter after next:

”You have no idea, do you?” Morpheus’ whisper thrums in the air. It makes the floorboards shiver. The eyes flash like daggers, and his voice slides into tones of a wyrm shifting in the deepest depths of the darkest cavern. “You must not, to dare me so flagrantly.” This is supposed to scare me. Hob thinks. In a way, it sort of is. There is a bit of his instinctual hindbrain that knows he's being stared down by the most dangerous thing he's ever come across. The terrified hindbrain gets his heart up to speed, and it begins to pound in his chest. It's a bit of him that is clanging the bells and reminding him that Dream is temperamental, proud, and as unpredictable as a forest fire. “I must not.” Hob answers. The bit of him that remembers what self preservation is thinks he shouldn't be smiling right now, shouldn't be tilting his head so he can better see the way those two stars are blazing. “Such bravado.” The voice is softer, a razor slicing through silk in a dark room. Then it gets stronger, pulsing through the air in a way that pushes at Hob's skull, though it sounds like Morpheus is half talking to himself. “Perhaps I should make it clearer. How wrong you are. How much I deny. How much better that is.” One of Dream's hands moves in a flash that stops only a few inches up between them, fingers curled like talons where it hovers in the air. Once, on a ship, Hob stood at the highest point in the crows nest, swaying with the black night water so, so far below. The sky was the expanse of stars that it used to be everywhere, before cities drowned them out. And from that high, swaying point, feeling like the smallest thing on the earth, he watched a storm rolling like a mountain towards them. The edge of it was a curved wall, an unstoppable churning, the black of it swallowing the night and bursting it with explosions of lightning. He couldn't die, but that didn't seem to mean much when he was a tiny thing high above the black sea, beneath the black sky, with the black lightning-toothed storm consuming it all on its way towards him. It was, present company excluded, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Maybe you should.” Hob breathes.

#no that snippet doesn't end with them making out with lots of teeth lmao #hobs gonna get blue balled so much #audacity in human form #my fic #dreamling

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hpowellsmith · 2 months

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Werewolf: The Apocalypse—The Book of Hungry Names will be out April 25!

There's a free demo up now!

youtube

Werewolf: The Apocalypse — The Book of Hungry Names is an interactive novel by Kyle Marquis set in the World of Darkness. It's entirely text-based, without graphics or sound effects, and fueled by the vast, unstoppable power of your imagination.

But you have failed.

Play as male, female, or nonbinary; befriend or romance werewolves and humans of all genders.

Shapeshift among five forms to slaughter your enemies, or outwit them to take what you need.

Choose your auspice (moon-sign) and your werewolf tribe to learn what sort of monster you are. Play as a Bone Gnawer, Child of Gaia, Glass Walker, Shadow Lord, or Silver Fang.

Claim your territory and heal the spirits there to unlock Gifts that let you summon animals, see into the past, or enter the spirit world.

Play free demo

Wishlist on Steam

Preregister on Google Play

Preorder on iOS

#werewolf: the apocalypse #kyle marquis #world of darkness #choice of games #interactive fiction #if wip #interactive novel wip #choicescript game #text game #horror if #Youtube

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animentality · 6 months

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Dark Urge and Gortash have sex one time, and Gortash is like business as usual, I have ten more people to have sex with by the end of the day, but Dark Urge is literally drafting up Bhaalian wedding plans and dreaming of slitting both their throats on the altar of Bhaal and what they're going to wear, and they mention it to Gortash by way of saying I'm going to cut your throat.

And Gortash is like...was the sex that bad???

But then Dark Urge explains and Gortash is like oh...oh sorry, I'm kind of a...multiple people wanna kill me type.

You're not the only one who wants to butcher me, you know?

We're not exclusive.

You're not even the only person who wants to consume my organs, like, there was this one guy in Avernus...

And poor Dark Urge has to go home to their room in the Temple of Bhaal and tear up all their red wedding esque plans and says never mind it's not gonna be that special when I murder him.

I'm not even gonna use my special knife, I'm gonna throw him off Wyrm's Rock Fortress.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #durgetash #enver gortash #dark urge

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cloudyswritings · 4 months

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Vessel biology the 4th

I can do this all day(lying). This one is going to be shorter(probably lying). It’s the product if my late night brain(actually true)

Out of all of the vessels hatched there any very well have been a pure one. The tragedy is that such a being would genuinely have no mind to think and thus would never have even tried to reach the king or escape being crushed to death under their siblings.

Vessels get their oversized heads from their father. This might just be canon

Vessels varryingly have some internal organs, most of which are made of void but some of which are normal(for an wyrm-root hybrid abomination that is). The void ones can be reshaped if damaged, hence why THK impaling themselves during the fight doesn’t immediately kill them.

The mind of a vessel is evenly split between their shade and their shell. So every shade in the abyss corresponds to a broken-but not dead- vessel shell in the abyss. It’s also why Ghost can act independently as their shell to reclaim their shade.

THKs shade, and specifically their crack/scar, shows that shades can be damaged. I imagine this is a symptom of immense exposure to light but also psychological distress.

Shades also might not be entirely void, mostly void sure, but not entirely. This comes down to their eyes, specifically that their eyes cast a pale light like their parents. I imagine if you painstakingly removed all of a shades void you’d be left with the pale, underdeveloped soul of a baby god.

The void doesn’t really consume things it takes in so much as holds them. The only things that do get broken down and rendered into their basic particles are the lights of gods. Even then a strong enough light may hold back the void. (Kinda not sure on this one rereading it later)

The amount a light is effective against the void is based on its quality, with very cold or low output lights actually doing better. The brighter the light the deeper the shadow afterall.

the horns the vessels have are in the shape their burrowing teeth would have been if they’d been born Wyrms.

There are more vessels that escaped Hallownest entirely like Little Ghost, the further from Hallownest the fewer you’ll see though.

that’s not to say there’s a lot though, maybe like 100 or so still alive.

Vessels, once they begin to develop their identities, tend to pick a hobby or skill and build their identity out from there.

Ghost did this with cartography and cooking to begin with, but generally have more interests than other vessels.

Despite being a sort of woody material the shells of vessels give off a sound like porcelain and are fairly brittle.

Vessels don’t really understand time very well as a result of being born from the void. They might understand it intellectually but it doesn’t really apply to them the way it does to other beings.

Some vessels would have developed the ability to influence the passage of time if they’d survived- theirs is the power opposed afterall.

Vessels might not really have a sense of sight, like they don’t really have eyes but holes where they should be. Their senses are probably more like a rolling general awareness of where things are, textures, ect. I’m not sure how much I agree with this but it’s an idea I had.

Vessels don’t really give off pheromones other bugs can detect. And the void actively dampens any they do make, this same effect applies to most things regarding others prying into the thoughts of vessels too.

this might be why the pale king didn’t know hollow was impure.

#hollow knight #hk pale king #hk vessels #speculative biology #headcanon #hk thk #hk ghost

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plethomacademia · 5 months

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I think you should try my long fic!

I am writing a story that starts from my female Dark Urge first meeting Enver Gortash all the way until she is tadpoled by her sister.

I know seeing it on AO3 is a lot, it's already over 45k words, so here's some entry points I think might interest people!

Do you like first meetings? Do you like when monsters come in unexpected packages? Chapter 2 is for you!

Do you think cult manipulation is interesting? Did you get to that part in Wyrm's Crossing when the narrator told you that your dark urge lead their church in prayer and you wanted to know more? Hello, chapter 3!

Do you like watching people grow closer in drabbles? Do you like watching two high charisma characters bounce off each other? That's chapter 5.

How about first kisses? When a person knows they shouldn't have sex with their rival's chosen but oh it's just one night, it's ok it's part of the mission! Or do you want to see a little temple monster get confused by the idea of gifts? Or did you see Gortash's notes on past assassinations and wonder if he and the Dark Urge ever studied together? Chapter 6 baby.

What if a Dark Urge has talents that are directly opposed to the Slayer Form? How would they feel about it? Chapter 7!

Do you just want to see Gortash get messed with until he shoves the Dark Urge on a desk? Chapter 8, that's the pitch.

What if you're like me and love seeing someone thrown out of their element? How would a creature from the dark handle being in an alliance with two other more experienced tacticians for the first time? Chapter 10.

Chapter 11 is for all you Gortash being a scientist is hot freaks out there, I see you, I am you.

Do you like your Dark Urge a little not quite mortal? What about two people who use the word love in such weird ways in their day to day that the way they talk about an all consuming feeling is to swap the word friend back and forth like a prayer? That's my most recent chapter, Chapter 12.

None of those? No problem! Here's what I have planned for the last few chapters:

Why was the Elder Brain so happy to see the dark urge in the game?

Post-heist scene where the thieves fuck with the jewels in a big fluffy bed but the jewels are a netherstone you're welcome

What it's like to kill someone that your mind can't remember but your heart does?

#dark urge #dark urge x gortash #enver gortash #lord enver gortash #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #durgetash #self promotion makes me want to peel my skin off

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mistresslrigtar · 5 months

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DTIYS for @bahbahhh's 1200 follower prompt

As always, there's a song that inspires my writing. Today I share an oldie, but what a goodie.

Where Do I Begin - love theme from "Love Story"

Where should I begin?

The story of our love is older than the Calamity. My memories of when we first met are foggy at best, but it wasn't pleasant from what she related to me. She told me once my silence drove her crazy, and apparently, my excuse was that wielding the Master Sword was the root cause of my quietude. I was a liar. That may have been the reason before she entered my life, but if she had any effect on me then as she does now, the truth is, she left me tongue-tied. I must have known then what I know now, that she was the only one for me.

Sometimes, I imagine those star-crossed lovers felt as I do now when they realized their time was running out.

Does it seem strange to you for me to think of them as entirely different people? It shouldn’t. Neither one of us was the same after one hundred years. I had no memories save the ones she spoon-fed me, and she was no longer the naive girl who had held Calamity Ganon at bay, waiting for me to awaken.

Ah, that’s difficult to think about.

The guilt that consumes me knowing I wasn’t strong enough to save her then or now, is insurmountable. She’d had to fight alone. All those naysayers, including her father, who belittled her, were proven wrong. Without her, Hyrule would have fallen one hundred-ten years ago. Without her, Hyrule would have collapsed when Ganondorf returned from the dead.

Without her, I’m nothing.

People call me the savior of Hyrule when, in all honesty, I had very little to do with it. Hyrule’s salvation floats, unseen above our heads, endlessly circling, searching for what she’s misplaced.

Something of her spirit must remain. I refuse to believe Mineru’s last words, that my Zelda’s mind and soul are forfeit to the cosmos. If that were so, she’d never have swooped in and saved me from the jaws of the Demon Dragon.

Why’d we go beneath the castle?

If I could take it all back, would I, knowing what waited in the depths? Perhaps we could have lived to the end of our days in blissful ignorance. Had the children we’d only just begun to talk and dream about. We deserved that, didn’t we? We’d already sacrificed twice for Hyrule.

This isn’t how it was supposed to end.

I try not to curse Hylia, but my heart has hardened, and faith seems unobtainable. Zelda wouldn’t like knowing I feel this way. She’d had faith I’d save Hyrule and had sacrificed her mortal soul to ensure my success.

I had faith—in her. Now, I’m lost in a void of moments when we lived and loved for a brief while. How can I move on? When all the best of me was lost when she sacrificed her beautiful soul in the hope that I’d triumph.

The cost was too steep, Zelda.

It’s been over five years since she fell into the chasm, disappearing in the blink of an eye. I never saw her again, the love of my life and my only reason for being. I can’t escape her memory. Her ghost remains everywhere I go, to haunt me by day and my dreams by night.

I can’t stand to linger in Hateno longer than necessary and never set foot in the house. It takes all my willpower to descend the ladder to her well to collect the few brightblooms that sprout there.

The home I began building in Akkala (back when I still had some hope that she’d return to me) is a complete lost cause. I haven’t visited there since the end. Seeing the empty study and gallery I built for her is too much to bear. The last letter from Hudson asked what I intended to do with the home. I told him to repurpose it into a school for Tarrytown.

She’d like that.

Shielding my eyes, I look to the sky in search of her. There she is–the Light Dragon. She drifts above me, her legs endlessly swimming in the air, and the crystal green eyes I love so much gaze back at me.

She’s still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, and I’ll always love her whether she’s a human or a wyrm. There’s an old song that asks the question, how long can love last and be measured? Surely not by the hours in a day or a lifetime even. My devotion to her transcends time, space, and physical form. I’ll chase her, search for her, and cherish my Zelda until the stars burn away.

It’s my turn to rescue her, even if that means I die trying. I’ve scoured all of Hyrule and the Sky Islands, searching for a way to reverse her terrible fate. There’s only one more place that remains. If the answer to the riddle of how to save her is anywhere, it’ll be in the depths.

I’ll spend the remainder of my days searching for a way to save her. Because in the end, it’s always only been for her.

“Link!” Tulin’s voice, carried by the wind, breaks my reverie.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see he’s heading toward me. He nearly knocks us down with a bear hug when we collide. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him, and as he backs away, I realize he’s as tall as me.

He sees that I’ve noticed and smiles, turning his head. “Check this out! My braid is long. Kind of like yours. Looks cool, right?”

Yeah, it does, Tulin. He reminds me so much of Revali without any of the pomposity.

He’s the one I’ll miss the most and who will understand the least why I have to go. He’ll want to follow me if I tell him, and I can’t have that. He belongs here, in the sky, touched by the sun and moon. I can see his future, and it’s bright.

Before I go, I must spend these last few days with him, building brotherly camaraderie and making memories. Hopefully, he’ll fondly reflect on our time together and forgive me for leaving.

Pulling out my paraglider, I put on a happy face for him.

Race you!

#bahbahh1200 #dtiyschallenge #dtiys entry #legend of zelda #zelink #the legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #breath of the wild

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