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pursuitseternal · 6 months

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“All Vim and Vigor, dearest…” a soft, nsfw Vampire Rogue Astarion update for “Bites in the Night:”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4K wound tending sex

Summary: the aftermath of a battle, and one companion is missing. Astarion. You race to find him, pulling him the the grip of death.. true death. Your tender, loving care can restore him. After all, you have to make sure all his vim and vigor is returned to him. Entirely.

CW: Blood, near death experience, healing, wound cleaning, flirtation, awkward Karlach interrupting growing intimacy, blow jobs and mutual hand jobs and fingering, just too be sure everything is… healed.

For @genesis-6666 💌

Read here if you prefer on AO3

Find him, save him…

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The dead lay around you. Goblins. An ambush. You bend over, hands on your knees, panting to catch your breath. Your wounds are minimal, and already Shadowheart has run to find the rest of your party, healing… or reviving… when needed. She looks up from over Gale’s body, his chest finally breathing again. But her eyes look worried. You scan the area, seeing everyone staggering between the trees. Almost all, you realize as your thumping heart stills. There is one of you missing. And your stomach twirls in knots as you realize just who.

You spin your head, looking. “Where is he?” you call to her. “Where’s Astarion?”

She shakes her head. “I thought he was with you, on the high ground,” she pants. “He was up there last I saw.” Her lithe hand points into the crags of rock and mountain that line the canyon.

It had been quick, sudden, and brutal. The ambush of Goblins swallowing you up. Last you remember, he had stared at you. Excitement, surprise, the thrill of bloodlust and eagerness in his eyes, as the goblin ranks kept coming and coming down from those ridges. One last fang-flashing smirk before he ran into the shadows, skirting up to their source. Your fearless, reckless, stupid rogue.

You hurry, scrambling up the trail, swerving past the thicker pools of goblin blood, leaping over their bodies. You see them scattered all over, dagger stab wounds and slashes.

Signs that he was here.

It’s carnage that you push past. Climbing higher until you reach a plateau, empty, the end of the trail, where you expect to see your vampire, your rogue, your… your love. But there is… nothing. Not a body. No enemies. No Astarion.

Panic fills you, heart rapping in your chest, breath growing short. But you force yourself forward. You make your eyes scan the ground for any clues. His blood. Or signs of his capture. You make your lungs fill, you shout his name…

Then, you hold your breath.

A faint groan comes from the distance, somewhere near the sheer rock face that pierces the sky, from the dense shrubs that line it. You race after it, feet almost skittering as you stumble in that direction. Your hands pushing into the brambles, catching sight of pale skin. Covered in blood.

You reach for his body. His skin is cold, waxy, and tight. You find one arm and pull. He groans as you tug, you grab his second arm, freeing him from the brambles, even as your lungs ease to see his face again.

But your hope fades to agony, his face is bruised and beaten, black and blue and shadowed more than his undead charisma. His breathing is quick and shallow, his eyes nearly swollen shut from whatever beating he took up here. You finally slide him free, his clothing is torn, almost every inch of the skin you see is darkened with bruises.

His voice shakes as he tries to catch a breath, eyes forcing themselves open to look at you. “You’re here,” he manages to rasp out. “I knew you would find me. You always find me.”

“Shhh,” you run your hand through his hair, his brow damp with sweat, his eyes losing focus as his head begins to loll. “It’s going to be alright.”

“At least I got to see you once more…” his voice grates against his throat, breath growing ragged.

You hand digs into your pocket, pulling out your last vial of healing potion. You pull the cork and press it instantly to his lips. The liquid flows into those pale lips, and you can only kneel and pray it’s enough. His breath begins to ease instead of rattle, his face beginning to heal, his pallor returning, the traces of blue-black death fading.

His mouth twitches trying to talk. But you shush him softly, “I’m here, Astarion, it’s alright.”

“F-far from,” he ekes out as his eyes flutter open slightly, the swelling abating just enough for you to see both crimson eyes again.

“I’ll get you back to the others,” you look around, sizing up his lean body, running a hand through his hair before you brace behind his shoulders to get him to sit upright. He groans, limp in your arm. He can be so strong and swift, but it’s only now you also notice how lithe he is. How lean. But still, he’s too great a weight for you to bear alone.

That’s when the running of heavier feet makes your lungs fill fully and your heart leap in hope. “You found him, good for you, soldier!” Karlach trods right up next to you, barely out of breath. “Shadowheart said you would hopefully have found him, I’m to help you back where we are making camp.” Her thick tiefling arms pick him up, none too gently, and you hiss in worry to see him pulled to his feet so quickly.

“I swear, if you throw me around like that, I would puke on you if I had anything left in me…” he snipes as Karlach takes him by one arm, shaking her fiery head at his sass with a smile and waiting for you to take the other.

You snigger. He must be on the mend if he is throwing those barbs out again. But he falls silent again, head hanging low. You shoulder his body as best you can, bracing one hand on his bare chest, wishing for once he had a living heart that beat so you knew he was alive. “Stay with me,” you grunt, shoving your mouth into his long, pointed ear. “I’ll kill you if you die, you know.”

“I know… my sweet,” he manages to rasp, a slight turn of his head to throw you a feeble smirk. Karlach is definitely bearing most of him, but she doesn’t complain, not as you finally make it down the ridges and back to the main road.

“Not too much further,” Karlach heaves more of him on her shoulder, “Gale should have the tents up by now so he can rest.”

You three round a bend, the flickering of a fire and the spattered sight of tents warms your heart. You made it. Even the rose and burgundy canvas of Astarion’s tent is set to perfection. You’ll have to remember to thank Gale later, once your rogue is through the worst of it.

Into the warm dark you go, setting Astarion out on his bedroll, propping him cautiously on a stack of pillows.

“Water, clothes, and another potion,” Karlach points to the supplies placed tidily within reach. “I’ll be back, just shout if you need anything.”

And then she steps away, taking her warmth and her glowing presence back through the flaps of his tent.

You look after her, another friend you’ll have to thank.

Something hard and cold grips around your hand from where it rests on the ground. He’s clutching you, making sure he’s not alone.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before you rest it on his own stomach. “Let me get you cleaned up,” you look into his face, his eyes still shut, face still and unmoving. “Is that alright?”

“More than alright,” he speaks quietly, “the sooner you get rid of this stinking goblin blood off me, the sooner I can just savor that delicious fragrance of yours…” he hisses in pain before the last word is completely off his tongue. Your hand ghosts over the still-sprawling bruisers that run along his side. He tries so hard to be the usually suave, charismatic charmer, but something still troubles him.

Your hand hovers between the cloth and the potion, unsure what to do first. Then you hear it, a wracking cough, one that shakes his frame, bringing blood to his lips.

His blood.

You quickly uncork the second bottle, fairly shoving it in his mouth. “What did they do to you?” You barely get the question out your mouth as he sighs from swallowing the healing mix down.

“Thrashed me an inch from life… or an inch from undeath I suppose…” He forces a blithe smile, his giggle is slick with his own blood, but at least you can hear his lungs filling. More fully than before. The potion working to heal whatever internal damage he must have had.

You eye the red around his lips, pausing for a second. It was a common sight, his bloodied lips, but… never his own blood.

You wonder, for a moment, how does he taste?

You know the salt of his sweat, the bitter tang of his cum, why not? Why not see what his blood tastes of, for once…

“Gods below,” he throws you a mischievous smirk. “You’re wanting to taste my blood now, aren’t you?” You feel your surprise lifting your face, and he only sucks his teeth, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. “Tch, I don’t need a spell to read your dirty thoughts, darling…”

Your eyes dart to his conceited, smirking mouth. You hold your breath… until you close your hand around the towel and soak it in the soapy water. “Don’t be ridiculous, Astarion…” you huff, starting to bring the cloth to his face.

His hand grips the back of your neck, clutching you against his mouth for a wet and bloodied kiss. It tastes… ancient, refined and heady. Rich in a way that coats your tongue, even as his own delves in to tangle with yours. You swallow, sucking on his lips for more. He laughs, lightly, hiding a groan, “If you’re planning on more rigorous pursuits, I’d say I need bathing and tending first, darling.”

You pull away, shocked at yourself, so aroused with him only moments ago near-death. Your cheeks flush, white hot as you begin to clean him. He closes his eyes, propped up as he is on pillows. Lounging, relishing your full attention.

You wash and rinse, wash and rinse. It’s hard not to stare at his beauty, at the hard edges of his cheeks and jaw, the little lines about his eyes that crinkle when he smirks or laughs. He locks those piercing eyes on you as you dip the rag back and wring it out. He stalks every movement you make, washing his body lower and lower, inspecting his bruises as they slowly fade with the healing magic.

You finish his chest, forcing your breath to steady as you wash that rising and falling belly of his.

“Are you sure I don’t need tending any lower…?” he purrs.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Perhaps you rest first before you insist on everything checked for being in good working order, hmm?”

He rolls his eyes back in his head, a sigh of total emphatic drama. “Doctor’s orders…” he grumbles, lounging back against the throws, but not before he gives a little thrust of his hips, a clench of his belly under your hand where it rests on him still.

“Sleep, you scoundrel,” you chide, reaching to dry off his now clean skin, savoring the fresh scent in the air from the soap. You feel his body, still tense under your touch, wound tight and stiff that isn’t the result of his charming flirtation or dirty, lustful thoughts. You look at him, staring at his face, worry furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flicker over you, bright with mischief, half-lidded with flirtation. “Vampires don’t require… sleep. Not much. Not as much as… well… other things…”

You look into that beautiful face. He’s gaunt. Pale, well more than usual. Rings line his eyes, cradling that crimson glare in shadow. His lips twitch, fighting the urge to bare those glistening and pointed fangs.

“Oh, gods, now?” you breathe, heart racing.

He waves a hand dismissively, a sharp edge to his voice. Hungry. Annoyed. “Well, if you don’t want your strong, well-fed vampire to heal completely, then by all means…”

“No,” you almost leap next to his face, those smirking eyes scan over you, dilating in his hunger, fixating on the rapid pulse you know must be just throbbing under your skin for him to salivate over. But his hand grips yours, raising it to his lips. Kissing your fingers so softly, your stomach drops and your throat tightens. Slowly, he turns your hand over in his, raising your tingling inner wrist to his nose. You feel his breath, cold and quick, as he inhales your scent. Probably already savoring the scent of your blood rushing just beneath your skin.

“So then, I may?” his voice almost fails to reach your ears, you hear it more from the little tickles his breath makes across your skin, the gentle flutters of his lips over the nerves of your wrist. Like lighting in the air, his breath ripples in pinpricks on your skin.

“Yes,” you sigh, lungs burning as you hold your breath until he bites thos razor-sharp fangs into your tender flesh. Gasping, you hold your wrist to his mouth, every drop of your blood that leaves you, you can almost feel, almost sense, how it makes him stronger again. Empowered again. Hungry again for more.

It just feels so good, even as he feasts on you, as you savor that strange sensation that follows every time he feeds, that union of your bodies, your blood sating his hunger, beginning to course in his veins. A small, strangled moan escapes your lips, your eyes fixated on the way his mouth sucks on your wrist. You’ve never seen it before, never been able to watch his consuming of you, as he drinks from your neck. The little ways his tongue laps at your skin, the small bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows you down. A different sort of pleasure denied you when he drinks in the middle of the night. Your stomach churns, your thighs burning hot as you can’t look away.

A slight, definitely insufferable smile tugs at the corner of his lip as he sets your wrist back in your lap. “Liked what you saw?” he preens, so proud as he dabs a single finger at the bloodied corner of his mouth. “Or just thankful I’m still here to have my fill of you?”

“Both,” you reply before even a second thought crosses you mind. Your sight lowers to his mouth, you can almost feel those lips on yours, the way the twitch ever so slightly, the little tweaks that lift them to show those pointed fangs you love to have catch your flesh and nip at you when he kisses….

So close, you feel him closing that distance, his breath rushing into you, filling your lungs, your soul, ice cold and tangible.

“Hope you like rabbit, Gale’s got stew nearly done for…” Karlach sticks her flaming, sparking scarlet head into your tent then she strides all the way in. Those glowing eyes go wide. You’re so close, even as you turn your head, you can hear Astarion’s laugh tickle the creases of your ear.

You go flush, and not just because he insists on still giving your cheek a lingering kiss.

“Feeling better, is he?” Karlach laughs, a bit forced. A bit uncomfortable.

“Clearly,” you huff, sliding slightly from his side. But he only leans all the closer.

His eyes rake over you. You can feel it. You can almost see it in the way Karlach sifts from foot to foot. He chuckles, low and slow, “Yes, all vim and vigor, dearest. We were just about to discuss how I was going to make it up to her for all that attentive care and healing I required to pull me back from the brink of death…”

Your eyes flicker to Karlach, who would be blushing beet red now if she weren’t already so scarlet. “Ahem,” she clears her voice and stands quickly, “that’ll be my cue. I’ll leave you two to it..:”

“No it’s okay… the stew...” you begin but she’s already gone and yelling on the other side of the tent.

“Oi, Gale, keep it warm…” a long pause follows, a deep voice muted in the distance. Then Karlach guffaws with gusto. “Yeah, they’ll be fucking for hours most likely… she might not even be hungry once he stuffs her again…” the tiefling’s boisterous laugh fades as she trods away.

Your face goes hotter than an inferno, but that only makes his cold fingers sear all the more as he caresses your cheek. A single finger lifts your chin, turning your face towards that rakish, sultry smirk. “I thought she’d never leave. Now,” he hovers his mouth right over yours, “where were we?”

“We…” you clear your throat, “we were just making sure you were healed…”

“Mmmm, I’m pretty sure you’ve inspected me thoroughly everywhere but one place, darling,” he rasps, catching your lips in a commanding, languorous kiss.

“You almost died, Astarion,” you hiss between his teeth, fighting the way your folds are burning up, the way his other hand begins to slink over the buckskin of your breeches. “Should you really risk so much exertion?” Your body is tensing, your mind remembering the way he rattled as he struggled for air on the mountain, the way his flesh was blackened and sickly. Dead, almost truely dead.

His chuckle, that low-throated giggle, pulls you out of those macabre imaginings. “Well, I'd be more than happy to simply lay back and let you do all the hard work, if that’s what your concern is…”

You give him a mocking smile, “Oh yes, I’m very certain you are only doing this for my sake, love. Making sure I feel good after pulling you back from near death to life… well to undeath…” You give a sheepish grin, relieved that your humor only adds to the mischievous glint in his crimson eyes.

“You know me, the image of selflessness. I’m doing you a favor. If you left now…” his smirk widened, deliciously, wickedly, “…you’d be thinking about it all night.” His hand weaves into the little hairs at the nape of your neck, twirling them in the way he knows drives you crazy.

“Well, I suppose I can be persuaded… just to make sure you’re all vim and vigor.” You laugh as his hand is already loosening the laces of his breeches. “But,” you place one of yours to stay him a moment. Gods, you can already feel his cock, hard and pushing his way out for pleasure. You swallow, making yourself look in his eyes. At how they swirl with his lust, glassy with his need. “But you tell me the moment it’s too much, you promise?”

“If you wanted me to just be more vocal during our couplings, you had only to ask, darling…” he purrs, forcing his fingers loose under your palm to continue unlacing.

You grab them in yours. “I mean it,” you insist, hard in tone, commanding in just three words.

“I promise, I’ll say when, my dear,” he laughs, finally freeing himself from the confines of his breeches. You look down at him, his devious pleasure of just watching you crawling between his thighs.

You give his cock a good, long lick from base to tip, his groan of approval sending shivers between your own thighs. But you force a dispassionate hum as you wrap your lips around his twitching head. “Seems in good working order,” you whisper.

“I think it needs a little more.. attentive care, darling…” he groans, very loudly as you wrap your mouth all the way around him, taking him in deeply over your tongue. You roll your eyes, unsurprised at how he gives a moan with each suck you make, each lap of your tongue running up his length.

More vocal indeed.

You bob up and down, your lover relaxing back against his pillows, fingers toying languorously through your hair. Your own hand pumps over the rest of him that just can’t fit inside your lips. He feels so good, so hard and strong and full of life. And he seems to be getting louder… his moans increasing. “So good for me, darling…” he starts to praise. “Always so attentive and eager… and…”

You pop off him, meeting that insufferable smirk and quirked brows. “You want them to know, don’t you?”

“Me? Wanting to draw some attention to our lustful pursuits?” He casts that look at you that makes every nerve in your body flame with unbridled desire for him. “I just want them to make sure you care of me is certainly thorough,” he grins, “I’m just so… thankful… it’s hard to keep it in. After all you do… so much for me, darling…”

“Be a dear and shut up,” you purr, giving one more swirl around that ridge of his tip.

“Make me,” he growls, flashing that roguish smirk down at you, licking his lips.

You pounce, flooded with relief that he is alive... that he’s filled with all that vim and vigor and irascible, irritating sass. You’re brimming with the need to feel him, for all his taunting and flirtation, all his lust and passion, you’re just… happy he is here. To kiss, to fuck, to banter with. And you do make him shut up, your lips on his, your teeth sinking playfully into his lower lip, sucking it with a tug. You keep one hand on his cock, riding it, pumping it, keeping time with the way his tongue darts in and out of your mouth. Something cold slips under your shirt, his fingers skating into the band of your breeches.

You keep your mouth fixed on his, making certain he’s far too busy for any noises you can’t muffle. But as his fingers slip between your thighs, an unbidden cry rips from your throat.

“Who’s the loud mouth now?” He chides, sucking his teeth at you, even with your lips coupled as they are. He laughs again, his fingers catching on your clit just right as he rides up and down your seam. “Don’t cease your own task at hand on my account,” he sniggers, his cold fingers lacing around his shaft, interweaving with yours.

His breath sucks in yours. His fingers playing in you, teasing so much wetness from your folds, you wish you had just taken your pants off when you had the chance. Now it was too late. Now, you’d be sticky from your own arousal, probably covered in his cum too as you leave his tent.

The thought makes your cheeks burn but not in shame. In a searing wave of desire. Your hand works up and down, catching that thick, blunt tip with your thumb in the way that makes him groan. His kisses deepen, hungry and feral, the same he’s stoked in you with the little ways his fangs catch on the inside of your lips. He’s losing that refined control he keeps. Pushed past the calculating movements as you stroke him in your fist and lick his tongue with your own.

“Gods,” he growls, his cock so hard, his fingers inside you working at a fevered pace. “You’ll come for me too, darling. My recompense for your care.”

“Yes,” you moan, his fingers diving deep into your cunt, crooking on that sweet spot he knows well.

You clench, shaking as he pummels inside you, your own hand struggling to work on his cock with how hard he is. How thick he is. But the instant you drench his fingers and fill his palm as you climax, he follows you into that messy, groaning bliss. Hot cum drips down your arm, spattered on your sleeve, on the belly of your shirt.

He’s gasping into your mouth, his lips pulled back wide in a genuine smile. His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, stealing your own from your lips. “Well,” he pants, “am I fully recovered?”

“All vim… and vigor…” you heave, moaning as he slips his fingers from your thighs.

“Hmm,” he hums against your lips, trapping them in his own with a slight nip. “Are you sure you’re satisfied with my performance?”

You laugh, giving a little shove against his chest. “For now,” you tease, “but it seems another round of cleaning is in order.” Your hand reaches for the rag, wiping his juices from your hand, your arm. Only to hear him sucking on his own fingers.

His brow arched wryly as you turn to watch. Those two long fingers that still drip with your cum are shoved far back in his mouth, his tongue swirling over every inch. “What?” he smirks, “why waste something so delicious…”

You shake your head, lovingly irritated at his cheekiness, but already your body is already aching for more. “Perhaps,” you clear your throat, heart pounding as you watch him sliding those already drenched fingers over his tongue. “Perhaps you do need a little more inspection, just to be sure…”

“Thought so,” he sniffs, that insufferable smirk widening to show his teeth. “Best be sure… just in case…”

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Read more “Bites in the Night:”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Ascended Astarion in “The Rogue You Were:”

🩸Part 1 🩸 Part 2 🩸Part 3 🩸 Part 4🩸

Read my Drabbles

“Just a Drop…” Astarion as Tav turns

“Beg me…” A highly NSFW Ascended Astarion x reader

“Your Reward:” Ascended Astarion Dark!Fic

584 notes · View notes

ataraxiaspainting · 4 months

Text

New Dawn.

Scaramouche x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Kuni brews tea.

Word Count: 700.

inspired by this concept by @ddarker-dreams <3

*~*~*~*

“Hello? Teyvat to Kuni? I repeat, Teyvat to Kuni?” He keeps grimacing in the corner of the kitchen with his arms crossed. His scowl only deepens and he points to the crime. A bowl of sugarcubes beside your freshly brewed cup of tea.

You guess you’re a criminal now in his world.

“Teyvat to Kuni this, Teyvat to Kuni that, you know why I am mad at you, you little sh-”

“Hey, language. You know I like my drinks sweet.”

He jumped up from his wooden stool when you put a few cubes in like you had just set the table on fire, running to hide from the utterly horrifying scene.

“So?” He responds, stomping his foot down with a huff and puff. “This is an insult, [First]; an insult to me, the tea kettle, the water, the fire, the cultivators, the sellers-”

“So, sit down. You have to think about other people’s points of view sometimes.”

“No.”

“Kuni, you are acting like you are two years old. If you keep doing this I am going to make you drink it.”

“Over my dead body.” He mutters. “I’d shrivel up and die, come back as an undead, and tell the people who sold me the tea leaves that you are putting shame on their name.”

“You are so dramatic. Just because you like bitter drinks does not mean I have to too. Tell me, if this was reversed, would you be mad at me for drinking black tea and not putting a mountain of sugar in my cup?”

“N-No! Of course not.”

You smirk at his stutter.

“Correct. And why not?”

His expression sullens even more at this question. You got him; hook, line, and sinker.

“...Because… Archons, you are annoying. You can’t just swap our places like that. Argh. Sigh. Because… it’s wrong. Everyone has their own tastes. There, you happy? I said what you wanted me to.”

Your smile broadens, stretching from ear to ear.

“Very happy. Now sit down, your tea is getting cold. I know you have no care for cold things. That’s why you like me.”

In a fleeting instant, Kuni's hand instinctively shields his face, though you could've sworn you glimpsed your partner concealing a smitten grin. A noticeable crimson flush paints his cheeks, as he averts his gaze from you, searching the kitchen aimlessly. A faint rosy tint lingers on his ears, accompanied by a twinkle in his eye.

“Cute.”

“S-Shut up.” He says, his voice barely audible. “N-Not.” You can't help but smile as he stumbles over his words twice more. “Take that back this instant.”

“I don’t think I will.”

He stomps back to the table and sits down. You win.

“You’re pouting.” You yelp as his leg clashes with one of your defenseless ones. A kick, huh? Well, two can play that game.

“You’re so–Hey!”

While still hiding his face, he lets out a mocking laugh.

“Oh no you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t just do that.”

At your chuckle, he stands up once more and goes around the table to your side.

“Uh oh.”

In the blink of an eye, your back meets the ground. He is on top of you with eyes sharp enough to cut a rock in half. He’s not happy.

“Confess your sins,” He says, his face now sporting a smirk of his own. Though his blush is still there, and now visible because he cannot hide it as he pins you to the floor. “And I’ll let you drink your abomination of a beverage. Maybe.”

“Oh no,” You feign innocence as you shake your head. Kuni scoffs. Adorable. “Please, oh great and all-knowing Kunikuzushi, bless me for I have sinned by having functioning taste buds.”

One of his hands chops at your forehead, making you cry out bloody murder. “Archons, you are all bark and no bite.”

“So? The same can be said about you.”

“No.”

No?

…He does not plan to leave you here all day until you are actually sorry, does he?

#scaramouche #wanderer #wanderer genshin #kunikuzushi #scaramouche x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x you #aya abstractions #kabukimono #genshin scaramouche #kunikuzushi x reader

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sunlightmurdock · 3 months

Note

okay apocalypse dbf!jake will not let me go again so- I need the confession 🙏 I need the tear-stained first kiss after an attack, with too much adrenaline and too little care for the inappropriate age gap

EEK me either me either me either ! I’m so insane about him rn

And I feel like this particular attack would be a big one. Resources are running low and Jake won’t leave you up on that mountain by yourself, so he has no choice but to bring you with him. He has done what he can, preparing you for this.

It scares you, even when it’s just all pretend with him. He’s not as kind when he’s training you. Even as you’re crying and telling him to stop it, that you don’t want to, he’s yelling and insisting that you aim straight and breathe — that these things won’t stop no matter how much you cry, or scream, or beg.

He doesn’t mean to be cruel. It would be far more cruel to leave you unprepared, to let something happen to you.

This is a low stakes run, but you can feel that he’s unhappy having you here. It’s itching at you that maybe it’s because you couldn’t hit that target last time. He had tied a thick tree branch to a length of rope, pushed hard, and let it swing. Your first moving target. Not so much as a chip in the wood. You’ve got a pretty big knife, one that could tear muscle from bone— he won’t give you a gun.

You know he’s focused on protecting you, it’s an awful feeling to think that you may not be able to do the same for him, especially after all he has done for you so far.

It’s a gas station, back off of the road, early enough on that it hasn’t yet been completely raided. Heavy metal shutters cover the windows, but Jake makes quick work of the padlocks on the back door. The power has all gone out by now, it’s just the light from your flashlights to guide the way. Jake is two paces ahead, close enough to jump back and pull you behind him if he needs.

It’s eerily quiet. You’re stuck to him like a shadow as he surveys for danger, and ultimately decides that it’s okay.

Keep away from the doors and windows, stay where I can see you. Dejected and feeling more uselessly childish than you have in a long time, you sweep the shelves and take what you can while Jake does the same. Continually, he checks over top of the shelves to see if he can see the top of your head.

It’s going too well, it tricks you both into thinking that this is going to be easy. You’re focused, on your knees and rummaging through the medicines to take everything you could need. You don’t even notice the noise that you’re making. Jake doesn’t mind the rummaging sounds, it means he can hear where you are without needing to watch.

But then, so can the employee who took such care to fortify this place before he took swallowed back a cocktail and pills the second that he saw his home in flames and his undead mother staggering around on the news footage. He made himself comfortable before he passed. His shoes and his jacket are in the back room. His socks are almost silent against the linoleum as he staggers around the corner.

He’s tall, and skinny, and hadn’t hurt anyone in his entire life. But he’s close enough by the time you spot him that his height gives you no room to stand up. His eyes are wide and gorging, the sockets sullen and lifeless. You haven’t seen one of them so clean before, part of him still looks human. His lips are pulled back, animal, growling weakly as he reaches for you and tumbles forwards.

Jake hears the scream and he swears that he’s going to be too late. Even just across the floor of the gas station — it takes seconds for one of those things to get their jaws around you. He’s sick to his stomach, his gun pulled and the safety off, uncaring about if the sound draws attention for miles around.

He rounds the corner and spots the puddle of dark, thick blood first. His heart sinks to his stomach, until he realises that it isn’t yours. You push the corpse back, off of you. Your knife is plunged through the socket of its eye, it’s dead. You take one look at Jake, and crumble, tears pouring from your eyes as you stare at your blood soaked hands.

“Shh, I’m here. Shh, shh, shh. You’re okay,” Jake whispers, sinking to his knees and pulling you off of the floor, cradling you in his arms as he kisses the top of your head. “It’s alright, I’m right here. You’re safe, you’re okay.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t see it— it was —“

“I know, sweet girl,” Jake whispers, rubbing soothingly at your back. He presses his lips together and kisses softly at your temple. “You did so good. You did it. You’re alright now.”

Again, Jake kisses your temple softly, hugging you closer. His weight and his smell, his strong arms wrapped around you. All of it almost makes you forget where you are. Blinking back any more tears, you turn your head as he kisses at your temple again. This time, you’re looking at him as he pulls back.

Tears soaking your lashes and your cheeks, staring up at him. Jake’s throat feels thick, his mouth suddenly dry as your fingers press into his arms. You are okay, you did it. He’s here. You sit forwards first, and Jake’s met with the exact thing that he has been trying to stop himself from thinking about for these past few weeks. Your lips are just as soft as they look, and your hands pawing at his arms make him melt into you.

Before all of this, Jake tried so hard to fight it. You’re so much younger. Your father would have never approved. Now, he supposes — it doesn’t matter. What matters, is keeping you safe, and he’s so glad that you’re safe.

His hand grabs firmly at the nape of your neck as he presses closer, deepening his hold on you, kissing you firmly.

#dbf!jake #apocalypse dilf jake #dads best friend Jake #jake Seresin #jake hangman Seresin #jake Seresin x reader

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ghostboneswrites2 · 2 months

Text

From the Devil Himself

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Summary: After literally every job in Alexandria turned out to be no match for you, you get stuck on a run with Daryl. To say the least, he doesn't enjoy your company.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: profanity, Daryl hates you

You were driving faster than you ever had before and it was plain terrifying. Driving already wasn't your strong suit, having been so young at the wake of the apocalypse. You had to learn, though, in order to travel long distances.

You'd love to say you were driving away from a massive horde of the undead or an army of looters, but somehow you just pissed off a crazy redneck that had lived in seclusion since long before the dead rose. You didn't know it was his land, you thought the place was abandoned. You just needed a place to crash for a few days, but as soon as you stepped for on his porch, the psycho burst through the door with a hatchet -- a fucking hatchet -- and chased you down. You had never run so fast in your life. You dove straight into the car and sped away, but of course this man had his own truck. It was so old it could have been fossilized, but of course, because you were so lucky, the piece of shit still worked, and he was hot on your tail. How did that truck even go so fast? Didn't the older models only go like 40mph?

You should have known not to fuck around in the Appalachian mountains. Your great grandma always told you why she ran away from there as a teenager and why she'd never go back. There are just some people in the mountains you don't fuck with, and you were lucky enough to cross one.

You were so focused on your own internal monologue that you didn't even see the big ass bear in the road that was sure to total your car if you hit it. You instinctively swerved and rolled the car over. You weren't really all there when you opened your eyes. The ringing in your ears, the muffled screech of tires, the distant sounds of the flesh eating corpses. When your double vision steadied you quickly realized you were upside down. You looked around, noticing blood dripping from your head onto the ceiling of the car. You reached to unbuckle the seatbelt and braced your head for the impact when you dropped from the seat. You managed to crawl out of the shattered window, scraping yourself pretty good on the way out, but that didn't matter. You had bigger fish to fry, as they say.

The sunlight blinded you as you pushed yourself off the ground and leaned against the flipped car behind you. You almost didn't notice the truck that was parked just a few yards away. The crazy hatchet wielding hillbilly stepped out of the driver's side and started yelling at you, his thick accent so strong that you couldn't quite make it out. A cold hand grabbed your arm and you quickly pulled the knife from your belt and stabbed the rotten thing through the skull. When you looked back toward the man, he had the small axe raised, now jogging toward you.

As if some guardian angel was watching over you, an engine hummed in the distance, distracting you both for the moment. A white SUV screeched to a halt right beside his truck. Two men stepped out of the vehicle, both approaching the scene with raised guns. You immediately put your hands up, but the crazy old man ran at them instead.

"Stop!" One of the men shouted, the one who was driving. When the old man showed no signs of stopping he fired his gun and the old geezer thumped down on the pavement. The two men turned their guns to you.

"What happened here?" The driver asked.

"You with that crazy old loon?" The passenger asked.

You were still pretty disoriented. Stabbing the walker was sheer instinct at this point, but not all of their words made total sense.

"No." You said, after you took some time to process the second question. The driver began to walk toward you.

"I asked you what happened here." He repeated. He was menacingly calm, his voice low and calm, but it dared you to try anything stupid.

"He-- He was chasing me. I crashed." You stuttered. It felt funny to talk, like you had to strain your core muscles to project your voice, and still it sounded like someone else was talking to you through a thick window.

"Why?" He cocked his head sideways.

"I didn't know it was his house." Was all you could say before everything faded away and you fell into a dark oblivion.

----

When you finally woke, you were in the back seat of a car that you could tell was moving. You sat up quick, looking around frantically. You were with the two men that had showed up after your crash and shot the old man.

"You're okay. You're safe." The driver spoke, looking at you in his rearview mirror.

"Yeah, for now." You retorted. "Did you kidnap me?"

"Nah. We saved your ass back there." The passenger rasped.

"You got banged up pretty bad in that accident." The driver added. "We're gonna take you to our community, let the doctor check you out, then maybe you can stay or be sent on your way. We'll see." "So you expect me to believe to grown ass men threw me in their car and have nothing but the best intentions for me?" You scoffed.

They both looked at each other and shrugged. "Yup." They said in unison. You shook your head.

"You don't have to worry." The driver emphasized. "You're safe. Nobody's gonna hurt you."

"Heard that one before." You mumbled.

"My name's Rick," said the driver. He nodded over to the passenger. "This is Daryl."

"(Y/n)." You told them.

----

"C'mon, she's like a pretty version of you." Carol smiled, urging Daryl to take you with him on one of his solo runs. You had been at Alexandria for maybe three weeks, and since you didn't like working with others much, most of your job assignments didn't work out.

"I don't need no help." He argued, waving her off.

"But you do. This place if the farthest we've gone. Going alone is stupid." She chided.

"We don't even know her, we can't trust her. Damn sure ain't trustin' that little girl to watch my ass out there."

"She's in her late twenties." Carol corrected. "She just looks young."

"You been talkin' to her?"

"Well, yeah. She helped out at the pantry before she called Mrs. Neudermeyer a tedious old bitch when she wouldn't shut up about that stupid pasta maker." Carol chuckled.

"Nah. She ain't goin'." Daryl stood firm on his stance.

"Well, it's kinda not up to you. Deanna put her on the job. Don't be such a baby. You guys would get along."

"What're you, fuckin' cupid?" He shot back. She sighed and shook her head, still smiling at her best friend's stubbornness.

----

"So you just like... don't talk?" You asked, after literally two hours of silence on the car ride.

"Nothin' to talk about." He grunted. You huffed a big, annoyed sigh.

"At least I don't have to hear about that stupid fucking pasta maker anymore." You reasoned. You looked down at the small screen on the radio. It said 'Track 3' which meant there was a CD in there. You reached to turn the volume on but he quickly slapped your hand away. You yanked your hand to your chest, rubbing where the slap stung. You stared at him in disbelief for a moment, before narrowing your eyes. Challenge accepted.

You reached for the volume again, and he slapped your hand again. You calculated for a moment, and decided to reach back for the little knob. When he went to slap your hand, clearly growing incredibly annoyed, you pulled your hand up swiftly and slapped him first. He slammed on the breaks and shot you a blood chilling glare.

"Quit." He demanded.

"You quit." You insisted.

"Ain't got nohtin' to quit! Leave the damn music off!"

You couldn't possibly know this, but Rick always drove him insane with those horrible CDs. You rolled your eyes and leaned your elbow on the window, staring out of it, ignoring him. As soon as he started driving the car again, you had to dig your teeth into your gums to prevent the mischievous grin from forming. When the car was rolling at a decent pace, you shot your hand over to the knob quickly and gave it a good spin. The speakers started blaring some admittedly awful music.

He slammed the breaks again and ejected the CD, taking it and tossing it out the window. You stared at the empty CD slot for a moment. He said nothing as he pressed the gas again, knuckles turning white as he angrily gripped the steering wheel.

After some silence; "Guess you're not a music guy."

He sucked in a deep breath, calling upon the forces of nature to hold him back. All he wanted was to tie you up, tape up your mouth, and stick you in the trunk so he could get this run over with in peace.

"So.. No talking, no music. Any other rules I should know about?"

"Yeah, the stop pissing me off rule."

"Well if you weren't such a prude, maybe you wouldn't get so pissed off." You shrugged.

"Man, do you wanna spend the rest of this trip in the damn trunk?"

----

"Ooh, we should bring these back." You said, holding up some board games to show him.

"Ain't on the list."

"But we have plenty of room."

"I said it ain't on the list!"

"But, we have room.." You shrank back a little, but you didn't falter. Nobody told you what to do.

"I swear we shoulda left you asleep on the pavement that day." He grumbled.

"Probably." You agreed. "But, ya didn't."

"Yeah, well, when I tell 'em you ain't fit for makin' runs, and you ain't got no other job options left, then what? They're gonna kick your smartass out and you'll be on your own."

"Good. I don't like any of you, anyways." You said.

"Then just go now! Make it easy on the rest of us."

"And give you an easy way out?" You smirked. "Don't think so, redneck."

"Maybe," he growled, storming toward you and towering over you. "I'm givin' you the easy way out. 'Cause I swear you got one more snarky ass comment and your ass is walker bait."

"Hm." You hummed with a nod, considering his words. You held your hands up to mock a libra scale, moving one hand up and one hand down, as if quite literally weighing the options. "Another three hour car ride with you.. Walker bait.. Another three hour ride with you.. Walkers.."

"God!" He exclaimed. "You're like my own personal punishment from the devil himself. Well, I repent! Ya hear me, God? I repent. Just get rid of her."

"Mm. Sorry. Don't think he's listening." You said.

"Yeah, clearly. If he was you'd be dead 'n' gone by now."

"Who's to say I'm not?" You suggested. "Who's to say we aren't all dead, in our own personal circle of hell?"

"Cut me a break with the philosophy." He waved you off.

"I would cut you a break, but you wouldn't let me play music. And, you hit me. So, no."

"I'm gon' do a lot worse than hit you if you don't shut the hell up."

"Oh yeah, like what? Kill me? Put me out of my misery? A welcome service, my friend. How do they say? Dont threaten me with a good time?"

He slapped his hand around your throat, gripping it tightly, but not so that you couldn't breathe. His nostrils flared as he glared down at you. Now that he had his hand around your throat, and you were silent, he realized you were kinda pretty, just like Carol said. His eyes flickered over your face. You were calm as you stared up at him. You didn't glare, didn't even struggle. You wanted to be mad, but you weren't. It was kinda hot. His hand finally released you and he turned his back to you, running his hands down his face. He'd never felt so stressed in his life, and that said a lot. You were an absolute menace.

"Well, you're a tease." You sighed, nonchalantly throwing your bag over your shoulder, leaning your weight onto one leg more than the other. "I got my half of the list. You?"

He threw his head back with frustration. How could you just act like nothing was wrong? He huffed and picked up his duffle bag.

"Yeah. Let's go."

"Okay." You chirped, picking up the stack of board games again as you headed for the door. He looked down at them.

"I told you those weren't on the list." He grumbled.

You sighed. "I know."

"So leave 'em."

"What's the problem? We have roo--"

He smacked the boxes out of your hand, some falling open and littering the small pieces all over the floor of the dim store. You stared down at them as he walked out of the exit.

#daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl x female reader

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tumbling-darkling · 2 years

Text

I’ve been seeing many Danny Phantom and Justice League Crossover AU’s, and specially ones where different members of the League adopt Danny. And so I present to you:

Battle for Parental Rights to Danny.

The thing we all love about Danny is that he fits so easily in so many stories, there are endless potential interactions regarding all the Leaguers and being guardians of the undead boy (the fan favs of course being Batman or John Constantine.) So why not all of them at once.

Consider Danny just accidentally meeting each League member separately. And after each interaction they all have the same thought of: I am going to parent the hell out of that kid.

They don’t wanna rush anything and wait until the next big meeting to mention this possible mentorship.

Cue the Leaguers all sitting around a table, one of them mentions mentoring an undead teen, and then there’s confusion.

‘Wait… I was just going to say that…’

‘Is this the same teen?’

‘Did we all meet him?’

There’s suspicious glares, and all hell breaks loose when one of them screams: ‘I saw him first!’ And fucking ditches. It’s a race, hero tripping up other heroes, sabotage, all to get to Amity first and claim the child. There are only a few left behind (like Shazam. Who is confused like: wait is the person they were talking about my mentor?? Which is entirely different can of worms)

Wonder Woman is slamming Superman into a mountain, Batman is activating his secret evil hero contingency plans, Flash is just running like hell, Martian Manhunter is betting on his alien ship, absolute chaos.

They all reach Amity Park around the same time and?

Danny is in the ghost zone.

The chase continues.

More shenanigans.

Name calling is screamed across the zone.

The find Danny with… three more parental figures?? What??

There’s demand for battle.

Eventually Danny figured out what is happening and is like: dude I can have like 20 parents. Y’all can share.

But sharing just activated more insane competitions.

“I taught him how to break a man’s back with his pinkie.”

“I taught him diplomacy!”

“I gave him a tour of mars.”

“Well I let him touch a dead body!”

There’s no end to it all.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #phantom #danny #fenton #ghost #au #crossover #dc #justice league

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bunnystalker · 5 months

Text

rotted

a month after the s.t.a.r.s incident and wesker's timely disappearance leaves you by yourself on the fateful day of the raccoon city incident.

cw; graphic depictions of gore and eating flesh, zombies (obviously), body horror, gun violence (referenced and actual), major character death (you're already dead).

a/n; you're married to wesker, this follows the canon timeline.

october 1st, 1998. the day of the sterilization of raccoon city. your last day alive.

alive as can be, that is.

your flesh rots off your body. the t-virus runs rampant in your veins, leaving you brainless and very, very contagious. your bite is a mark of death on the living. and yet as fast as they run, you catch up.

you rip flesh from bone, unable to register the screams of the living. nothing in your body functions properly anymore.

and it's all his fault. your beloved's fault. he released the virus in the arklay mountains, but he had no clue you'd be among the first to get infected. when discovered, you got locked in your apartment with the doors and windows boarded up.

he finds out too late- a last minute trip to raccoon city to get you out before they sterilize the entirety of arklay county. you're already dead. he's been so irresponsible with you. you lie on your side on the cold linoleum floor of your kitchen, blood draining from you to form a large dark puddle.

minutes. he has minutes with your corpse before you begin to twitch and convulse with the false hope of life. he doesn't know what to do. he can't just put you down- that's not right. you're not some animal- some thing to discard like trash. he can't-

your corpse emits a low groan. your irises are drained of all color as you sit up, bullet holes in your chest from someone trying to defend themself. their corpse lies not far from yours, partially eaten. blood slathered on your lips from their wounds, their gun still in their hand.

"dove," he starts, voice quiet and unwavering. nothing feels quite real for albert in the moment. the smell of death is everywhere, the theme itself overwhelming in your tiny apartment. he looks around your ruined apartment- blood on the walls, obvious signs of struggle that came from you, then your victim.

his sense of urgency returns. he has to leave unless he wants to die here, alongside you- which he only considers for a moment. he rushes to your room, relieved to find it mostly intact and finds a tote bag you kept around, though it mostly went unused. an afterthought, like you were. he grabs your perfume, the bottle half empty and somewhat old, and places it in the tote bag amongst other things that might contain traces of your dna- your hairbrush, your toothbrush, even dirty clothes from your hamper. he's trying to get keepsakes, to contain his memories of you in items you once owned. the last item he takes from your room is a framed photo of you two together.

he doesn't bother using the front entrance. you've likely gotten up and started to wander around, hungry for flesh to feed on, and he refuses to be a snack for the undead even if it is you. as he climbs onto the fire escape, ripping the wooden boards out of the way, your corpse pushes the door to your room open.

"a…l…" you groan. he can't take this. seeing you mangled and rotted, your lips practically melting off of your face. reluctantly, he takes out his gun and checks the chamber. he turns the safety off and cocks the gun before shooting you squarely in the head, grey matter splatting on the hallway wall behind you. you stumble back and go stiff when you really, actually die.

your little life, gone. the fires of the city burn hot and albert really, really doesn't want to leave you here again. how could he do that to you the first time? you were supposed to be the love of his life. he takes a final glance around your room from the fire escape, your wedding band glimmering on the nightstand.

he curses himself as he hurries back inside to grab it, sparing you another wistful glance as he slips it in his pocket and finally leaves your apartment for good.

luckily for him, he makes it out before the sterilization bomb ever hits. he has the next eleven years planned out perfectly in his mind and the absence of you has already started to wear at him.

he goes to rockfort island for the t-veronica virus and brings your things with him. everywhere he goes, so does your stuff. truthfully, before running into chris and claire, he had been moping. grieving. he slept with a shirt of yours pressed to his nose, your wedding ring on a chain around his neck. he keeps your toothbrush beside his. to say he missed you, and still does, is an understatement.

he should have died with you.

#angst #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction #bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡#bunny's fics ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#albert wesker angst #albert wesker fanfic #body horror tw #gun tw #writing #resident evil

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roadkill-raccoons · 1 year

Note

just found out about your peachblood au but can't quite figure out what the story is or what it's about. it looks like some kind of apocalypse AU, but other than that I don't know anything ;-;

By the way, your art is beautiful!

AHH im sorry 😭, im not good at writing down my thoughts into ways that are understandable

I wouldnt say theres much of a story other than the beginning.

This au is heavily inspired by adventure time, a little bit of steven universe, the last of us and some story me and a friend where making but completely forgot about, plus the weird shit that goes on in a my dreams.

Yes its an apocalyptic story, i made it as a massive excuse to draw some weird ass shit when i felt like it.

It mainly starts with Mk traveling alone just trying to live and eventually find peachy (that pink monkey) scrambling around in a peaches box in a old corner store.

Mk and and the monkey travel for a bit before they run into macaque and bai he, where macaque decides to fuck with Mk nearly getting him and peachy killed multiple times.

After they escape macaque they run into a forest that they stay in for a couple weeks, going deeper into the forest where they find monkey kings staff, laid in front of an empty grave for the undead monkey, the six eared macaroni macaque.

Mk did not remember who the monkey king was since he spent most of his life trying to live after tang and pigsy passed, so despite being in a very magical looking place he takes the staff as a form of protection, somehow assuming its just a regular staff that someone lost, he does learn a bit from a comic he found.

Mk and peachy travel for couple months in different cities where each were filled with strange creatures (i have so many failed sketches for these creatures) most of these creature use to be people or animals that were affected by a man made virus that a demon (lbd) took advantage of.

Mk and peachy eventually find boat while running from something and use to it to escape, where they float around in the ocean surviving on backpack food and fish for about a month before washing up on flower fruit mountain, yeah mk somehow slept through sailing through those big ole fiery mountains, peachy didn’t tho.

Once mk woke up he saw the villages at the top of the mountains and wanted to go up the tallest one to ask for help.

He finds monkey kings little hut but not monkey king, since it was empty he fell asleep, where he woke up to wukong poking at him non stop

After that mk spends a month learning who wukong really is and what he did and can do (he learns through the monkey villagers, not wukong hes basically become a lazy dad after being alone for so long) after a few attempts wukong agrees to travel with mk for a while. Peachy didnt totally try to fist fight three baby monkeys

That where the main story ends and rest is just mk and wukong doing whatever. Not much of a story afterwards since then its just kinda open for interpretation, dilly little ideas n shit

Hopefully this is all understandable, im used to describing shit in very strange ways. I actually also keep forgetting about it too :,3

If none of this makes sense you can also go thru the #peachblood au tag

And lastly 🥺🥺thnk you!!!!

#peachblood au #god i suck at english despite it being my first and only language

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anonymouscomrade · 1 year

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so with the new version of Dwarf Fortress out on Steam, lots of people are getting into it for the first time. i still don't have this new version (yet) but here's some advice going off my playing the older versions on and off for like the last thirteen years. i'm not going to get into the extreme basics as there are plenty of full guides about that, this is just some personal advice from me:

especially for your first embark, pick a mundane-ass location with plenty of vegetation and trees and normal weather. don't fuck around with deserts or evil or glaciers or savage lands if you don't know what you're doing, you'll get killed by lack of water/the undead/the cold and absolutely nothing growing/giant wild animals, respectively. good-aligned regions are usually okay, if you want at least a little bit of the fantastic in your general vicinity. use the site finder to find a place with trees, vegetation, a river/stream/some other source of running water but NO AQUIFER, and multiple deep and shallow metals. personally my favorite embarks are the borders of forests and mountains, that way you have plenty of shit to mine AND plants to eat/brew, trees to chop down and make stuff with, etc. aquifers CAN be beneficial IF you know what you're doing (essentially they're a source of infinite fresh water if you can harness them, unless you're too close to the ocean and you get a saltwater aquifer, which sucks) but they can just as easily flood your entire fortress if you fuck up in even the slightest. i've been playing this game for over a decade and even i don't know what the fuck to do with aquifers so don't ask me

i personally prefer embarks with shallow soil. soil's super-easy to farm in (you CAN farm on stone but you have to have a way to irrigate it, and that can be a pain in the ass) but IMO most of your dwarves' living and working spaces should be carved out of stone, because soil can't be smoothed and therefore can't be engraved, and dwarves like moving around in smoothed areas and seeing high-quality engravings

your first priority when starting a fort is digging out a shelter for your dwarves. then make spaces for your first few workshops (stoneworking, carpenter, mechanic, and such) so you can get doors installed on your front entrance, and then immediately get your farms up and running. all dwarven crops can be grown indoors and plump helmets are a great choice of staple crop for literally any settlement since they can be eaten, cooked, OR brewed into dwarven wine. outdoor plants have to be grown on outdoor farm plots but they're still great for adding a little variety to your booze stocks and dwarves love that. take note of what kind of trees grow around your fortress, lots of them grow stuff that can be cooked (like walnuts or almonds) or pressed for oil (like olives) or brewed (almost any fruit tree) and you might not want to cut down those apple and pear trees right next to your fort's entrance when you can use them to make cider

NEVER BUILD ANYTHING OUT OF RAW STONE, WOOD, OR METAL. one raw stone can be used to build a single tile of wall or floor, a workshop, counts as one material for a bridge, etc AND is heavy as fuck, slowing down any dwarf carrying it to where it needs to go. FUCK THAT, have your masons cut that shit into BLOCKS. a raw stone will get you anywhere from 1-4 blocks, EACH of which can be used to make anything i mentioned earlier, AND won't weigh down your haulers or builders when they're carrying it. wood and metal can be cut into blocks too, if you need to make walls or floors or what have you out of those. HOWEVER, remember that blocks CAN'T be used in ANY crafting (that includes wooden blocks for burning in forges, making charcoal, etc), so once it's been cut into blocks, it's blocks FOREVER. you're gonna have a shitton of stone around almost any fort so making rock blocks is a good way to train new masons, but i'd only make wood or metal blocks if i needed those specifically

make some mugs early on, your dwarves like drinking out of them more than sticking their heads under the spigot. don't worry about individual bedrooms early on, you can absolutely get away with just sticking a bunch of beds in a big room at the beginning of your fort and digging out rooms later when you're more stable. don't build most workshops out in the open, dig out a room for each one and put in doors you can lock for each one. you'll thank me the first time one of your dwarves goes berserk after failing a strange mood and you can just lock them in there instead of letting them rampage around and beating your other dwarves to death

rock crafts will probably be your main trade good early on. most forts will have stone just laying around, absolutely fucking everywhere, so you might as well put it to use by carving little trinkets out of it and trading it for whatever the caravans bring

break into the caverns ASAP and then IMMEDIATELY seal that shit up. the easiest way to do this is digging an up/down stairway until the game lets you know you've found a cavern, then put a hatch cover on the stairs going immediately down into the cavern and lock it. you're not going to be able to handle hostile cavern creatures early on, but breaking into the caverns releases CAVE MOSS SPORES so ANY underground soil tile can start naturally growing moss or fungus. this is functionally identical to grass, so this means you'll be able to pasture your animals INSIDE, keeping them safe from any wild predators that might come along like wolverines or bears as well as keeping goblin raiding parties from using them for target practice

get a militia going sooner rather than later. a good array of traps and a locked door might keep the first couple bands of goblin invaders away, but larger armies of them are more likely to get through traps and keep you from sending your dwarves outdoors until they get bored and leave. were-beasts are not deterred by either, being capable of avoiding traps AND smashing down doors, and the bad guys only get tougher from there. check your migrants' skills, they always arrive as civilians so the guy with a title of "peasant" who isn't good at ANY labor might actually be pretty skilled with a mace. dwarves with only more esoteric skills like cheesemakers or gem setters are also good candidates for bolstering your military, once they get some training under their belt

IN GENERAL, for military purposes: wood/bone/leather <<<<<<<<<<<<<< silver <<<<<<<<<< copper < bronze < iron < steel < [REDACTED]. some exceptions: silver absolutely sucks for everything EXCEPT blunt weapons, where it suddenly becomes the best material in the game; pure copper is better than bronze for blunt weapons but bronze is better for edged weapons and far better for armor; bronze is only a hair below iron in terms of general military use. your greenest recruits who aren't fit for battle yet might actually benefit from wearing leather armor while they're training so it weighs them down less (at least until they get a few ranks of Armor User), but absolutely all of your actual fighters should be wearing metal helmets. [REDACTED] is the opposite of silver, it's the best metal in the game EXCEPT for blunt weapons which it absolutely sucks ass at. making steel is labor-intensive and time-consuming and requires specific materials and also kind of overkill since only dwarves can make it, but it's by far the best general-purpose military-grade metal you're going to possibly get reasonable quantities of

save metallic crossbow bolts for fights. wooden and bone bolts can't get through most armor but since wild animals aren't known for wearing armor, if you have hunters they will take prey down just fine without metal bolts. likewise, your marksmen should be training with wooden and bone bolts so they're not wasting metal ones on target dummies. yeah this means you'll need to constantly crank out wooden and bone bolts, pretty much

might add to these later if i think of anything else

#dwarf fortress

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gates-of-avalon-if · 2 years

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Gates of Avalon

(Arthurian legends meet Witcher.)

The Gates of Avalon is a wip interactive fiction following Lancelot!MC, the companion of Prince Arthur and his best knight.

The lands are dying under King Uther’s iron rule and it seems war with the north is inevitable. Yet there's another, more pressing matter. Something has gone terribly wrong at the sacred isle of Avalon. There’re whispers of whole villages gone, of ghouls running freely in their streets. Talks of trolls that have gotten bolder and started to leave mountains, of harpies moving their nests and attacking settlements.

Blinded with greed, the King decides battling a foreign ruler is more important than protecting his own people and lands. A royal decree is issued. Under the punishment of death, no knight is allowed to leave Camelot.

Prince Arthur doesn’t care. He and a group of knights leave for Avalon before dawn.

FEATURES:

play as Lancelot!MC, a legendary knight of the Round table

customize your Lancelot - gender, appearance, personality,...

meet the future knights and other characters as a child and bond with them, grow and train together

take care of Galahad, an orphaned boy in need of saving and define your relationship with him

fall in love with one (or maybe more?) of the ROs or play purely platonic route

journey to Avalon through lands full of magic and dangerous creatures with a group of rag-tag knights

become a living legend, shape the fate of the Pendragon lands and those around you

tame a dragon?

THE ROS

Prince Arthur Pendragon (he/him): the Prince of Camelot and the leader of the Knights of the Round table, Arthur is a walking contradiction. He’s a brilliant stategist and warrior, able to think quickly on his feet, but fights with a snarl on his face and eyes narrowed into slits. He’s quick to anger, almost always slightly frowning and is incredibly arrogant. Yet he values his friends and people highly, ready to die for any of them in a blink of an eye. He has...a complicated relationship with his father, King Uther. One that made him treat any of his failures as something unacceptable.

Knight Gawaine (M/F): one of the knights of the Round Table and one of your oldest friends, Gawaine is warm, friendly and likes to crack jokes. They’re liked by all, yet fight like they still have something to prove. You don’t know much about their life before they arrived to Camelot, no one does. They’re always quick to deflect with a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach their eyes. Gawaine is most proficient with double daggers and throwing knives and they’re the shortest of the knights.

Princess Morgaine le Fay (she/they) - The princess of Camelot and half-sister to Arthur Pendragon, Morgaine has a tongue that’s too sharp for her own good and attitude that makes more enemies than friends. They detest fighting with weapons and instead cultivate their powerful magical abilites, some of which might be a bit questionable...

Gwynnever (Gwyn) (F/M) - loud, excited and barefoot. Those were some of your first impressions when you first met Gwyn in the middle of the woods during your quest. Bluntly honest and a bit naive, Gwynnever is a forest fae that loves to sing and specialises in healing magic, which also does enormous damage to the undead. Fun.

Poly route: Arthur/Gawaine, Arthur/Gwyn, Morgaine/Gwyn

DEMO

OTHER LINKS

ROs' appearances Ro’s ages + heights chart

#interactive fiction #arthurian fantasy #arthurian knights #WIP #interactive fiction wip #fantasy interactive fiction #choice script

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naddpod-encounter-tourney · 5 months

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Option 1:

Enemy: High King Durretar, Ancient Blue Dragon of the Sapphire Scale

Episode: C3 E27: King of Dragons

Time: 48:48-2:11:35 (battle stops at 2:03:55 but initiative ends at the later time)

Finish: Princess Shiverblight

Notes: On 3, regicide! The level 8 party decides to fight an ancient dragon on their own when only one of them manages to long rest beforehand. The mechanics of this encounter include dragon riding and are so goddam cool. It's also incredibly visual and one of Murph's best uses of lair actions to date.

Propaganda: (anonymous) CMON ITS KING OF DRAGONS. SO SICK. genuinely from the bottom of my heart the most exciting, interesting, and cool encounter I've ever seen. Rad as hell both mechanically and plot wise. SHIVERBLIGHT SWEEP!!

Option 2:

Enemy: Undead Dragon, Wilhelm Bronzebeard, Pale Prince, Akarot, Rust Bronzebeard

Episodes: C1 E45: Kingshammer

Time: (ads) 38:36 - 1:45:58 (but don't stop there. fr)

Finish: Bev (Wilhelm* (*Technically killed by gravity but Bev did trip with him on his back), Dragon), Hardwon (Rust* (*given the option of catching him, refused), Pale Prince)

Notes: Hardwon faces his childhood bullies in the snow. Wilhelm casts Earthquake and turns things into a fall/chase encounter as everyone races for the Kingshammer. Moonshine jumps down immediately to play defense. Bev tries to kill Akarot, who just leaves, and then has to keep saving everyone. He ends up being the only one with decent HP at the end, and this fight is so close to a TPK. Hardwon gets the Kingshammer. Paw Paw has to do CPR on Balnor.

Propaganda: (anonymous) The fact that Murph was able to design this sheer number of factors and have it be balanced perfectly as a dire, near-deadly, but winnable fight, is so impressive. And those factors were so creative. There was the kingshammer falling 2d100 every round, and players able to run or fall to get to it, a complicated goal that invited gambling, sacrifice, and creative use of spells. There was major bad guy Akarot in his prime body, the pale prince, and a fucking white dragon. There was Wilhelm Bronzebeard and his shit nephew-son who wouldn’t pick a side. There was Toma and her wolf slowly steadily running down the mountain in the background lol. There was escalation that made the battle start before Wilhelm’s avalanche, navigated flexibly by Murph. He was not fucking around, throwing Bev’s amulet into the snow, and keeping track of so many enemies and their conflicting motivations as well as their mechanics. The imagery in my mind of the chaotic tumbling snow is so real, and the scene of the last conscious pc exchanging blows with a dragon was so fucking epic. And the terror at the end of genuinely not knowing whether they were going to have won the battle only to freeze to death. Such a thick sode, a chunky battle, an incredible narrative, such a cool encounter for an arc finale.

#not another dnd podcast #naddpod #bahumia #ba2mia #naddpod encounter tournament #round 4

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maharlika · 1 month

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petrichor

a little ficlet for @elysiicns for the prompts "petrichor and tadpoled!caz." this ficlet features tadpoled spawn!caz (i.e. slave era caz), halsin/cazador, and some implied cazador/vellioth

Halsin knows what Cazador is the moment he sees him. The undead have a certain smell about them—the faint, cloyingly sweet scent of overripe fruit, right above the edge of rotting. It is this same sweetness Halsin smells when he first kisses him, in the woods, with his own blood still fresh on Cazador’s tongue.

The kiss is barely a press of their lips together, but Cazador pulls away as if scalded, his red eyes wide and bright. He brings a trembling hand to his mouth and presses his fingers to his lips.

“You kissed me,” he whispers, then looks around furtively, as if someone will hear, but the camp remains silent. It is a parched summer’s day, and everything is so still it is as if the air has been sucked out of the world. Their companions have taken refuge in their tents while Halsin has allowed Cazador to feed from him under the shade of a large beech tree in an attempt to find a cool breeze.

“Should I not have?” Halsin asks. “If so, I apologize—”

“No!” Cazador says, too loud and too sudden. He lowers his head and speaks quickly, like he is forcing the words out before they are swallowed by the darkness. “It is only—no one has kissed me but my master. I have never—he is the only one who—”

Halsin sees his throat working, bobbing. Watches as he screws his hands into the material of his trousers, fingers working, knuckles white.

“I know what it is like,” Halsin says softly, “to belong so wholly to someone. To believe that you will always be theirs.”

Cazador’s eyes squeeze shut and he nods. “Even though things have changed. Even though I can walk in the sun now, stand in running water, enter houses without invitation…to allow someone else to touch me seems…wrong. I’m sorry.”

“He no longer owns you.”

Cazador shrugs, the gesture helpless. “But part of me still wants him to. I do not know whether it is larger than the part of me that yearns for freedom.”

Halsin nods, a solemn thing. “There is a comfort in being owned. It is difficult, I know, to not understand your place in the world.”

“He is all I have known for so very, very long,” Cazador murmurs.

“He does not need to be,” Halsin says. “Not anymore.”

Again, Cazador only shrugs. Halsin can see his expression closing off, his shoulders almost up to his drooping ears as he hunches in on himself. He’s a tall elf, almost as tall as Halsin, but the way he carries himself makes him look so small.

“Would you walk with me, Cazador?”

“You know that I love walking,” Cazador sighs. “How many mountains have we crested at this point? How many miles have my poor feet trod? I’m not built for this life—my master preferred for me to stay in his bed, you know.”

“And here I am, making you suffer,” Halsin replied. “But worry not, little one. It is a short walk.”

“You’re lucky I enjoy your company, druid,” Cazador grumbles.

“At least,” Halsin says brightly, “it is not raining.”

–

Of course, rain starts as soon as they have made good headway into the forest. The wind gusts through the leaves, which sigh as if in relief. Halsin quickly murmurs a Control Water spell, and beckons Cazador closer.

“Wouldn’t want you to get wet,” Halsin says, when Cazador is tucked against him, protected from the rain.

“First the walking, now the rain,” Cazador grouses. He primly tucks a wet strand of hair behind his ear.

Halsin huffs out a laugh.

Cazador reaches out, past the boundaries of Halsin’s spell, and lets water trickle down his fingers. Then he shakes his hand and tucks it back between their bodies.

“You should teach me this spell,” he says. He is voracious for these kinds of things, Halsin has noticed. New spells, new stories. After a life cloistered in his master’s dark palace, he tends towards knowledge as a plant tends towards the sun.

“Gladly,” Halsin says. He leads Cazador to sit on a fallen log, and for once Cazador does not complain about wasting time, or getting his clothes dirty, fastidiousness lost, replaced by the wonder in his face as the rain pours around them, feeding life.

“Is there a lesson to be had here?” Cazador asks eventually. “Something about nature, and how everything finds its place?”

“If that is what you wish,” Halsin says. “Truth be told, I only wanted to spend some time with you.”

If Cazador could blush, Halsin thinks he’d be beet-red by now. But there are other tells: the way his mouth parts and his ears twitch, the way he looks down and away. Thinking of his master again, perhaps.

“I do not know exactly what my place is, or who I am meant to be, or what I am without my master,” Cazador says, looking down at his hands. “But I am quite certain of one thing.”

“Oh?” Halsin asks. “And what is that?”

“That I would very much like for you to kiss me again.”

When Halsin inhales, he takes within him the earthy smell of well-watered soil and the sweetness of Cazador’s breath in his mouth.

#halcaz #cazador szarr #halsin #bg3 #rai writes

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chemdisaster · 1 year

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a fanfic about post-tcd scar, how he deals with the life series and how he heals

ao3

Scar eventually gets used to the zombies. Sure, at first it's awful, with him having panic attacks every time he so much as thinks of a zombie and murdering them violently every time he comes across them. But by around Season 6 of Hermitcraft, he's mostly fine with them, only occasionally flinching or feeling the familiar seize of panic when he's had a bad day or if he sees them in certain lighting.

The loneliness, though...that stays. The horrible isolation, the constantly being alone with nothing but the sound of groans and gunfire and your own thoughts. It made him go mad to the point of suicide when he was back there and it made him touch starved and petrified of being alone after he escaped. No zombie bite or broken leg can ever compare to the absolute agony of being truly alone, of silence.

He's afraid of being alone so he makes sure to surround himself with people. He's afraid of silence so he turns his first diamonds into jukeboxes and talks to himself whenever there's no one around to fill the air with noise. It takes him months to be comfortable sleeping alone and years before he can base somewhere where there isn't someone else's build within viewing distance. He makes a habit of leaving something small to make noise wherever he sleeps, be it a dripping tap or a ticking clock or the barely noticeable buzz of redstone. It gets easier when he finds Jellie in season 6 but he still feels the tendrils of loneliness begin to squeeze and cut his heart whenever he goes more than a day without seeing anyone.

So when Last Life happens...it's like being back there again. And he tries his best to combat it like he always does in Hermitcraft, but it never works and they always leave him to suffer on his mountain. Alone. In silence. And he cannot handle it. And it makes him go mad just like it did the first time, makes him suicidal which shows as he becomes more and more reckless with his lives, eventually outright threatening to kill himself if they don't give his enchanter, the only thing that will push the loneliness away, back. Because he'd rather die than be alone. But here in this treacherous world, even death isn't enough.

He never quite recovers after Last Life, but meeting his friends again without the haze of bloodlust, hearing them apologise for the way things ended up there...it helps, somewhat. He learns to push away the loneliness lest it consume him during the day and he learns to hide the nightmares and panic attacks and helpless crying at night. It gets easier eventually and he thinks he might be healing.

Then Double Life rolls around and, well. He never thought it was possible to be surrounded by people in the closest way, yet still feel as miserable and alone as he was back there. He never thought being unwanted would hurt as much as never having anyone to want him in the first place. When he and Grian are running to the edge of the world and desperately gripping each other's hands, the only ones wholly untainted by the bloodlust, the only green names, it almost feels like being hunted again, like being the only human in a world inhabited by the undead.

He falls into the zombie pit and screams as they claw at his body and tear it apart bit by bit and thinks oh no why didn't I bring my rifle why didn't I stock up on morphine why is this happening why why why and screams as he wakes up in Pearl's base. He has his worst panic attack in years there and pretends the Divorce Quartet didn't hear him screaming when he emerges and pretends that his body isn't shaking and his face isn't streaked with tears when he reaches his site of death. He doesn't look in the pit until all the zombies have been eradicated and feels a vindictive pleasure when Grian smashes the spawner into a million tiny pieces.

It's almost a relief when he gets blown up not long after. Because if he's feeling the phantom pain of being burnt and torn apart limb from limb in seconds then he can't feel slimy skin and claws, and if his ears are ringing from explosives then they can't hear growls and gurgles and his own screaming. It's less of a relief when he dies again, because he dies alone and in complete silence, a silence that he can still hear when he respawns in his tree, his tree that hasn't been lived in in weeks, that now bears the echoes of grunts and screams in its roots.

Scar loses it after that. He doesn't get out of bed for nearly two weeks, shivering under his blankets as his mind tortures him by replaying every awful moment on repeat. He has nightmares and wakes up and still sees the nightmare on the back of his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. He's alone and the lowest he's ever been and he needs to do something, needs to talk to someone, to hear and see, but he can't get out of bed because he's terrified of what will happen to him outside of it if this is what is happening right now.

Cub comes over within a few days of Scar being back and tries to help, but despite knowing Scar's history, he understands that whatever set him back happened in the death games, and that he can't truly help him if he doesn't know what broke him. So he calls Grian. And Grian, despite dealing with his own guilt over their death and having treated Scar the way he did the entire game, despite thinking that Scar doesn't want to talk to him after he didn't respond to any of Grian's messages, still comes running as soon as Cub tells him that something's wrong with Scar.

He finds Scar curled up in bed and rubs his upper arm and feels the way Scar's entire body stiffens under his touch. He calls Scar's name and Scar presses Grian's hand against his cheek and breaks. And Grian asks what's wrong, but Scar just pulls him down to the bed and wraps his entire body around him and sobs into his ear, "Just speak. Please. Don't leave me alone."

And Grian speaks, about everything and nothing, about his base plans and his own past and how fucking guilty he feels for everything he's done to Scar in every one of these games.

And Scar tells him, in between shaky inhales and broken weeping, what happened to him all those years ago and how he never recovered and how he's most afraid of being left alone and please Grian never leave me alone. And Grian squeezes Scar until he's touching almost every part of his body and whispers into his ear, "I'm never leaving you alone, Scar. Never again."

And Scar remembers how Cub held him the same way when he found out, how he uttered those same words, how he swore on the vex that they were true.

And Scar starts to believe them.

@stiffyck

#gtws #gtwscar #goodtimeswithscar #the crafting dead scar #tw suicide #worddisaster #trafficfic

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vampireeddie · 11 months

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Steddie Week - Day 1: Hunger

Prompt by @steddie-week

After heading into the upside down to look for Eddie’s body, Steve gets captured by a monster hungry for blood in the form of his undead friend. He tries to get through to him to save his own skin - and maybe Eddie’s too.

Feral!Eddie meets fluff meets blood drinking, enjoy. Mild violence

Steve struggled and fought, but it was no use. He was being dragged backwards through the upside down, and he had no idea by what. He’d agreed to look for Eddie’s body, and when he was just about to give up, something had wrapped its arms around him, and begun dragging him through the upside down, his arms pinned to his sides. He grunted and fought, but whatever held him was much stronger than Steve.

He yanked and pulled at the arms wrapped around him, but every time he did, the creature growled a warning in his ear, sending chills of fear down his spine.

The arms wrapped around him were black and leathery, torn up and damaged with pink scars underneath. He racked his brain for what this might be, but came up empty. The only bipedal monster they’d run into was the demogorgon, and this creature wasn’t nearly big enough to be that. Was it some sort of inbetween, some adult demodog not yet a demogorgon? It’s growl didn’t sound like the demogorgons, more like a wolf or a mountain lion.

Either way, if Steve couldn’t get away, he had a feeling he’d never get home. His vantage point wasn’t optimal either - he was being dragged backwards through an unfamiliar space, and couldn’t keep track of where they were going. He was at least grateful he wasn’t being dragged along the rough ground, like the last time he was here.

He watched as a doorframe moved around him, and a door was slammed behind. He grabbed for it desperately, but his reach was limited. It looked like they were in some kind of shed.

Once they got to the middle of the room, Steve was thrown to the ground on his stomach, the wind knocked out of him.

He scrambled to his hands and knees, his fight reaction pumping his heart in his ears. He raised his head, and finally got a good look at the monster.

“…What the hell?”

The monster, also on its hands and knees, was humanoid. The ‘skin’ Steve had seen on its arms wasn’t actually skin at all, but a torn and tattered black jacket. The skin of the monster was a sickly pale-gray color, its eyes entirely blood red and glaring as it snarled, bearing its teeth. It was human in shape, but its - his? - teeth were all long, and sharp. He had long brown hair and pointed ears that stuck through it, and on the tips of his fingers were sharp black claws. His face and chest were covered in scars, his shirt tattered and torn.

For a moment, his features looked strangely familiar. But it couldn’t be.

Steve tried to get to his feet, but the moment he did, the monster was on him. It knocked him back to the ground, grabbing his wrists and growling out at him as he writhed underneath him, trying to kick him off. It was no use. The claws dug into his wrists as he struggled, making him cry out in pain.

“No!” Steve cried out. The creature looked vaguely human, maybe it could understand him. “Let me go!”

The monster glared down at him, growling loud, it’s sharp ears pointed back.

That was when Steve got a better look at the torn up shirt. It was beaten and stained, but Steve could barely make out a red, demonic face, and a few scattered letters that used to form a familiar club name.

Before Steve could get his thoughts together, the monster dipped his head down, biting his teeth deep into Steve’s throat.

“STOP! EDDIE!”

The monster froze, his teeth still embedded in Steve’s flesh, the pain bringing immediate tears to his eyes.

“Eddie please, please let me go,” he begged.

For a few moments, there was silence. Steve stared up at the ceiling, chest heaving with Eddie’s weight pressed onto his body.

After what felt like an eternity, the monster’s teeth released Steve, making him cry out. He lifted his head, staring down at Steve with a mix of confusion and anger, blood running down his cheeks and dripping onto Steve’s shirt.

Steve noticed his eyes, which had previously been red, were now entirely black.

Steve grimaced. “Can you understand me?”

The monster’s eyes were completely blank. Steve tried to squirm, wondering if he might release him, but the monster growled in response, bearing his teeth.

“Okay, okay, sorry. That’s a no.” Steve swallowed nervously. “But… you know that name? Eddie?”

The monster blinked, seeming to register the word. Steve reminded himself to breathe. “That’s you. Eddie. That’s your name.” Eddie tilted his head, like the way a dog would when you use words like ‘walk’ or ‘treat.’ Only Eddie’s new form was much more dangerous than a dog.

“Yeah, Eddie. You know that one.” Steve said as more blood dripped down onto his shirt. The monster seemed to notice, and licked his face. “Eww, god,” Steve said, closing his eyes tight. “Look, you know me.” The monsters’ grip didn’t lessen. “My name is Steve. I’m your friend. Do you know ‘friend’?”

The monster stared at him for a long time.

“Okay, maybe not,” Steve breathed. “…You know Dustin?”

Eddie blinked, suddenly giving Steve a sad look.

“Yeah, you remember Dustin? Right?”

Eddie stared at him.

“Dustin, he’s Eddie’s friend,” Steve said. “A- and Steve, Steve is Dustin’s friend.” He swallowed nervously. “And… Steve is Eddie’s friend too.”

Steve tried to shift his legs, but the monster growled again. “OKAY, okay,” Steve breathed. “Look, I’m not gonna hurt you, Eddie. I promise.”

The monster stared at him for a long time. Steve suspected he had no understanding of the sentences Steve was stringing together, and wondered if he was getting through to him at all. Then slowly, he released Steve’s bloodied wrists, crawling back until he was sitting at Steve’s feet, staring at him.

Steve sat up slowly, holding his injured wrists. He stared at Eddie’s black eyes as he caught his breath. “…thank you.”

Steve let out a long breath. “I can’t believe you’re alive. What happened to you??”

Eddie’s gaze was totally blank.

Steve rubbed his eyes. “Look, I gotta go home. I can talk to Dustin, we… we can make a plan. We can find a way to help you. Okay? Are you… understanding anything I’m saying??”

Still a blank, black stare.

Steve got to his feet, and took a step to his left. He had to get around Eddie and to the door.

Suddenly Eddie began growling again, crawling towards him, glaring fiercely.

“Okay, okay,” Steve put his hands up and got down on his knees. “Yeesh, you did not like that. I get it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But… I gotta go home, man. So do you. Somehow.” He groaned.

He looked around the space, and after seeing the fishing lines and tarps, he blinked in surprise, suddenly realizing where they were. “This is the boat house by Reefer Rick’s!” He looked at Eddie, who only stared. “You took me to the boat house! You remember this place??” Nothing. Steve smiled. “But you remembered it. You’re still in there, aren’t you Eddie?”

Eddie didn’t respond, only brought his boot up and began to scratch his ear with it.

Steve laughed, and the monster tilted its head again, like he didn’t expect the sound.

“Sorry. You just… it’s kinda silly.” A few moments of quiet passed. “So… why’d you bring me here? I mean, when you grabbed me I thought a monster was trying to eat me.”

Eddie only stared, and Steve looked at some of his blood on Eddie’s chin that his tongue has missed.

He stopped. Steve’s smile faded as he realized.

Eddie had tried to eat him. Or at least, tried to drain his blood, or something. That had been his plan, before Steve stopped him.

He was dragging his prey back to his den.

Steve swallowed nervously. “There must be stuff for you to eat down here,” he said. But was any of the food in the upside down even edible at this point? Plus, from the way Eddie had licked his lips, Steve got the sickening feeling his tastes were more geared towards live beings. And since they’d burned up the hive mind again…

Eddie’s cheeks were hollow and hungry. Steve looked at his chest through the tears, and it looked flat. Hungry.

“Are you… starving down here?”

Eddie didn’t respond, only walked a quick circle, then curled up on the dirt floor in a ball.

Steve swallowed. “Is this…” he held up his wrist. “Is this what you eat now? Blood?”

Eddie didn’t respond, only closed his eyes.

“Fuck, man,” Steve breathed.

Getting Eddie home like this was gonna be hard enough. Getting him home and keeping him fed was another matter entirely.

Eventually Steve got tired of being covered in blood, and got up to look for a towel.

Eddie immediately tensed, raising his head with a low growl.

“Relax, I’m not going near the door,” Steve said as he headed towards the vine-covered wooden crates and racks. “Just need like a… towel, or a washcloth.”

Steve instead found a crumpled up t-shirt tucked away in one corner of the boat house, and figured that was about as good as he was gonna get. He shook it out, and sat up against one of the crates, beginning to dry his wrists with the shirt. The claw marks burned, and he winced a bit as he dried them.

He heard a low whine from across the room, and looked up. Eddie was looking over at him, a sad look on his face, his ears facing down.

Steve blinked. “Hey, I’m okay,�� He gave Eddie a smile, waving at him. “I’m fine, see? These’ll heal up in no time.”

Eddie looked away from him, black eyes still sad. Steve let out a breath.

Eddie really was in there.

He finished drying his wrists, then began on his neck. He closed his eyes tight, trying not to think too hard about the deep, painful divots Eddie had made in his skin. When he pulled the shirt down, it was covered in wet blood.

Steve hadn’t realized Eddie had gotten up on his hands and knees again, until he started crawling forward. Steve looked up, and his heart started beating a bit faster.

Like when he’d first seen him, Eddie’s eyes were blood red. His gaze was fierce, and his ears were angled back.

“Woah, hey,” he got on his knees, one hand out, though he didn’t dare stand. “It’s me, Eddie.” Eddie blinked, but his eyes remained red. “I’m your friend,” he said as he crawled backwards, trying to maintain distance. “You don’t want to hurt me.”

It was then that Steve realized - it was hard to tell without visible pupils - that Eddie wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were trained on the bloodied shirt.

Steve swallowed. “Is this what you want, Eddie?” Eddie glanced up, then back at the shirt. He held the shirt out, and Eddie froze.

Here goes nothing, he thought. He swallowed, and tossed the balled up shirt forward.

Eddie grabbed the shirt in his mouth, and rushed over to the door of the boat house. For the first time since they’d entered, Eddie stood up, body curled away from Steve. But Steve could’ve heard the sound of fabric tearing, and an aggressive sucking noise.

“Gross, dude.” Steve put his hands on the ground, taking a moment to catch his breath. His stomach turned at the noises.

Eddie was in there, that much was true. And he recognized Steve, on some level. But how long would he be safe stuck with this animalistic version of his friend, that seemed to get nearly possessed with hunger?

Eventually Eddie dropped the shirt, and curled up on the floor again, still in front of the door. His eyes were back to black. The shirt was in tatters in his hand.

Steve swallowed, slowly crawling a step further. “Eddie… you’ve been starving down here, haven’t you? All alone?”

Eddie watched Steve, but he showed no signs of understanding him, his ears twitching slightly.

Steve’s stomach turned as he realized what he had to do.

Steve swallowed. “We have to go home. Home to Dustin, and the others. They can help us.” His ears twitched on the name, but he showed no sign of understanding what Steve was saying. “But to do that, you have to be safe to bring home.” He swallowed. “I need you to be safe.”

Eddie stared at him, gaze still blank.

Steve let out a breath, then moved a bit closer to Eddie, who raised his head.

“You brought me here ‘cuz you’re hungry, didn’t you?”

Eddie sat up, gaze suspicious, his ears flipping back.

“It’s okay,” Steve said, holding a hand out. “Do it.”

Eddie blinked, like he didn’t understand. Steve pulled his collar down and pointed to the wound, and Eddie immediately shrunk back, his ears flipping down.

“No no no, it’s okay,” Steve said, trying to inject as much warmth into his tone as he could with how terrified he was. “I want to help. And I trust you.”

He wondered how stupid he must look, gently coaxing this ravenous version of his friend towards him. He thought of Dustin, and the way Steve had treated him like an idiot for taking Dart in, and assuming it would never hurt him. And here he was, doing the same thing.

He wanted Eddie to hurt him, so Eddie would be okay. But he also needed to not die in the process.

He wished Robin or Dustin were here. They were the planners, Steve was the one who followed through. Here he was, no plan, no safety net, offering himself to someone whose self-control seemed limited at best.

Steve sat back on his knees. “Eddie, c’mon,” Steve pleaded. “You’re hungry. You gotta eat.” He forced a smile. “I’ll be okay.”

Eddie looked at him, and his eyes suddenly swirled into a familiar red. Steve forced himself to breath as Eddie’s scared look turned into a snarl, his ears flipping back.

Steve swallowed, moving back.

Suddenly, Eddie lunged for him, grabbing his shoulders hard, claws digging into his shirt. He struggled to move backwards, scared of what might happened if he got stuck underneath Eddie like this. He backed up against a crate as Eddie looked him in this eyes, snarling and snapping his teeth at him.

Steve flinched, closing his eyes tight. “I know, I know,” he breathed, balling his hands into fists. “Do it. Just… please don’t kill me.”

There was a moment of quiet. Steve felt Eddie’s grip loosen, and he opened his eyes.

Eddie was leaning back from him now, eyes black again and wide with horror. He curled his head down, grabbing his face, and letting out a shrill scream.

“Hey, Eddie! EDDIE!!” Steve shouted, grabbing his shoulders. Eddie looked up at him, and Steve realized there were tears on the corners of his eyes. “Shit. Look, I know you’re really scared right now, and I am too, but I need you to do this, okay??” He yanked at his collar, drawing Eddie’s attention back to his bloodied neck.

Eddie’s eyes swirled red, then he blinked frantically and grabbed his face, eyes swirling back to black.

“Eddie,” Steve breathed, taking his wrists in his hands and pulling them gently off his face. “It’s okay.” He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Eddie’s forehead, then leaning back and smiling. “I’ll be okay. I know what you need now.” He tilted his head. “Do it.”

Eddie stared at the him, then the wound, then back into Steve’s eyes.

“It’s okay Eddie. You’re my friend. I trust you.”

One of the tears ran down Eddie’s cheek. He stared at Steve’s eyes for a few more moments, before he leaned in, and bit down hard on Steve’s neck.

Steve gasped in pain as Eddie’s teeth dug into his skin, his chest pressed up against him, shoving him up against the wooden crate.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed, closing his eyes tight as Eddie swallowed him down voraciously. Eddie’s teeth gripped his already-wounded neck hard, his swallows loud and his lips clumsy and desperate as his hands extended out, trapping Steve against the crate.

After a moment Eddie let out a low whimpering sound between swallows, as if he realized what he was doing. “Shhh,” Steve reassured him gently. “S’okay. I’ll be okay.”

He reached a hand up, and ever so gently, began to stroke Eddie’s hair. He whimpered again, and Steve twisted his head a bit, wincing with pain as he gave Eddie’s temple a gentle kiss. “Take all you need, Eds. I’m okay.”

After what felt like an eternity, Eddie finally pulled back from him, licking his lips. When he did, he blinked in surprise, as if he was seeing Steve for the first time.

“Hey. Feel better?”

Eddie stared, then opened his mouth.

“S…” he said in a low hiss. “…Steve.”

Steve’s eyes widened, and a smile came over him. “Hey! Yeah, Steve, that’s me! You can talk!” Eddie blinked. “Can you… understand me now?”

Eddie’s stare was blank once again.

“Can you say anything else?”

“Ssssteve,” he said slowly, like it was difficult for him.

Steve let out a breath. “I’ll take it.”

He grabbed a tattered towel he’d noticed earlier - after settling on the shirt, ironically, and laid down. “Get some sleep. We’ll try to get you home in the morning, okay?”

Steve spoke as if it was the evening, but he had no clue with the indeterminate blue sky outside the boat house windows.

Steve felt something against him, and smiled as he realized Eddie had curled up into a ball beside him, back pressing up against Steve’s hip. Steve reached out, gently rubbing his back. “You’ll be okay. We’re gonna get you home, and we’re gonna figure this out. I promise.”

#steddie week #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #kas theory #steddie week 2023 #monster eddie munson #vampire eddie munson #vampire eddie x steve #vampire eddie au

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thecreaturecodex · 1 year

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Dracolich

[Commissioned by @tar-baphon . The dracolich has been around for decades, first appearing as a vague plot hook in White Plume Mountain (”beyond to the land of Dragotha, the undead dragon...”) before being fleshed out in Dragon Magazine. As an Ed Greenwood creature, the original dracolich was overly complicated--if its soul couldn’t enter its own body, it could form a “pseudo-dracolich” which had some, but not all, of its original powers. Greenwood also didn’t think too much of the dracoliches in his own work; he seemed to be much more interested in the human Cult of the Dragon that makes them, and in his novel Spellfire, dracoliches are basically cannon fodder.

There are no canon dracoliches in Pathfinder, because the name is copyrighted. The ravener fills the same niche (undead dragon boss monster), but has the whole soul ward mechanic, which strikes me as being very fiddly. I’ve never run a ravener at the table, and I have avoided them for the extra paperwork. I can see both dracoliches and raveners existing in the same world, and thus have included a paragraph to that effect.]

Sample Dracolich CR 23 LE Undead This enormous dragon is clearly dead—its body is mostly skeletal, although patches of blue scales and mummified flesh are visible.

A dracolich is a dragon who has intentionally transformed themselves into an undead monster, to avoid death, as a shortcut to power, or both. Like a lich, a dracolich’s life force is tied to its phylactery, a reliquary in which it can store its soul. It requires the corpse of another draconic creature to rebuild its body, and so many dracoliches keep the bodies of their rivals as a combination of a trophy and a backup body.

Dracoliches and raveners view each other with mutual disdain and disgust. Raveners view the reliance on a phylactery to maintain undeath as a weakness, whereas dracoliches consider a soul ward to be too unreliable and inconsistent. The rituals to becoming a dracolich are longer, more expensive, and more intricate than those to become a ravener. Lawful dragons are somewhat more likely to take the path of dracolich, and chaotic ones slightly more likely to become raveners, but both types of undead can be found in either alignment.

A Dracolich’s Phylactery A dracolich’s phylactery requires the Craft Wondrous Item feat, 120,000 gp and a caster level of 11th to build. Some dracoliches build their own phylacteries, but others employ humanoid spellcasters to do this for them. This is rather shortsighted—if another creature builds the dracolich’s phylactery, the dracolich is controlled by them, as if it were just another undead they had created. Mortal spellcasters who know of this loophole do not tell the dragon they are trying to convince to pursue lichdom, of course.

Creating a Dracolich “Dracolich” is an acquired template that can be added to any evil true dragon of adult age or older (hereafter referred to as the base creature). A dracolich retains all of the base creature’s statistics and special abilities except as noted here

CR Same as base creature +2

Type The creature’s type changes to undead. Do not recalculate BAB, saves, or skill ranks. It keeps any subtypes possessed by the base creature

Armor Class The dracolich’s natural armor increases by +2

Hit Dice Change all of the base creature's racial Hit Dice to d8s. All Hit Dice derived from class levels remain unchanged. As an undead, a dracolich uses its Charisma to determine bonus hit points instead of its Constitution.

Saving Throws: As undead, a dracolich uses its Charisma modifier on Fortitude saves (instead of Constitution).

Defensive Abilities: A dracolich gains channel resistance +4 and all of the immunities derived from undead traits. It gains immunity to cold and electricity. Its damage reduction changes from DR/magic to DR/bludgeoning and magic. A dracolich also gains the following ability: Rejuvenation (Su) When a dracolich’s physical body is destroyed, its soul moves into its phylactery. If there is a corpse of a creature with the dragon type within 60 feet of the phylactery, the soul moves into the corpse, transforming it into a new body for the dracolich in 1d10 days. If the phylactery is destroyed, the dracolich cannot use this ability. If the phylactery is destroyed while the dracolich is rebuilding a body, the dracolich is also destroyed.

Special Attacks A dracolich loses the crush special attack if the base creature had it. Any special attacks with a DC based on Constitution become based on Charisma instead. It also gains the following special attacks: Admixed Breath (Su) A dracolich can choose at will to deal half of the damage from its breath weapon as negative energy. Gaze (Su) Range—30 ft.; Save—Will (Cha based DC); effect paralyzed 2d6 rounds. A creature that has been exposed to a dracolich’s gaze, whether it passes or fails the save, cannot be affected by the gaze of that dracolich for the next 24 hours.

Spell-like Abilities A dracolich gains control undead as a spell-like ability, usable 1/day. It uses its HD as its caster level for this SLA.

Abilities Str +4, Dex +4, Cha +6. As an undead creature, a dracolich does not have a Constitution score.

Feats A dracolich gains Toughness as a bonus feat

Skills A dracolich gains a +8 racial bonus on Perception and Stealth checks.

Statistics for a sample dracolich are below the cut

Great Wyrm Blue Dragon Dracolich CR 23 XP 409,600

LE Colossal undead (augmented dragon, earth) Init +4; Senses dragon senses; Perception +37; Aura electricity (10ft., 2d6 electricity), frightful presence (360 ft., DC 33) Defense AC 42, touch 0, flat-footed 42 (-8 size, +42 natural) hp 406 (28d8+280) Fort +25, Ref +16, Will +22 DR 20/magic and bludgeoning; Immune cold, electricity, paralysis, sleep, undead traits; SR 32 Defensive Abilities channel resistance +4, rejuvenation Offense Speed 40 ft., burrow 20 ft., fly 250 ft. (clumsy) Melee bite +37 (4d8+24/19-20), 2 claws +36 (4d6+16), 2 wings +34 (2d8+6), tail slap +34 (4d6+24) Space 30 ft.; Reach 20 ft. (30 ft. with bite) Special Attacks admixed breath, breath weapon (140-ft. line, DC 33, 24d8 electricity or 12d8 electricity and 12d8 negative energy), desert thirst, gaze, mirage, sandstorm, storm breath, tail sweep (Medium creatures, DC 33 half, 4d8+22) Spell-Like Abilities CL 28th; concentration +37 (+41 casting defensively) At will—ghost sound (DC 19), hallucinatory terrain (DC 23), minor image (DC 21), mirage arcana (DC 24), veil (DC 25), ventriloquism (DC 21) 1/day—control undead (DC 26) Spells Known CL 17th; concentration +26 (+30 casting defensively) 8th (4/day)—greater prying eyes, horrid wilting (DC 27) 7th (6/day)—banishment (DC 26), ethereal jaunt, power word blind 6th (7/day)—create undead, disintegrate (DC 25), wall of iron 5th (7/day)—cloudkill (DC 24), polymorph, teleport, waves of fatigue 4th (7/day)—dimension door, enervation, fire shield, greater invisibility 3rd (7/day)—dispel magic, gentle repose, haste, vampiric touch 2nd (8/day)—blur, false life, glitterdust (DC 22), resist energy, scorching ray 1st (8/day)—alarm, mage armor, shield, true strike, unseen servant 0 (at will)—arcane mark, bleed (DC 19), detect magic, light, mage hand, mending, message, read magic, resistance Statistics Str 43, Dex 10, Con -, Int 22, Wis 23, Cha 29 Base Atk +28; CMB +52; CMD 62 (66 vs. trip) Feats Combat Casting, Craft Wondrous Item, Dazzling Display, Extend Spell, Flyby Attack, Hover, Improved Critical (bite), Improved Initiative, Multiattack, Quicken Spell, Silent Spell, Shatter Defenses, Toughness (B), Vital Strike, Weapon Focus (bite) Skills Bluff +40, Diplomacy +40, Fly +15, Intimidate +40, Knowledge (arcana) +37, Knowledge (history) +37, Knowledge (local) +37, Knowledge (religion) +37, Perception +45, Spellcraft +37, Stealth +23, Survival +37; Racial Modifiers +8 Perception, +8 Stealth Languages Auran, Common, Draconic, Giant, Ignan, Infernal, Terran SQ sound imitation Ecology Environment warm deserts Organization solitary Treasure triple standard Special Abilities Admixed Breath (Su) A dracolich can choose at will to deal half of the damage from its breath weapon as negative energy. Desert Thirst (Su) A blue dragon can cast create water at will (CL 28). Alternatively, it can destroy an equal amount of liquid in a 10-foot burst. Unattended liquids are instantly reduced to sand. Liquid-based magic items (such as potions) and items in a creature’s possession must succeed on a Will save (DC 33) or be destroyed. Electricity Aura (Su) A great wyrm blue dragon is surrounded by an aura of electricity. Creatures within 10 feet take 2d6 points of electricity damage at the beginning of the dragon’s turn. Gaze (Su) Range—30 ft.; Save—Will DC 33; effect paralyzed 2d6 rounds. A creature that has been exposed to a dracolich’s gaze, whether it passes or fails the save, cannot be affected by the gaze of that dracolich for the next 24 hours. Mirage (Su) A great wyrm blue dragon can make itself appear to be in two places at once as a free action for 28 rounds per day. This ability functions as project image but the dragon can use its breath weapon through the mirage. Rejuvenation (Su) When a dracolich’s physical body is destroyed, its soul moves into its phylactery. If there is a corpse of a creature with the dragon type within 60 feet of the phylactery, the soul moves into the corpse, transforming it into a new body for the dracolich in 1d10 days. If the phylactery is destroyed, the dracolich cannot use this ability. If the phylactery is destroyed while the dracolich is rebuilding a body, the dracolich is also destroyed. Sandstorm (Su) As a standard action, a great wyrm blue dragon can create a sandstorm centered on itself with a radius of 1,200 feet. Creatures other than the dragon inside the storm take 2d6 points of damage per round in addition to the normal sandstorm penalties (Pathfinder RPG Core Rulebook 431). This sandstorm lasts for up to 1 hour, but can be dismissed by the dragon as a free action. Sound Imitation (Ex) A very young or older blue dragon can mimic any voice or sound it has heard by making a successful Bluff check against a listener’s Sense Motive check. Storm Breath (Su) A wyrm blue dragon can use its breath weapon to create a storm of lightning. This functions as call lightning storm but the damage is 24d8. The dragon can call down 1 bolt per round as a free action for 1d6 rounds. The save DC is 33. Additional uses of this ability extend the duration by an additional 1d6 rounds.

#dracolich #dragon #blue dragon #pathfinder 1e #D&D #forgotten realms #undead #creature template #commissions

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