#battle elixir

[alchemyofazeroth]

Arcane Elixir

Difficulty:

Artisan alchemy. Alchemy trainers in major faction cities will teach this recipe to their most senior of students who have proven themselves worthy of such knowledge.

You Will Need:

One cup of juice from the roots of a mature Blindweed plant.

One dram of Goldthorn extract.

One wide-mouthed glass beaker.

One sterile, glass stirring rod.

Recipe:

1. Prepare a jar of Goldthorn extract.

Goldthorn extract is derived from the Goldthorn plant, a hardy herb that thrives in the rugged, mineral-rich cliffs and hillsides of the Arathi Highlands. At first glance, Goldthorn appears unremarkable, with its dry base and tangle of thin, prickly vines. However, upon closer inspection, one can discern its namesake feature - the luminous, golden thorns adorning the vines, their luster and sharpness reminiscent of an eagle's formidable talons. Harvesting Goldthorn requires great skill and caution due to the unyielding nature of these thorns, which are as robust as the very bedrock from which the plant emerges.

Modern alchemical practices dictate that the herb be pulverized using a hammer forged from steel or a comparably sturdy material; anything less resilient will likely shatter against the resolute thorns. The resulting pulverized substance, often referred to as "Goldthorn dust," is a crucial component in the crafting of Goldthorn extract. For optimal results, it is strongly recommended that alchemists undertake the crushing process themselves whenever feasible.

Once the Goldthorn has been reduced to a fine dust, the alchemist must meticulously gather all residual particles from the work surface. Instead of the usual straining method, the crushed Goldthorn should be steeped in a clear alcohol for several days. When the tincture has reached its ideal potency, the alcohol will take on a shimmering, golden hue, signifying that the Goldthorn extract is ready for use in various alchemical applications.

2. Collect and prepare Blindweed root.

Blindweed, a perennial herbaceous plant thought to be native to ancient Kalimdor, is characterized by its distinctive morphology and potent alchemical properties.

The plant's basal rosette consists of deeply lobed, dark green leaves with a slightly waxy cuticle, which gives way to multiple slender, spindly stems. These stems are topped with small, radially symmetrical flower heads reminiscent of daisies. The ray florets undergo a striking color transformation as they mature, initially emerging as a rich, dusky purple before gradually fading to a delicate, pale blue. A unique feature of Blindweed is the simultaneous presence of both flower buds and fully developed blooms on the same plant. The buds exhibit an unusual optical property, reflecting light in a manner that resembles the cloudy appearance of cataracts. As the flowers reach maturity, their stems often buckle under the weight, causing the blooms to droop towards the ground.

Blindweed has a storied history in folklore, with tales suggesting that the plant commonly grew near bodies of water and possessed the ability to rescue drowning victims at the cost of their eyesight. Those who consumed the plant were said to develop a sickly appearance and spread a mysterious fever to anyone they touched. In modern times, Blindweed is primarily found in the region of Feralas, particularly in the vicinity of the ancient ruins known as Dire Maul. This distribution pattern is thought to be linked to the historical presence of numerous pools and potential flooding events in the once-thriving night elven city of Eldre'Thalas.

The plant's bulbous, garlic-like roots contain a potent juice renowned for its magic-amplifying and conducting properties, making it a highly sought-after ingredient in various alchemical preparations. To harness these properties, the roots must be carefully harvested, cleaned of any adhering soil particles, and then gently crushed or grated to extract the valuable juice. This juice can then be further processed or incorporated into a wide range of elixirs, potions, and other magical concoctions to enhance their efficacy and potency.

3. Combine the Blindweed root juice and Goldthorn extract precisely.

The brewing of an Arcane Elixir requires precise measurements and careful technique to achieve the desired magical potency. In a clean, glass beaker, combine the Blindweed root juice with a small quantity of Goldthorn extract, with the ideal ratio being one dram of the shimmering tincture per every cup of Blindweed juice. The Goldthorn serves as an important catalyst in the brewing process, amplifying the latent magical properties of the Blindweed root.

Stir the mixture slowly and methodically with a glass rod, watching as the pale, cloudy Blindweed juice swirls and blends with the glistening, golden Goldthorn extract. As the two alchemical components combine and react, the liquid will take on a vivid, striking pink color that seems to glow with arcane energy.

Results & Effects

The resulting Arcane Elixir is a potent alchemical concoction that imbues the imbiber with enhanced magical abilities. The elixir's enchanted liquid shimmers with an ethereal, lavender-magenta hue, casting an otherworldly glow even in the dimmest of environments. Swirling within the lustrous, milky substance are the essence of Blindweed root, lending it a subtle, earthy undertone, and a whisper of Goldthorn extract, its presence nearly imperceptible to the palate yet integral to catalyzing the elixir's arcane properties.

Deceptively light and silken in texture, the Arcane Elixir belies its true potency. As the potion suffuses through the imbiber's body, it amplifies their innate magical conductivity, attuning them to the flows of arcane energy permeating their own body and the world. The mind sharpens to a keen, heightened acuity, endowing the mage with clarity of thought and precision of action. Spells surge forth with remarkable force and unerring accuracy, striking their targets with a greatly increased propensity for critical impact. Emboldened by the Arcane Elixir's power, the imbiber becomes a conduit of magical might, capable of feats beyond the scope of lesser practitioners.

"The juice from its bulbous, garlic-like root has strong magic-amplifying and conducting properties." - A Roleplaying Resource to the Herbs of Warcraft

[rainbow-elixir]

not what i normally post, but i am actually obsessed with sonic adventure 2 right now and had to show y’all some of my chao (oh and tails is there too. because he’s the best sonic character obviously—)

chao reveal (did not have space for the baby blue shiny chao 😔)

[wallflowerlovesfrogs]

Me, arriving in Cadium: Oh wow this place is cool, I’m sure it won’t be that bad. Right, Calculus? ^_^

Me learning that I can’t use items in this scary Arena thing:

[achillean-knight]

crying in the club I just had the hardest time with FF6, ONE AREA SCREWED ME OVER FOR 3 HOURS I WAS HANGING ON BY A THREAD FOR 3 HOURS WITHOUT A SAVE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[kingdomhearts-and-soriku-trash]

Not the big Heartless giving Sora a card called “Darkside” and it’s not supposed to mean ANYTHING FOR MY BOY.

[crickwater]

going crazy trying to find a guide on getting svartlebee's woundseeker on honor mode without aggroing the flaming fists

[coachbeards]

playing an old pokemon game just to feel something

[crocodile-tears-and-a-dream]

excuses..

summary: the two of you stopped at an inn after a long night of travel, but there was only one room..

pairing: geralt of rivia x gn!reader

warnings: they're stupid, fluff

word count: 1.6k

a/n: i haven't written anything that's not a crack fic or a screenplay in ages. this is my attempt at fixing my bad writing, any constructive feedback is welcome!

it was stupid, borderline pathetic, how the two of you tried to find any reasoning at all that cold winter night.

you and geralt had been traveling for quite some time trying to get to the famous kaer morhen. he needed to gather more elixirs and supplies for future battles and monsters, but the weather became too harsh to keep going up the mountains. tonight seemed particularly frigid, so you both decided to stop at an inn rather than camping outside like usual.

as you walked in, the warmth from the fireplace consumed the small space of the room, a stark contrast from the conditions you came from. a frail-looking old man sat at the counter bored, instantly sitting up as he watched geralt’s large form stomp through the quaint lodge. you followed closely behind as he made his way to the reception desk.

“we need two rooms.” the white wolf grunted tossing a bag of coins on the counter. (haha.. I'm not funny)

“yes of course,” the old man says snapping out of his stupor. he flipped through his log book and lets out a sigh. “unfortunately we only have one room left”

“we’ll take it”

you weren't given much of an option and the innkeeper had already handed you the key. it's not like you were disappointed though. you had developed quite the attraction for the silvered-haired witcher during your travels together. you would never admit it out loud, but the longing gazes and lingering touches the two of you often shared meant something more. at least to you it did.

it was a silent walk up to the room. neither of you knew what the other was thinking, but maybe that was for the better. it was selfish the way you hoped there would be an excuse to hold him close as the night grew colder.

the door creaked open and your heart sunk a little as you took in your surroundings. the room was beautiful, yes. the nicest thing you had stayed in for months but, there was one problem.

there were two beds.

geralt, oblivious to your internal conflict, stepped further into the room and dropped his belongings onto the bed nearest the window. the soft creak of the mattress, as he sat down, snapped you out of your thoughts, and you busied yourself by removing your cloak, shaking off the snow that clung to the edges.

“we should get some rest,” he said, his deep voice breaking the silence. “the snow will calm by morning, and we’ll need to leave early.”

you nodded, avoiding his gaze as you placed your things on the other bed. the room was quiet except for the sound of the wind howling outside and the faint crackle of a small hearth in the corner. the heat was soothing, but it did little to calm the restless energy swirling within you.

as geralt began to undo his armor, his movements slow and deliberate, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. the firelight danced across the sharp lines of his face and body, casting shadows that only made him seem more otherworldly. he caught you staring, and for a moment, his golden eyes met yours.

“you’re quiet tonight,” he observed, his tone softer than usual. never in a million years could you have imagined a time where geralt spoke more than you. i guess there's a first time for everything you thought to yourself

“i’m just tired,” you lied, forcing a small smile.

he nodded but didn’t look away, as if he was trying to read something hidden in your expression. the weight of his gaze made your heart race, and you quickly turned back to your belongings, fumbling with your pack.

“get some sleep,” he said finally, his voice low but gentle. “we’ve got a long day of travel tomorrow.”

you nodded again, slipping under the blankets of your bed and turning your back to him. but as you stared at the wall, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just as restless as you.

a couple of hours passed, and the two of you drifted into a deep slumber. your dreams took you to familiar places—snow-covered trails, battles against monsters, and the quiet moments by the campfire when words weren’t needed. but more than anything, you dreamed of him. his sun kissed eyes, his rare smiles, and his strong presence always keeping you safe.

then the dream shifted. the warmth of the campfire turned into an oppressive heat, the orange glow becoming flames roaring at the edges of your vision. your heart raced as the bed beneath you ignited, the fire consuming the blankets and wood. the panic felt so real, and you jolted awake, gasping for breath.

except it wasn’t just a dream.

flames flickered at the edge of your bed, small but growing, their heat unmistakable. you scrambled out of bed, the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. the realization hit you like a cold slap: you had caused this. your magic, tied so deeply to your emotions, had manifested the fire from your nightmare.

“geralt!” you called instinctively, but you didn’t wait for him to wake. your hands moved on their own, summoning a stream of water from thin air. the magic poured from your fingertips, dousing the flames before they could spread further. steam rose in a hiss, and the smell of scorched fabric lingered in the air.

geralt sat up abruptly, his sword already in hand, instincts sharp even in the haze of sleep. his eyes darted around the room before settling on you, still standing with trembling hands and remnants of magic fading from your fingertips.

“what happened?” he asked, his voice low but alert, eyes narrowing in concern.

“i—i had a nightmare,” you stammered, your voice shaky. “and I... i think my magic got out of control.”

he stood, crossing the room in a few quick strides clearing some of the smoke with his arms along the way. his gaze flickered between you and the damp, charred edge of the bed, realizing the situation.

“are you hurt?” he asked, his tone softening as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

you shook your head, swallowing hard. “no. i’m fine. i put it out before it got worse.”

he studied you for a moment, his hand lingering as if to steady you. “you should’ve woken me,” he said finally, his voice calm but firm. “fire magic is dangerous if you’re not careful.”

“i didn’t mean to,” you whispered, guilt creeping into your voice.

“i know,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder before he stepped back. “but you handled it well.”

he looked at the scorched bed and then back at you. “you need rest. take mine.”

“what about you?” you asked, still shaken.

“i’ll manage,” he said simply, dragging a chair toward the hearth and settling into it, his sword resting across his lap. “just... sleep. i’ll keep watch.”

you hesitated, the weight of his gaze grounding you. slowly, you nodded and climbed into his bed, the lingering warmth of his presence oddly comforting. his scent lingered on the pillow and you found yourself wanting more.

"wait-" you called, your voice wavering slightly as you sat up in bed, unsure of the words you were about to say.

geralt looked up at you, his honey-dripped eyes still sharp but softer in the dim light. he waited, allowing you to speak, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

"you're going to be tired tomorrow if you don't rest now..." you hesitated for a moment, but the quiet need gnawing at you grew stronger. "we can share the bed, i don’t mind."

you could feel the tension between you two, both of you trying to navigate the line between comfort and something more. geralt's gaze flickered to the bed, and for a moment, you saw a flash of hesitance cross his face. but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that familiar stoicism.

“are you sure?” he asked quietly, his voice low and careful, like he was weighing the words carefully.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak again. you didn't need to, though; your eyes, pleading and vulnerable, said enough. there was no turning back now.

geralt gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment, settling back slightly as you climbed into the bed next to him. his body remained rigid, keeping a respectable distance, but the air between you was charged with something unspoken. neither of you said anything, but the shared warmth in the bed was all that mattered. you could feel his presence beside you, close enough to touch, but not quite allowing it. as you lay there, facing your back to him, your heart raced with the knowledge that, despite the stillness of the night, something had shifted.

before long, the warmth and the sound of his breathing lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep. the tension in your body melted away, and the darkness of slumber took over.

but geralt stayed awake a while longer, his gaze never leaving your form. he couldn't help but watch, the softness in his expression betraying his usual guarded demeanor. as the hours passed, something inside him shifted, a quiet longing he’d tried to ignore.

slowly, he moved, as though pulled by some invisible force. he gently shifted closer, his arm slipping around you instinctively. his body molded to yours, and without a second thought, he held you close, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield.

the movement was so subtle, you barely registered it in your sleep. but your body, so attuned to his presence, naturally relaxed against him. his heart beat steadily behind you, his grip possessive but not tight, just enough to keep you there, pressed perfectly against his chest.

and maybe- just maybe, you would never find out that it was him who set your bed ablaze finding it the simplest excuse, in his mind, to hold you close.

[theplotmage]

50 Worldbuilding Setting ideas for your fantasy book

Cities and Settlements

1. Capital City - The central hub of political power and culture in the realm.

2. Harbor Town - A bustling port city crucial for trade and naval activities.

3. Elf Village - A serene settlement hidden within a forest, home to elven inhabitants.

4. Dwarven Mines - An underground city where dwarves mine precious metals and gems.

5. Nomad Camp - A temporary settlement for wandering tribes and traders.

6. Market Square - The commercial heart of any major city, filled with vendors and artisans.

7. Sky City - A floating metropolis held aloft by magic or advanced technology.

Natural and Enchanted Locations

8. Mystic Forest - A dense, magical woodland filled with ancient trees and mythical creatures.

9. Enchanted Lake - A serene body of water with mystical properties.

10. Secret Cave - A hidden cavern that might contain treasure or danger.

11. Dark Swamp - A treacherous wetland often home to dark magic and creatures.

12. Forbidden Desert - A vast, arid expanse known for its harsh conditions and ancient secrets.

13. Floating Island - A landmass suspended in the sky, often home to unique flora and fauna.

14. Hidden Valley - A secluded, fertile valley protected from the outside world.

15. Charmed Meadows - Peaceful fields imbued with protective enchantments.

Magical and Supernatural Places

16. Wizard’s Tower - The abode of powerful sorcerers, filled with arcane knowledge.

17. Sacred Temple - A place of worship and spiritual significance, often protected by divine magic.

18. Haunted Castle - An ancient fortress inhabited by ghosts or malevolent spirits.

19. Necromancer’s Crypt - The lair of a dark sorcerer who practices necromancy.

20. Oracle’s Sanctuary - A holy site where oracles deliver prophecies and visions.

21. Magical Academy - An institution where young sorcerers learn the art of magic.

22. Alchemist’s Workshop - A place where alchemists experiment and create potions and elixirs.

23. Time Portal - A gateway to different eras, allowing travel through time.

Dangerous and Uncharted Areas

24. Ancient Ruins - The remnants of a once-great civilization, often hiding secrets or dangers.

25. Dragon’s Lair - The home of a fearsome dragon, filled with treasure and peril.

26. Cursed Forest - A dark, haunted woodland where malevolent forces dwell.

27. Battlefield - The site of a significant past conflict, often haunted by the spirits of the fallen.

28. Volcanic Wasteland - A desolate, fiery landscape wrought with volcanic activity.

29. Giant’s Keep - A massive fortress built and inhabited by giants.

30. Pirate Cove - A hidden inlet where pirates gather to plan their exploits.

31. Shadow Realm - A dark, parallel dimension filled with malevolent entities.

32. Frosty Tundra - A vast, icy wasteland where few dare to venture.

Cultural and Social Hubs

33. Royal Palace - The lavish residence of the ruling monarch and their court.

34. Thieves’ Guild - A secretive organization of thieves and rogues.

35. Warrior’s Training Grounds - A facility where soldiers and heroes train for battle.

36. Arena of Champions - A grand coliseum where warriors compete in combat.

37. Goblin Market - A chaotic and colorful marketplace run by goblins, offering exotic goods.

38. Hermit’s Hut - The secluded home of a wise hermit, often sought for advice.

39. Secret Hideout - A concealed refuge used by rebels or outlaws.

Mystical and Legendary Sites

40. Ethereal Gardens - Magical gardens with rare plants and enchanting beauty.

41. Celestial Observatory - A tower dedicated to studying the stars and celestial events.

42. Sanctuary of Lost Knowledge - A hidden library containing ancient and forbidden texts.

43. Sunken Ruins - The underwater remnants of a lost civilization.

44. Gryphon Nesting Grounds - A mountainous area where gryphons make their nests.

45. Spiral Staircase - An enigmatic, seemingly endless staircase leading to unknown depths.

46. Giant’s Keep - A colossal fortress built and inhabited by giants.

47. Protean Plains - A region where the landscape constantly changes, reshaped by powerful magic or ancient curses.

Adventurous and Explorative Spots

48. Treasure Hunter’s Camp - A gathering spot for explorers seeking lost relics.

49. Relic Seeker’s Cave - A cave rumored to contain powerful artifacts.

50. Explorer’s Outpost - A base for adventurers preparing for expeditions into unknown territories.

***

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[madwomansapologist]

Hi, are you still looking for Baldur's Gate 3 requests? Could you please write something about the main BG3 Companions (+ our boi Halsin) with a Tav/reader who's really short and adorable and just an absolute sweetheart but is horrifyingly powerful in their lore? Like NPCs who know about them back away in fear kinda thing. Maybe Tav can even transform into some sort of battle form where they're like 9 feet tall (as opposed to their usual height of like 4' 10") and can absolutely kick ass on the battlefield?

Thanks so much, I hope you have a wonderful day! Take care!

bg3 companions with a adorably powerful tav

Navigation | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: Who could imagine such a sweet thing as you had the reputation of a hero?

warnings: companions (lae'zel, shadowheart, astarion, gale dekarios, wyll ravengard, karlach, halsin, jaheira) x tav. fluff.

note: thank you for your request! oh gods how i missed writing headcanons. i hope you like this, have a wonderful day!

Lae'zel

Lae'zel knew your shared condition had a cure, and was willing to put herself in danger by taking the entire party with her to the nearest crèche. That being said, how couldn't she judge you?

You were too easy on everyone. Making promises you clearly shouldn't, taking them seriously despite her best efforts to put some sense in your head. The party was supposed to only stop walking when surrounded by githyankis, but no burdened tiefling or hurt animal escaped your careful gaze.

That you knew how to fight surprised her, but to see fear and admiration in the eyes of civillians... that made Lae'zel pay more attention to you. You had a reputation. Not as a writer, bard or patron. You're know for striking down your enemies.

Fighting at the goblin's camp, there were so many oponents even Lae'zel didn't knew if it would be her last fight. You saw it too, so you made sure to use everything you had to win. Even if you would rather not turn into an eldritch creature.

She got enchanted by your battle form. Steel and iron where nothing against the pure strenght of your skin. Whatever crossed your path that day suffered at your hands.

That was the first time Lae'zel got happy for being wrong about someone.

"Perhaps I've judged you too hard. You are fierce, foracious, as sharp as my sword and as brave as a red dragon. Keep on surprising me and a istik you'll be no more."

Shadowheart

Shadowheart couldn't care less about the tieflings and their problems, but it was endearing to watch you wandering throught the Coast in an attempt to ensure their safety. It was a sight she couldn't expect to observe in this journey, not when considering the worm twitching behind her eye and the artifact messing with their dreams.

Still, you could shut down her biggest fears with ease. While she tried to remain quiet, you were full of kind words to share with whoever was near. You care for all beings, great and small, and Shadowheart can respect that. A person without a truth to follow is empty, but one with a mission turns into so much more than just a walking corpse.

She focused on protecting you during fights. Always giving you some sort of magic shield, casting sanctuary, begging you to drink potions and elixirs that would keep you safe.

Goblins attacked, and for a second everyone was too surprised to react properly. Except by you. You were quick to defend your party, to fight for them, and won a fight no one was preparad to.

Shadowheart decided not to underestimate you again. Kind words, gentle actions, caring gaze: she was so focused on her own view about you that forgot to pay attention to the way everyone else saw you.

You're powerful. The kinda of powerful that their party had to be grateful that you were fighting besides them.

When you revealed your beast form to her, Shadowheart already knew you were a sight to behold.

"You are full of surprises, aren't you? Good. I like how you keep me on my toes, love."

Astarion

In theory, he should've been delighted with your personality. You were the perfect prey. A leader so sweet, he could change your mind at his will and you wouldn't even noticed. Others respect you. Astarion would be safe and sound.

But Astarion isn't capable of forgetting how easily you fought back when he tried to fool you. How he didn't even saw you moving, and was alone on the floor before he could understand what had hit him.

Instead of a person, you were a walking question mark. How can you be so sickenly adorable, and still so ready to strike down your enemies? Were did the sweet half of you finished and the other one started?

People know you. He saw respect in druid's eyes, fear when goblins heard your name. Halsin knew about you. And so did Minthara.

Few are able to live up to their reputation, but you're one of those. So strong, so brave, but your kindness wasn't ignored by him. It was as if in your head the whole world deserved your kindness, until it did no more. Only then you react.

Astarion don't know what to think about it.

When you attacked as a beast, tearing spiders apart as if they were a piece of meat in your plate, Astarion laughed until his belly ache.

How could be so right and so wrong about someone?

"Don't mind me, darling. I'm just rejoicing at the sight of your bloody hands. Come here. Let me taste your heroic mess."

Gale Dekarios

Gale learned two things about you when you pulled him out of stone: you were kind, and so damn strong.

You were adorable. A perfect equation between what people must do in order to survive and what they must do in order to live well. He can't see you not being surrounded by friends and admirers, all enchanted by your sweet words and rightful attacks.

He feared the party's reaction to the Orb, but a part of him knew you would let him stay. He never imagined you would give him magic artifacts without a second question, or that you would hug him after he told you his whole story.

You didn't let him go. Neither did Gale.

To say he was willing to agree with whatever you did was to say his heart beats. It was only natural. Maybe you both differ on the path you want to take, but the destination is usually the same.

When he saw you feral, body changing to give space to something else, Gale wondered if he was one of those enchanted people surrounding you. If he wasn't fighting for his life, Gale would gadly gaze upon you for the rest of the day.

"Disgusted? I was unable to look away from you! You are the one I love, no claws or tentacles will ever change that. Must I add, my love, your light remains strong in whatever form you decide to use."

Wyll Ravengard

To say the least, he's a fan. Oh, how lovely are the tales of your adventures through Faêrun. He remember arguing with bards about the accuracy of their versions and the reason behind their choice of words. You were what a hero must aim to.

How long were the nights he spend wandering after he was casted out of Baldur's Gate. Lonely nights, but never silent. Wyll's mind fought against itself. He lost everything to help and protect others. Sometimes he worried if he had lost himself too.

Your tales weren't his salvation. None of them shut down those voices that insisted on telling him about the mistakes he made, neither did them shut Mizora. But they inspired him. If you did all those things, remained human even as a beast, he could survive a talkative cambion. Wyll Ravengard can defeat her by staying loyal to himself.

Wyll didn't had to hear your name to know you were fighting next to him, defending the grove against goblins and worgs. He saw enough drawings of you to recognize you from miles afar. When you asked him to be a member of your party, Wyll felt as if a million fireworks exploded inside his chest at the same time.

He did felt anger and pain because of the tadpole, but never fear. Fighting beside you, Wyll knew he didn't had to fear for his future. And after seeing how willing you were to argue with multiple cambions, he started to have hope.

"I used to read about legends, myths of bravery and rightousness. Some see it as just tales for the naive. Thank you, my heart. For proving them wrong time after time."

Karlach

She's the only one with an excuse for not knowing who you are. When strangers call you by your entire name, when companions use your epithet: Karlach just never thought about it. She ignored it, paying no mind to others.

But Karlach did knew you were a absolute sweetheart. What you didn't had of height you compensate with a gigantic personality. For her, the way you behaved was simply alluring.

While many prefer to think the world is a bad place and no one living there can chose to be or do better, you are just another reason for her to know that it's bullshit. Because Karlach is good, despise it all. And Wyll. And you.

And Minsc!!!

You had a fire on you whenever you had to fight. She didn't need to know your story to see how great you can be. Some people just have that. She don't know if that fire is born or forged, but some people just have it.

To see you as a beast made her the most happy woman in Faêrun. She got speechless, all she could do was laugh and run around to have a better view of you ending the Steel Watch.

"You got 'em, soldier! Go on, bite his arm off! You see that monster over there? The one with glowing eyes. That's the love of my fucking life."

Halsin

He saw you before. Druids and harpist fought against sharrans, and you were one of the heroes who joined their cause. At that time Halsin didn't talked to you, but he knew you fought until the very end and stayed to help with the infirm.

When you rescued him, Halsin knew you remembered him too. There was some understanding between you both, a companionship that only those who foght together can share.

He knew you were a hero, one of those who fight wars that don't affect them because someone needs too, but your personality was a good surprise. Halsin haven't imagined you so easy going. Always offering smiles, light jokes, being clumsy without a care when danger was far away.

After the battle against sharrans, he thought those who refered to you as a monster were trying to make others understand how eficient you were. It surprised him to see they were just being honest.

Nothing would stop Halsin from turning into a bear and joining you.

"In this damned city, you are a beacon of hope. The Oak Father graced us with your light. From your fiece strikes to your honey soaked words... I am lucky to live at the same time as you, my love."

Jaheira

As a fellow adventurer, it surprised Jaheira that you weren't already tired. You both lived for so long, did so much, it would be only natural for you to give a pause on your endless smiles and envied patience. She was wrong, but that wasn't a bad thing.

Jaheira knew how this life can steal things from you. Peace feels like a threat, to stop make you feel like a prey, to laugh makes you wonder if it will be the last time. Is impossible to be a hero without losing. She's glad you didn't lose yourself in your path.

There was an unspoken pact between you both. The stories, the songs, the faux memories. So many think to know everything about you two. Sometimes Jaheira will read you a book you're in when she knows it's a shameless lie, and you sing her songs about adventures she did not lived.

Your laugh could make her feel younger. Alive. You both were so differents, but knew each other in a way few could.

Whenever you chose to strike as a monster, she would join you as a myrmidon and had her fun. You both deserve it.

"I did well not underestimating you, cub. It is impossible not to laugh at those who can't see how your bright smile hides sharp fangs. As pretty as a diamond, and as fierce too."

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

BALDUR’S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[quantummindclassicalheart]

I think Brennan did something interesting with the Porter and Gorgug scene in the last episode. Porter is by all appearances a competent Barbarian teacher. He understands the role of Rage and its mechanical combat benefits, and he even recognizes how Gorgug uses Rage to protect those he cares about. But he doesn't understand how multiclassing into a caster fits into that framework.

And it's true! In 5e you can't cast or concentrate on spells in a Rage. But-- Artificers work a little different than other casters! Alchemist Elixirs and Arcane Cannons aren't technically spells. Arcane Armor just works. And so does the Steel Defender.

Of any caster I think the Artificer is probably the best-suited to multiclass Barbarian because their key subclass features are largely not spells. But it also runs into the problem of requiring multiple high stats. Barbarians already want high STR and CON, and Artificers need INT for their spells and spell saves.

And so there's this narrative tension here. Brennan the DM obviously wants to let his player have fun with the character build-- embracing the creative artificer side of himself is a great character moment for Gorgug, bearer of the tin flower. Someone who has always channeled Rage to protect those he cares about but who has also been called to create and preserve beauty.

And yet mechanically, it's a difficult build. We didn't see Gorgug cast anything in the Night Yorb battle, as far as I recall? And in-universe, classes are a formally recognized thing that require approval. But Gorgug can't be the kind of Barbarian that Porter wants him to be. So he has to show that he can be a different kind of Barbarian-- one whose magic integrates and synergizes with his Rage rather than opposing it.

We see Gorgug still insecure about his homunculus and about the solar lasso, even though these are objectively impressive feats. So it's not a skill issue but an internal conflict-- it's only once Gorgug reconciles and synthesizes his magic with his Barbarian side that the in-world powers that be will recognize him for all of who he is.

[alchemyofazeroth]

Elixir of Demonslaying

Difficulty: Artisan alchemy. Both of the reagents used in this elixir are expensive and difficult to come by for the civilian alchemist.

Origin: Orcish Alchemy.

You Will Need:

One jar of Gromsblood sap.

One jar of Ghost Mushroom spores.

A third, empty jar.

Warm water.

Recipe:

1. Prepare one jar of Gromsblood sap.

To prepare a jar of Gromsblood sap, one must first procure a specimen of the Gromsblood herb, which is most readily identifiable by its thick, fleshy leaves that taper to sharp points. The plant spreads outward in a radial pattern close to the ground, forming a circular mat of sizable leaves. Each leaf is notable for its viciously serrated margins, which appear as sharp, jagged teeth along the edges. The base color of the leaves is a pale, ethereal teal hue that gradually transitions to a vivid, almost fluorescent fuschia-red towards the tips, creating a mesmerizing color gradient. This color pattern is further accentuated by the presence of piercing yellow veins that meander throughout the surface of each leaf in an intricate network, adding depth and visual complexity to the plant's appearance.

Using a sharp blade, the leaves should be carefully cut into segments, as this will allow the valuable sap, often referred to as the herb's "blood," to readily ooze out. The segments of Gromsblood leaf should then be placed into a jar or similar container. After a matter of mere hours, the jar will contain a copious quantity of the reddish, viscous sap. To render the sap into a pourable consistency, a measure of warm water should be added to the jar and the contents shaken vigorously until thoroughly combined into an even mixture.

Finally, the spent leaf pieces, which will have a withered appearance but maintain their pointed edges, must be removed from the jar. Given their residual sharpness, it is advisable to extract them using a pair of pincers or tweezers to avoid injury. Following this process will yield a jar of usable Gromsblood sap while minimizing waste of the precious herb.

2. Prepare one jar of Ghost Mushroom spores.

The process of preparing a jar of ghost mushroom spores requires careful handling and a delicate touch. First, a glass jar with a secure lid should be thoroughly cleaned and sterilized to prevent any contamination of the spore sample. Next, mature ghost mushroom specimens, characterized by their distinctive pale, translucent, and ethereal blue-white bioluminescence, must be cautiously collected.

With the utmost care, gently place the collected ghost mushrooms into the clean, dry glass jar. Secure the lid tightly and proceed to lightly agitate the jar with a measured shaking motion. This process serves to dislodge the spores from the gills of the mushrooms. After a few moments, set the jar to rest and allow the spore cloud to settle.

When the jar's interior grows still, the spores will have descended, coating the bottom in a fine, flour-like powder possessing an opalescent sheen. Remove the spent mushrooms from the jar and seal accordingly.

3. Combine the spores and sap in a third jar.

To prepare the elixir, combine the spores and sap in a clean glass vessel at a precise ratio of one dram of Ghost Mushroom spores per fluid ounce of Gromsblood sap. Seal the vessel securely and agitate vigorously for one minute to thoroughly homogenize the mixture. Allow the elixir to steep in a dark place for a fortnight before decanting the clear crimson liquid into a flask.

Results & Effects

The Elixir of Demonslaying should appear as a translucent crimson liquid that shimmers with an otherworldly luminescence when exposed to light. The color is evocative of the skin color of many demons.

Upon imbibing the elixir, the drinker is initially met with an intensely bitter taste that spreads rapidly across the tongue and down the throat, leaving a lingering, acrid aftertaste. I view this unpleasant flavor as indicative of the elixir's powerful effects. In a way, it serves as a reminder that demon-slaying is not for the faint of heart.

Once consumed, the elixir imbues the drinker with enhanced offensive capabilities specifically targeted towards demonic entities. This augmentation manifests as increased strength, speed, and precision in combat, allowing the imbiber to strike with greater force and accuracy against their infernal adversaries. Additionally, the elixir sharpens the drinker's senses, heightening their ability to perceive and anticipate the movements of demonic foes, granting a crucial advantage in the heat of battle.

These effects persist for a duration of up to one hour, providing a window of opportunity for the demonslayer to engage and dispatch their targets with devastating efficiency. It is during this time that the true power of the Elixir of Demonslaying is fully realized, transforming the imbiber into a formidable force capable of facing even the most fearsome of demonic threats.

Side Effects

The Elixir of Demonslaying, while imbuing the imbiber with impressive strength, speed, and demonic resistance for a limited time, also carries with it a number of undesirable side effects.

Immediately upon consumption, the elixir causes an intense burning sensation as it courses through the veins, accompanied by a surge of adrenaline and a heightened state of aggression. The imbiber may experience tunnel vision, tachycardia, and tremors as the elixir takes full effect.

Psychologically, the elixir evokes feelings of invincibility and bloodlust, potentially clouding the user's judgment and causing them to take undue risks.

As the effects of the elixir begin to dissipate, the imbiber undergoes a painful withdrawal marked by nausea, dizziness, severe headache, and an overall feeling of bodily weakness. Hallucinations and paranoia are not uncommon during this phase.

Long-term side effects may include organ damage, particularly to the liver and heart, as well as persistent neurological issues such as chronic migraines and intermittent tremors. Some users, such as Legionfall veterans, have reported lingering anger management problems and a propensity toward violent outbursts even when not under the immediate influence of the elixir. As such, the use of the Elixir of Demonslaying is highly regulated and generally reserved for only the most dire of circumstances.

"The spores, which glow phosphorescent, are sensitive to the slightest movement of air- use caution when gathering them. They take on a ghostly, faintly glowing hue of purple when combined with other reagents. The spores can be used to make a potion to aide in Demonslaying when combined with watered Gromsblood, and by themselves are a potent enhancer of shadow magicks." - Greaves

[velarisdusk]

Ashes Beneath the Sky

Azriel x Reader

summary: Rhysand and Feyre call for a mission to ambush the Autumn Court's reinforcements, a dangerous strike in the midst of war. Despite Azriel's insistence that you stay behind, you can't resist sneaking along. word count: 4.8k content: [ violence, death/killing, blood/gore, weapons, verbal conflict, explicit language, war themes ] author's note: here's my first 1k celebration one-shot completed!! very exciting this was super fun to write, i always love a good enemies to lovers >:) ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ shadowed elixir infused with a veil of dreammist enhanced with echo leaves & sage smoke shaken thank you @moonlitscrolls for the request, and i hope you love it!! <3

The war room was cold. Stone walls, dark and unrelenting, swallowed sound and light alike. The faint scratch of pen on parchment seemed deafening in the silence, broken only by the occasional muttered curse as Azriel packed his gear. He moved with purpose, fingers tightening leather straps and fastening blades with sharp, decisive clicks.

Rhysand stood near the head of the table, Feyre beside him, both reviewing maps and scrawled notes littered with ink-stained marks—territories, routes, and troop positions. The war with the Autumn Court had worn them thin, skirmishes breaking out across the borders. Keir’s attempt at hiding his alliance with Beron from Rhys had turned the Hewn City into a pit of scheming nobles and lurking threats. The mission Azriel was preparing for, a covert strike to cripple supply lines, could decide the outcome of the next battle.

“If our forces can hold the northern pass, we’ll have an opening here,” Rhys murmured, tracing a path along one of the maps. “But if Beron gets those reinforcements in…”

“Our volunteers won’t last against a fully supplied army,” Feyre finished grimly. “We’ve already lost too many Illyrians. If this drags on much longer, we won’t have a choice but to start pulling from the cities.”

Azriel said nothing, methodically tightening the buckles on his chest holster.

“That’s why this strike has to succeed,” Rhys added, his gaze sliding toward Azriel. “We can’t risk Beron cutting us off.”

“Which is exactly why I should be going.” Your voice was quieter than you intended, but firm.

Azriel didn’t stop packing. Didn’t even look up. “No.”

Feyre shifted slightly, glancing between you both. “You’ve been working with Keir’s scouts,” she offered. “Your intel could be valuable out there.”

“And I’ve trained for this,” you added, stepping closer to the wartable. “I can handle myself.”

Azriel exhaled through his nose, a long, sharp breath. “I’m not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?” You crossed your arms. “Because you’ve already decided?”

Rhys’s gaze flicked between you and Azriel, sharp with warning. Feyre’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t speak. Rhys shifted his stance, lifting a hand from the table—a quiet, firm signal for you both to stop.

“You two need to figure this out yourselves.” He closed one of the maps with a flick of his wrist. “Feyre and I need to speak with Keir before tonight’s meeting. We might be able to distract him, convince him there’s an internal dispute brewing near the southern border. That way, he won’t have as many eyes on you when you move.”

Rhysand straightened, midnight black suit immaculate despite the hours spent in war planning. The faint silver threading in the lapels of his jacket caught the dim light, mirroring Feyre’s subtle silver accents—matching symbols of their station. Feyre tugged a white fur wrap tight around her shoulders, exhaustion briefly flickering in her face before she steeled it.

“Don’t take too long,” she added, and without another word, they left, the heavy door groaning shut behind them. Their absence left a weight in the air, thick and oppressive.

Azriel finally turned, shadows curling faintly at his shoulders. “I think you’re not ready for this,” he said flatly.

Your chest tightened. “That’s bullshit.”

His gaze hardened, but there was something worse in it—something dismissive. Like you weren’t even standing there, like you were nothing more than a problem to manage. A burden.

“This isn’t about you proving yourself,” he said, voice low and clipped. “It’s about you not getting in the way.”

The words landed like a slap, but it was that look that stuck. That cold, distant stare ignited something sharp and furious in your chest.

“Fine,” you muttered. “I won’t get in your way.”

You turned before you could see the flicker of regret in his eyes, before you could catch the way his fingers flexed at his sides as if fighting the urge to reach for you, held back only by the weight of his pride.

The cold air bit hard as you stormed out, but the ache lingered—that sharp knot of hurt coiled tight in your chest, impossible to shake. And fury simmered beneath it, bubbling hot and fast. You barely noticed the icy wind slicing against your skin as you stalked through the stone corridors, Azriel’s words chasing you with every step.

Not ready. Not good enough. In the way.

Your teeth ground together. It wasn’t the first time he’d dismissed you like that, like you were just some liability he had to account for. Never mind the nights you spent bent over maps, cross-referencing Keir’s movements and Beron’s supply routes. Never mind the months you’d spent training, pushing your body past exhaustion because you knew what you were capable of. Because you wanted to prove it—to Feyre and Rhys. To yourself. To him.

And yet somehow, it was never enough.

The memories burned hot as you walked. The way he’d intercepted you on scouting runs like you couldn’t handle yourself. The sharp retorts whenever you suggested a strategy. The quiet conversations with Rhys where you were excluded despite knowing just as much as anyone else. He was always watching, always waiting for you to fail.

Like he expected it. Like he was ready for it.

By the time you reached your quarters, your pulse was still hammering in your throat. You shoved the door open, barely noticing the sharp thud as it swung shut behind you. Restless energy rushed beneath your skin, and you started pacing—short, furious strides across the room. Your hands flexed uselessly at your sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if you could wring the frustration from your bones. But it didn’t help. Nothing did. The words, the dismissal, the way he looked at you—it all burned, a wildfire you couldn’t put out.

You hated him. Hated the arrogance in the way he always assumed he knew better. Hated how he never seemed to see you for anything other than a liability, even when you’d proven yourself time and time again. Hated the way his eyes always seemed to look right through you, as if he expected you to fail—expected you to need him. And yet, despite everything, that damn look in his eyes kept flashing through your mind, the way he could say the most cutting things and still make you ache for his approval. You hated how he made you feel like you were standing at the edge of something you weren’t sure you wanted but couldn’t stop staring at.

And maybe that was why you sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your pack in the corner of the room. Maybe that was why you checked your boots, ensuring the dagger strapped to your ankle was secure.

You weren’t planning to follow him. Not really. But if you did… you wouldn’t be reckless. You wouldn’t be stupid.

Just careful. Just close enough to make sure things didn’t go sideways.

That’s all.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The narrow pass was slick with ice, jagged rocks jutting from the frozen earth. Shadows clung to the mountainside, swallowing the path in near-blackness. The wind howled through the trees, and you barely felt your fingers as you crept between frost-coated branches.

Azriel and his team of Night Court soldiers had moved ahead, their dark forms barely visible in the distance. You kept your steps light, your breathing measured. The frozen bark scraped your palms as you braced yourself against a branch, easing forward with deliberate care.

You told yourself you were only observing, only here to make sure nothing went wrong. That you weren’t doing this to spite him. That you weren’t doing this to prove him wrong.

The truth twisted sharp and bitter in your chest. Maybe you were trying to prove something. Maybe you wanted him to choke on his own words, to shove your success in his face after he’d written you off so easily. The memory of his voice still rang in your ears: “It’s about you not getting in the way.”

Fine, you thought coldly. I won’t get in your way.

…

Unless you need me.

But right now, it didn’t look like he would.

Azriel’s forces swept through the path with deadly precision—fast, organized, efficient. Their attack was measured, seamless. Blades glinted in the dim light as they descended upon the enemy, a small convoy of Autumn Court soldiers caught off guard. Their wagons were heavy with supplies for Beron’s forces. You barely caught flashes of movement before bodies crumpled to the ground, the clash of metal ringing through the air. The night came alive with the crackle of fire as one of the wagons was set ablaze, then another, flames licking at the sky.

Azriel himself moved like something out of a legend, swift and devastating. His wings flared wide as he leapt from the rocks, plunging into the fight with ruthless elegance. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter. Every strike was fluid, every movement calculated. His blade sang through the air, cutting down one attacker after another. The grim set of his face never wavered. No strain, no struggle. Just calm, relentless focus.

You shouldn’t have been watching him like that, not with your chest tight and your pulse a little too fast. But Mother above, he made it look effortless, like this was all just some intricate, deadly dance.

He didn’t need you.

That fact settled uneasily in your stomach. You shifted your weight against the tree, gaze flicking between his soldiers, searching for some gap in their formation, some opening where you could make yourself useful. But there was nothing. They had it handled.

Then you saw him.

A figure perched in the trees, not far from you, face half-shrouded in a dark hood. The crossbow in his hands gleamed faintly in the cold light, bolt lined up with unnerving precision. His target stood directly below.

Azriel.

Your breath stilled. The archer’s fingers flexed on the trigger.

You moved without thinking.

The branch groaned beneath your weight as you lunged forward, boots scraping against the bark. The archer’s head snapped toward you a split second before you slammed into him, both of you tumbling from the tree.

Branches tore at your clothes as you fell, the cold burn of wind biting your face. The ground struck hard, ice and dirt scraping your palms as you hit. The archer landed just feet away, crossbow forgotten, but his dagger was already flashing free.

You barely rolled in time to dodge the first strike, the blade slicing through the air so close it whispered against your skin. A flash of pain seared your arm, shallow but sharp. He snarled something vicious, lunging again—faster, harder.

You twisted, grabbed for your own dagger, but he was already there, driving you back with relentless precision. Not flawless. There was desperation in his movements, a rawness that left openings. But it was enough to keep you on the defensive. His face was young, eyes wide with fear and fury. But beneath that, there was something harder, something forged by violence and war. Just someone’s son, thrown into a conflict that had nothing to do with him. A weapon shaped by circumstance, not choice.

And you would be the one to end him.

You raised your arm to block, the dagger glancing off your forearm with a sharp, jarring impact. The pain shot up your arm, but you pushed it down, not allowing yourself to lose focus.

He came at you again, this time aiming for your side. You managed to twist away, the tip of his dagger scraping the edge of your ribs. You gasped but forced yourself into action, grabbing for his wrist, keeping him from following through.

He attempted another strike, but you had just enough time to grab the dagger at your ankle, catching his wrist with it. You twisted it just enough to disarm him, but as his blade fell away, his other hand shot out, grabbing your wrist in a vice-like grip.

You fought against him, the cold metal of your dagger pressing against his wrist as you tried to break free. His free hand grabbed your forearm, forcing your dagger down with brutal pressure. You shoved against him with all your strength, but he pushed back harder.

Panic clawed at you, cold and blinding—but you shoved it down. You weren’t going to prove Azriel right. Not here. Not like this.

With a twist of your body, you managed to kick at his knee, forcing him off-balance for just a split-second. It was enough.

You twisted your wrist free and, in one smooth motion, drove your blade clean through the front of his neck.

His breath caught, a wet, choking sound. Blood gushed hot over your hand, spilling down your sleeve as his body jerked once, then went limp.

He crumpled forward, and you shoved him off you, breath ragged, chest heaving. The cold bit at your sweat-damp skin as you stared down at the still form beside you, at the gory mess you’d left behind.

The crunch of boots on ice snapped you back to yourself.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Azriel’s voice—low, sharp—cut through the haze. His hand clamped around your arm, and in one swift motion, he yanked you to your feet. It was like nothing, like you weighed nothing at all in his grasp. His face was tight with fury, breath still heavy from the ongoing fight.

“Saving your ass,” you shot back, yanking free of his grip.

His gaze flicked down—to the blood staining your hands, to the body still sprawled in the snow.

For a moment, his expression faltered. You weren’t sure what you saw in it. But then that cold mask slammed back into place.

“Stay out of my way,” he said flatly, and turned without another word.

You stood there for a long moment, breath still dragging through your lungs, too loud in the quiet. The cold gnawed at your skin, the wind cutting through the damp fabric of your clothes. But none of it reached you. Not past the sick, twisting knot in your chest.

Stay out of my way.

Like none of it mattered. Like you hadn’t almost died saving his life.

Your bloodstained hands trembled faintly, though they shouldn’t have. Not after so many fights, so many bodies. This wasn’t new. It should’ve been just another kill—smooth, methodical, necessary. It should have faded into the blur of every other battle, just another enemy cut down before they could do the same to you.

But it didn’t.

Because this time, your blade had landed a second before his. Because this time, the body that had hit the ground had almost been Azriel’s.

You curled your fingers in on themselves, nails biting into your palms as if you could force the memory out of your mind. But it clung to you, thick as blood, pressing in like a weight you couldn’t shake.

Because if Azriel had been just a little slower—if you’d been just a second too late—

You swallowed hard, forcing the thought back down.

He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand that you had to do something. That standing back and watching—watching him get hurt, or worse—would have been impossible.

You wouldn’t have been able to stop it.

And maybe that was what frightened you the most. Knowing just how badly that truth scared you.

By the time you made it back to camp, your body felt wrung out—too cold, too tired. You barely remembered walking there, barely remembered slipping inside the tent Azriel had claimed for himself. But the second you ducked under the flap and it fell behind you, his voice cracked through the air like a whip.

"Do you have any idea how reckless that was?"

You barely had time to turn before he was on you. Not close enough to touch, but near enough that the heat rolling off him made the air feel too thick. His hair was a mess of wind-tossed strands, half plastered to his forehead with sweat. There was a smear of blood drying along his cheekbone—not his, you realized distantly—and dirt clung to the battered leathers stretched tight across his frame. His chest still rose and fell too fast, each breath dragging through gritted teeth. His wings flared wide behind him, tension radiating from every inch of his body.

"Reckless?" you shot back, voice sharper than you meant. "I kept you from getting an arrow through the neck!"

"You weren’t even supposed to be there!" Azriel roared, his voice rising loud enough that you knew anyone lingering outside would hear. “You think you’re invincible? That you can just rush into shit without a second thought?” 

"Maybe if you didn’t act like you’re the only person who’s capable—"

"This isn’t about being capable!" He snapped. His eyes were blazing, shadows curling tighter around him. "This is about you making a stupid, impulsive decision that could've gotten you killed."

"Oh, I’m sorry," you sneered, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Next time I’ll just let you die so I don’t upset you."

"Don't you dare twist this," Azriel snarled, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. "You had no plan. No backup. You jumped in like this was some game—"

"I had a plan!"

"You didn’t even see half the soldiers in the trees—”

“Of course I did!”

“—have any idea how easily that could’ve gone wrong? How close you came to getting yourself killed?"

"I knew what I was doing."

"You got lucky," Azriel barked. "That's not the same thing."

"You're unbelievable," you seethed, pushing back with the same venom. "You actually think you’re the only one who's capable. That no one else can do anything without your permission."

Azriel’s rage snapped, the fury he’d been holding back unleashing when he swung around and threw his fist into the armor stand beside him with a sickening crack. "I think you’re reckless!" he yelled, eyes wild with anger and burning into yours. “You don’t know when to stop, (y/n)!”

You’d taken an instinctive step back, but before you could even think, the words flew from your mouth—

"Oh, and you do?" You let out a bitter laugh. "Tell me, Azriel, when was the last time you let anyone help you without losing your mind over it? Gods forbid anyone cares about you enough to try."

His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with an intensity that felt like they could burn through you. "I don’t need you to care about me!” he snarled. 

"Well, too bad!" you shot back. "Because I do!"

The words echoed between you, louder than you'd intended. Azriel's face twisted, his eyes dark and dangerous.

"If you’d gotten hurt," he said tightly, voice low again. "If I'd had to watch you die…"

He stopped, breathing hard. His hands flexed into fists, like he was fighting to keep hold of himself. The words seemed to ring in the air, cutting through the anger that had flooded the room.

Azriel's chest heaved, fists still clenched at his sides. His face was twisted with something stark and terrible—fear, you realized. Real, unshakable fear. It was written in the tightness of his jaw, the way his voice still shook beneath all that fury.

"...Is that what this was about?" you asked quietly.

His gaze flicked away, but not before you saw the answer written clear as day in his eyes.

Azriel’s words—soft, fragile as they were—hung in the air, and for a second, you almost gave in. Almost. But then the flicker of something hot surged in your chest, a surge of frustration that you couldn’t ignore.

“No,” you snapped, voice sharp as a blade. You took half a step back, putting distance between the two of you. “Don’t do that.”

Azriel looked up at you, his expression flickering between confusion and something else—defensive, maybe. But you didn’t care.

“You think I can’t handle myself? I’m trained. I’m not some helpless idiot.” You shoved your hands into his chest, but he didn’t budge. “And why did you have to undermine me like that in front of Rhys and Feyre?” you demanded, voice thick with frustration.

Azriel’s jaw clenched at your words, his posture stiffening even further, but you didn’t stop. 

“Tell me, Azriel,” you went on, stepping closer until the air between you felt suffocating. “Why do you always do that? Why do you always treat me like I’m a child, like I can’t make my own decisions, like I’m incapable of… doing anything without you breathing down my neck?”

His lips parted to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance. You shoved your fists against his chest, slamming your palms into him with every word. “Do you know how it feels to have someone you trust constantly undermine you? To have someone who should know better act like you're a liability instead of a partner? I’m not helpless! I’m not your responsibility!” You slammed your fist into his shoulder, frustration building with every second he remained perfectly still, unshaken. “So stop acting like I need you to save me every damn time I breathe!”

Azriel’s wings twitched behind him, but his face remained unreadable. His eyes were still dark, but the fire in them had dimmed, replaced by something you couldn’t quite place.

“You think I’m trying to control you,” he said, his voice low, tight with frustration, “but I’m trying to protect you. Can’t you see that? I can’t lose you.”

“And why the hell not?” Your voice cracked, raw with anger and something dangerously close to hurt. “This is just a job, isn’t it?”

Azriel flinched. Just barely. But you saw it—the slight hitch in his breath, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

For a long moment, he just stared. Silent. Tension carved into every sharp line of his face, shadows curling tighter around his shoulders like living things. His wings flexed, then snapped shut.

And then, his voice—low, rough, almost unsteady.

“Just a job?” His throat bobbed, his fists clenching at his sides. “You think that’s all this is?” A bitter laugh escaped him, sharp as a blade. “You think I would be losing my mind every time you put yourself in danger if it were just a fucking job?”

You felt the heat rising in your chest, but there was something in the way he spoke, something that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice cracked, rough with something dark and desperate. “I would burn this world to the ground for you. I would tear through armies. I would do anything—anything—if it meant keeping you safe.” His body was tense, muscles locked, as though he were fighting to hold everything in. “Because it’s not just a job.”

His hands curled into fists, like he was holding himself back. Like if he let go for even a second, he wouldn’t stop.

“I love you.” The words fell like a war drum, low and unshakable, reverberating through the space between you. “I have loved you from the moment you walked into my gods-damned life and made everything I thought I knew about myself feel… irrelevant.” His wings finally tucked in close to his back. “And it terrifies me.”

Your breath caught.

“Because if I lose you,” Azriel’s voice broke, raw and ragged. His gaze burned into yours, filled with something so unguarded, so utterly vulnerable, it left you reeling. “If I lose you, there won’t be anything left of me.”

Your breath was uneven, your mind racing to catch up with what he’d just said. But even as his words echoed through you, it was his hands that caught your attention.

They were shaking. Just slightly, but enough. His fists were still clenched, tension locked tight in his shoulders, like he was bracing for something—for you to turn away, to reject him, to tell him this was all some mistake.

The thought made something in your chest twist painfully.

Without thinking, you reached out, fingers brushing over the back of his hand before curling around his wrist. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his pulse a rapid beat against your fingertips. He stiffened, breath catching, but he didn’t pull away.

Gently, you tugged.

For a moment, he resisted, like he didn’t trust himself to move, to let go of whatever storm was raging inside him. But then, with a slow exhale, he let you guide him down onto the worn couch at the back of the tent.

Neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched between you, thick and charged, but not uncomfortable. His shadows curled at his feet, restless and unsure, mirroring the turmoil in his expression. You could still see it—the way his jaw stayed tight, the way his wings trembled at the edges, as if even now, even after everything, he was still afraid.

So you spoke first.

"You’re not the only one who gets scared."

His head turned slightly, his hazel eyes searching yours. The sharp edges of his features were softened by the dim light, but his gaze remained intense, like he was trying to memorize every detail of you in this moment.

Azriel swallowed, his throat bobbing.

"I know." His voice was quieter now, the anger, the desperation from before fading into something else. "I just…" He hesitated, like the words were heavy in his mouth. Then, softer, almost uncertain. "I couldn’t lose you."

He said it like a confession, like something fragile he was scared to let out into the world.

And gods, you felt it. The weight of it, the truth in it.

Because he wasn’t just saying he loved you. He was saying you were the thing tethering him here. That the thought of losing you was enough to shake even him, the unshakable.

And what terrified you most was how much you understood it.

The tension between you shifted. It was less sharp now, less like something that might shatter, and more like something inevitable. Heavy, unspoken.

Azriel stayed silent as you reached for the small first aid kit sitting on the side table. The lid creaked as you flipped it open, your fingers moving without thought—grabbing a clean cloth, uncapping a bottle of alcohol. The sharp scent filled the space between you.

Still, he didn’t say a word, even as you took his hand, knuckles torn and raw from when he’d slammed his fist into the wooden armor stand earlier. He didn’t pull away, didn’t even flinch when you pressed the damp cloth to his skin.

His breath hitched—whether from the sting or from the way your fingers brushed against his, you weren’t sure. But his gaze stayed locked on you, unwavering. And gods, it was so much. The weight of his attention, the quiet intensity of it. Like you were the only thing in the world he saw right then.

“You know,” you murmured, carefully pressing the cloth against his skin, “you could’ve just said you care instead of being an ass about it.”

A quiet huff of breath left him—something almost like a laugh, but too exhausted to be anything more.

“I didn’t know how.”

It was barely above a whisper, but it sank into you, deep and undeniable.

And when you looked up, he was already watching you. Something shifted in his expression, like he had made a decision before he even realized it himself.

You barely had time to react before his fingers threaded into your hair, his touch gentle despite the urgency in his movements. 

And then he was kissing you.

It was fast, a little desperate, like he had been holding this in for too long. Like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t act now. His free hand curled around your jaw, tilting your face toward him, and he was impossibly close. His warmth, his scent, the sheer presence of him overwhelming your senses.

And you—

You didn’t hesitate.

You kissed him back like you had been waiting for this just as long as he had. Like you had known, deep down, that this was always where you’d end up. Wrapped in Azriel’s arms, feeling the way he poured everything he couldn’t say into the press of his lips against yours.

And when he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm and uneven, he didn’t let go.

Like he was still afraid to lose you.

Like he never would.

[krikunjayvoice]

Viggo Grimborn discovered the secret of Drottning, the hormonal elixir given to Fireworm larvae to turn them into Queens, from information contained within the Dragon Eye. He used this knowledge to harvest the elixir from a Fireworm Queen his soldiers had captured in the hopes of making an army of Fireworm Queens that would be under his control. An Enhanced Fireworm Queen was the result of his earliest experiments along these lines, being given several times the dosage of Konungshlaup required to transform a Fireworm larva into a Queen. The experiments were a partial success, in that he was able to make several varieties of Fireworm Queen, but controlling them was another story altogether. Viggo found that the more Drottning he gave to the larvae, the bigger and more powerful the Queens would become, but corresponding to this power was an intelligence and irrepressibility of spirit that refused to be dominated. Frustrated in his attempts to build an army, he locked all Enhanced Fireworm Queens away in cages made of a stone known to resist heat. They remained prisoners until Viggo was overthrown as Dragon Hunter ruler by his brother, Ryker. The Enhanced Fireworm Queens escaped during the ensuing battle, each flying off to their own corners of the Archipelago to start their hives in peace.” — Dragons: Titan Uprising

[sokaiweek]

SoKai Week 2025

Announcing SoKai Week 2025! 🥳 This year’s theme is “Parallel Worlds” with a focus on AU prompts ⭐️  

⭐️ July 6-12 

⭐️ 4 prompts/day + bonus prompts 

⭐️ Story list for further inspiration

A big thank you to @amyhayanora for her promo art and graphics advice ❤️

Check below the cut for the text version!

SoKai Week 2025 Prompts

Day 1 - July 6

Message, Sharing, Secret, Promise

Day 2 - July 7

Adventure, Quest, Journey, Travel

Day 3 - July 8

Blessing, Talisman, Present, Lucky Charm 

Day 4 - July 9

Battle, Trials, Lair, Abyss

Day 5 - July 10

Dragon, Heartless, Shadow, Monster

Day 6 - July 11

True Love, Healing, Elixir, Transform

Day 7 - July 12

Celebrate, Reunion, Return, Happily Ever After

Bonus

Sun and Moon, Night and Day, Sky and Sea, Light and Darkness

Story List for Additional Inspiration

Rules

⭐️ Be respectful.

⭐️ No ship or character bashing.

⭐️ No NSFW.

⭐️ No excessively violent or gory content.

⭐️ No other pairings (SoKai only).

⭐️ Feel free to share your art, stories, gifs, edits, graphics, cosplay, data greetings, or other fanworks!

⭐️ Use the tags #sokaiweek or #sokaiweek2025.

⭐️ Have fun!

[celestiaras]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ a shot of lust ]❜

ft. claude clawmark x f! reader — ttt, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ while testing out potions, you take an experimental sip gone wrong & your friend isn’t half as innocent as he seems┊2.2k words

contains: smut!! dom reader & sub claude┊slight dubcon, reader is mean but claude is into that, unintentional (high-key nonconsensual) drugging with an aphrodisiac, kinda unrequited feelings but requited lust, making out, marking & biting, slight masochist claude, spit as lube, degradation, unprotected piv on a chair (because you guys are nasty like that), implied multiple rounds

➤ author's note: oh my god, i’ve been starving you guys again, i’m so sorry, i’ve been hit full force with squid game brainrot. this isn’t my best work, but i’m slowly getting back into niji because it’s my first vtuber family and i miss them :( 

potion-making is a refined art that is desirable to all with its effectiveness in battle or healing properties yet mastered by few with how dangerous or explosive results could be with something simple as an extra drop of dragon’s blood becoming fatal. personally, you’re willing to take the risk of the deadly consequences when it comes to elixirs of speed to slay your opponents before they could even blink.

for these very reasons, you study the craft under your fellow adventurer and close confidant claude clawmark. admittedly, he wasn’t your first choice regarding mentors with his messy workspace and questionable habits, but he was willing to teach you for free so you agreed. even victoria and kunai were unsure of your decision but figured that if anyone could handle the eccentric cleric, it would be you. even though this was something you took upon yourself to learn, you really didn’t like being cooped up in his shop all day while taking orders from customers and spending all day mixing strange components. you miss going out and looting dungeons with your guildmates, but learning through experience would certainly be worth it in the amount of gold you could save by making your own potions (people really pay for the expertise of a professional rather than the collected common loot dropped to make them).

the wooden table in the center of the room had a batch of roughly fifteen glass vials filled with strength potions for a customer, a finished half of the order while working on producing the other half of invisibility. you placed a sealed jar of fermented spider eyes on the table for your partner to brew and went to go grab some night vision potions for the base, but you noticed an odd bottle filled with a shimmering pink liquid that stood out among the batch of dully-colored royal blue potions on the self. it clearly wasn’t organized on the right shelf, but it didn’t have a label nor did its appearance match any of the others. “hey claude, do you remember what this is supposed to be?”

he turned his head to examine it for a second before continuing his work, “eh, i’m not actually sure. maybe you should test it out.”

oh yeah, another thing about potions is that if you aren’t sure what it is, you have to try it out yourself. there are tons of healing medicines all over the place in case someone got poisoned, so you drank it without hesitation like you’ve done plenty of times before. it tasted artificially of strawberries and cream, not an uncommon flavor to mask the usual strange medley of ingredients, but it left a weird aftertaste of bittersweetness on your tongue. you didn’t feel any different nor see any change looking in the mirror so perhaps it was simply a base potion that didn’t have any magic added yet, leaving you to go on with your day after placing the empty glass into the sink.

it didn’t hit you full-force as soon as you swallowed it, but the effects were slowly but surely taking hold of you. it started with you feeling warm, taking off your jacket and touching your face, wondering if there was a sudden change in room temperature for some reason. your breathing steadily became more labored even though you weren’t moving around much, trying to take deep breaths through your mouth in a futile attempt to clear your fogged mind and soaking a towel in water to pat away the perspiration beginning to form on your forehead.

were you ill and coming down with a fever? it didn’t feel like any virus you’ve ever had, felt more like… it was definitely from that unlabeled potion you drank earlier, but why would he leave such a thing lying around if it was really what you thought? this was really why you were warned to get a proper tutor instead of a cleric known for fumbling his belongings. the sun had begun to set and the shop would close in about fifteen minutes anyway, so you decided to wait it out even though it felt borderline unbearable. leaning back on the table, you think there must be an antidote or something somewhere to counter it, but you were interrupted before you could get up and look for it.

“are you okay? you look sick,” claude mentioned, taking off his tool belt equipped with various gadgets and moving away from his station to check in on you. “do you… need help with anything?” he took off his glove to gently press his hand against your forehead followed by your cheek to test your temperature, suddenly feeling conscious of his presence with the proximity and feeling his breath on your skin as he stared intently at your face.

you never paid too much attention to his looks, but you suddenly found yourself studying his appearance now that he was so much closer to you: his long opalescent locks that were neatly tied in a ponytail tossed over his shoulder, his sleepy eyes that shifted from magenta to aquamarine, how built he actually was with his broad shoulders that well defined his frame— was he always so handsome?

“hey… claude…” you felt like a living furnace with lit coals that were bursting at the seams, fire burning into desire at your core and could only be quenched by the man standing in front of you. vivi and kunai aren’t the best at keeping secrets (especially when it’s past midnight at a sleepover), you knew he had a crush on you or at the very least found you attractive. either way, he wouldn’t reject you at the moment unless he considers the friendship on the line, and you were willing to bet everything on that.

his eyes met yours, staring deeply into them while waiting for you to finish your sentence. the tension was so palpable that it could be cut with a knife and you sighed, closing your eyes and leaning forward to break it with a kiss. you couldn’t see his reaction, but he didn’t flinch nor did he pull back, instead reciprocating it once he seemed to process it.

it took some of the edge off, but you still felt insatiable and starved for more of him. slipping your hand to the back of his head and intertwining it with his hair, you deepened the kiss and began to dart your tongue out to ask him to part his lips. you had no way to know what he was really thinking, but he seemed to be understandably confused about the whole thing and yet he didn’t deny you or offer an ounce of resistance. he obediently followed your motions and let you take the lead, just how you liked it, even whimpering slightly when your tongue gently brushed against his and felt the cool titanium pierced through it.

oh, when you heard that sound escape his lips, something feral awakened within you. “fuck…” you placed your hands on her shoulder and swung him around, roughly shoving him down onto a nearby chair and splitting his legs apart with a knee in the middle while continuing to kiss him roughly. fiddling with the hem of his clothing, “is this okay?”

he blushed a deep red as if the gravity of the situation was only hitting him now that you were requesting for content, “y-yes! of course! totally!” he mentally cringed, his ass did not just say ‘totally’ when his crush of over a year was asking if it was okay to fuck him.

thankfully for him, you didn’t seem to mind in the least bit and fervently began to strip him of his clothing, pulling his black top over his arms and tossing it haphazardly on the floor. his strapping frame was even more evident with his bare chest exposed to you, pretty unblemished ivory skin that was just begging to get marked up and bruised. you were quick to leave one last kiss on his lips before lowering your head to suck on his neck, watching a dark purple-red hickey bloom on the spot. you repeated this process a few times before outright sinking your teeth into his tender flesh, finding yourself unable to refrain from behaving like a wild animal even though you were trying your hardest to hold yourself back. 

meanwhile, claude felt like he was dreaming and was almost light-headed by your touch. he allowed you to use his body as you pleased, like a doll for you to play with and abuse. the pain didn’t even register as such to him, feeling more like ecstasy shooting through his veins wherever your mouth found itself as his eyes rolled back like the pathetic fool he was.

“fuck, i feel like i’m going crazy,” you groaned, adjusting your position to sit on his lap and pulling back his pristine white pants to reveal his leaking cock before holding out your palm. “spit.” he complied, taking a moment to gather saliva in his mouth before spitting a clear glob into your open hand which you smeared all over his dick to act as makeshift lube.

the heat was really beginning to get to you like the wrath of a thousand suns, prickling at your skin and causing you to pause your actions to remove your own clothing. you didn’t notice until you were fully nude the way he was staring at you like he had just witnessed the unfiltered beauty of a goddess for the first time. maybe if it was another day under different circumstances, you would have felt soft at his obvious affection and admiration towards you, but unfortunately, you were feeling nothing but irritation due to the effects of the drug.

you extended an arm to push him back so he was sitting properly against the chair instead of slouching, moving to straddle him and finally, finally, lined up his angry red tip with your entrance before sinking into it. claude gasped as he buried his face into your chest, unable to rut into you as he so desired with your purposefully straining your weight on him. 

despite not being able to think straight, your dominance over him was made clear as you set your own pace, ignoring the strain beginning to form in your thighs as you worked your way up and down his length. his size was perfect, not too difficult to take, and also able to hit all of the right spots.

despite not being allowed to put in any work, claude’s heart was hammering in his chest like he was running a marathon with strands of hair sticking to his face thanks to the beads of sweat that formed on his forehead. he struggled to find a place to put his hands with your hips moving too fast for him to grip and the little groan you would let out in the precipice of pleasure and disdain each time he tried to touch you elsewhere led to him simply gripping the sides of the wooden chair he was seated on, basically hold on for dear life while chasing an orgasm to snap you out it. 

“you did this on purpose, didn’t you, you little freak?”

“h-huh?”

“you wanted me to drink that potion, didn’t you? so that you would get fucked like a whore, just how desperate are you?”

he opened his mouth to deny the accusation but found himself unable to and let out a pathetic whimper instead. how could he deny it when it was completely true? he didn’t think you would actually drink it, only planted it on the table and allowed for chance to take the reins, but he didn’t think anything was actually going to happen.

still, there wasn’t a single ounce of regret in his body, even if you were being a little mean to him. he didn’t mind how your sharp words cut into him, it made him dizzy if anything. 

you began to slow down as the ache of constant bouncing was catching up to you, moving your hand to circle your clit and crying out when you felt yourself unravel at the contact. feeling your velvety walls pulse around him had him following shortly after when you lifted yourself off of him, causing him to finish on your lower stomach in pretty white splatters.

both of you were exhausted at the exhibition of energy on top of the long day before this situation occurred, breathing heavily as you got off the chair in favor of leaning against the table with your shaky legs. 

he couldn’t read your reaction, if the gravity of what just happened had sunk in yet or if you were still basking in the satisfaction of your climax. it made you glow in a way, making him dumbfounded and unable to meet your eyes. “i-i should go…” in a matter of minutes thanks to his stupidity, he just went from a good friend to a lowly slut in your eyes all because you were able to see right through him like glass.

however, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him back towards you, nude bodies pressed flushed against each other, kissing him fervently again with a slightly crazy edge to your actions. “yeah, no, you aren’t going anywhere. you started this mess, you’re going to help me out until the potion wears off or until we both pass out.”