#featherwurm

[blackjackkent]

@featherwurm replied to your post “Pondering on trying to spin up a little one-pager...”:

Man I would love to get script extender working but I've yet to crack it.

Unsure if you mean you can't get it installed or can't get commands to run successfully, so super apologies if I'm telling you stuff you already know (but posting this anyway in case it's useful to someone else).

Do you use BG3 Mod Manager? If so, there is an option to download and install the Script Extender quickly through that interface:

Run that command and complete the extraction, and then open the game via mod manager from the Go menu:

This will open the game directly (you may have to click a confirmation within Steam, although lately it hasn't been prompting me), and you will see two windows open at once - the game and also a console window.

Once you're loaded into a particular save, you can tab over to that console; hit enter a couple times and it will present you with the "server Lua console" input prompt:

You can then type any command you want into this prompt:

(If you've gotten this far but it's actually getting successful commands to run that you're having issues with - I'm def gonna try to put this cheatsheet together and update it as I learn more stuff, but if I can help with something specific in the meantime please let me know. :D )

[the-iron-orchid]

❝  i’m not expecting anything,  i just,  thought it’d be nice to keep you company tonight. ❞

For Yeshe and Arjun because I feel like causing problems on purpose.

The FACE I am MAKING right NOW Pearl

Background: I haven't even finished writing it all up yet... we just thought it'd be funny to saddle Yeshe with a naga character with traits vaguely based on my actual pet snek lmao The gist is that years ago, the Nagaraja sent messengers around the world to warn of the Devil's plans. However, Arjun, the one sent to Venterre, was caught. Worse, because his serpent form is leucistic, he was bound in that form and given to Lucio for his menagerie. He remained captive for years, even after Lucio's death and the Devil being bound. While visiting the Countess's restored animal sanctuary, Yeshe accidentally frees Arjun by speaking the Mantra for Animal Liberation over him - something xe does out of habit as part of xir spiritual practice. Arjun declares that he now owes service to his liberator, otherwise he would be disgraced for not repaying his debt on top of failing his mission. The rest is sitcom history...)

Yeshe squints at Arjun over the mending in xir hands. For all of his decades of life beyond xir own, he is still somewhat young... for a naga. It shows in his brashness, even cockiness at times.

This diffidence, mild as it is, is unlike him.

"You keep my company all day, Arjun." In fact, xe cannot leave the flat without him shadowing, ready to defend from all manner of imagined city threats, puffing his chest at anyone who gets too close. It's become something of a point of amusement in the Marketplace.

The naga's pale eyes flick aside. That is also unusual; he often stares like a snake, seldom blinking.

"Are your rooms not to your liking?" xe asks. "I'm sure the Countess would be happy to have them changed for you."

"No... no, they are very comfortable," he answers.

Xe pauses, taking in the attitude of his shoulders as he slumps, his elbows resting on the table. "Forgive me, but... are you homesick?"

A faintly stricken look comes over his face, then he sighs. "It's not important."

"Arjun, you are very far from your people... and you have been for some years. It would be strange if you didn't feel that way." Xe sets down the work, folding xir hands. "I've told you... my freeing you was an accident. You don't owe me anything. You can go home whenever you want."

A scowl furrows his brow, disrupting the crimson line of his tilak. "And I have told you... I must do this, before I can return with any honor to my name at all."

It is Yeshe's turn to sigh, now. "But you miss your homeland."

"...yes. I miss the waters. I miss my siblings." He takes a deep breath. "I... don't like being alone."

To give to one in distress is a moral imperative, the Perfection of Generosity. That imperative is even greater when it is something intangible, given of the self - a teaching, or comfort. What must it be like, to be the only one of his kind in all of Vesuvia, perhaps on the continent?

"You don't have to be alone," xe says, reaching for xir cane, rising with its aid. Arjun looks up at xem questioningly. "You may stay. As for the waters... well. I'm sure there's some place where you can at least go for a nice swim."

"The Palace waters are quite nice... if you don't mind the vampire eels." He laughs, showing the little points of his fangs. "Of course, they are afraid of me."

Yeshe gives the naga a narrow look. "Are you saying that you are the mythical King Eel of the Palace moat?"

His grin broadens. "It isn't my fault if people can't tell a giant snake from a giant eel."

-----

Arjun prefers to sleep in his natural form. His humanoid half rests quite normally on the pillow, but the vast coils of his snake-tail loop about under the coverlet, trailing off the edge of the bed. A cat has curled up in one of these loops, like a nest. Another cat has insinuated itself behind what would be his legs... if he had them at the moment. He seems to have fallen asleep the moment he arranged himself, no longer alone.

Samsara is a strange place. All beings have been all things to each other, over and over again through beginningless time, returning and forgetting. Perhaps Yeshe has become too complacent, too attached to xir current way of life, and this is the action of karma, disrupting that.

Having crossed over, I will rescue others. Having liberated myself, I will liberate others. Having found comfort, I will comfort others. Having attained parinirvana, I will cause others to attain it.

Both of them have taken a vow - he to xem, and xem to all beings.

There is little for it but to see how it all plays out.

[never-rxne]

OH THIS IS SO SWEET AND KIND OF YOU AND THIS DRAWING IS SO SO BEAUTIFUL I'M GONNA START CRYING 😭

you are the best sevika artist on this site i am not even exaggerating... this made my entire night

hi, i just wanted to let you know that i adore i ADORE the way you portray sevika. you render her in these vulnerable, incredibly candid and real moments rather than just sexualizing her or emphasizing her physical attractiveness (not that there is anything wrong with the more suggestive fanart, its just so rare to see art that portrays sevika otherwise). idk how to articulate it really, but you're able to capture her essence and truth as a character that makes it feel like i'm looking at sketches from the canon- even better honestly. god i love your art. i just wanted to pop in and let you know :) thank you so much for sharing these pieces with us for FREE . you are feeding the fandom 💙

Thank you so much - While I definitely enjoy drawing sexy stuff (probably obviously from what I post) I really like finding the humanity of various characters in the specifics of how they interact with the world, and what that means to them emotionally (and of course I love combining those two things too). I'm so glad it shows through!

It took me a little while to answer this because it really cheered me, so here is a quick Sevika too:

[carp-from-space]

BOLD ANY FEARS WHICH APPLY TO YOUR MUSE.

ITALICIZE WHAT MAKES THEM UNCOMFORTABLE.

Thank you @babumakeanart for tagging me

the dark. fire. open water. deep water. being alone. crowded spaces. confined spaces. change. failure. war. loss of control. powerlessness. prison. blood. drowning. suffocation. public speaking. natural animals. the supernatural. heights. death. dying. intimacy. rejection. abandonment. loss. the unknown. the future. not being good enough. scary stories. speaking to new people. poverty. loud noises. being touched. sex.

(Formating in color for my own easier viewing)

I will tag

@knight-engale @assmaster-8000 @popcornaddict500 @featherwurm @karokawwo @arsenicxarcana @ioshk-chan @perxywonderland @claudia-nomusaabara @ravens-main @toeridiaorbust

But no pressure.

but feel free to just use the prompt if you feel like doing it

[karlach-esmeray]

So we all know that Karlach was essentially the first prototype of Grotash’s Steel Watch--given to Zariel for testing of the new machine in return for access to infernal materials. This is my headcannon for how Karlach’s infernal engine works and how the blueprints for the fix would work. Essentially, Gortash couldn’t justify the cost and upkeep of using enchanted coolant on a large-scale operation, so they scrapped the whole design, leaving Karlach and the few others who live(ed) with the engine no hope of life outside of the Avernus. Luckily, the girls know a skilled wizard in Waterdeep who would love to help them out with an enchanting spell every 6 months or so to allow Karlach a chance to return to Baldur’s Gate. Now all they have to do is survive Zariel’s forge. Simple… right?

Esmeray was in tears reading the “results” section while imagining her love going through that, only made worse by the heartless description of it all. (If you would like a visual representation to cry along with, that part is based on this drawing done by the amazing artist @featherwurm whose work I heavily admire! That image has been burnt into my mind for months and I have cried too many real tears over it.)

Taters

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Fic Prompt #3

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm, Shar; also features Selûne, and Balthazar, that wretched walking content warning Length: ~4000 words Summary: Aylin prays in the Shadowfell, to a mother who can't hear her - and an aunt who can.

What can silence the Nightsong? @stachless prompted "nightmare" and also drew [this art]. Brainworms heavily inspired by @featherwurm's [art] and its followup [here]. Also inspired by a bunch of Aylin's Shadowfell dialogue, the extremity of what she went through, her mother, and the Jesus-Christ-Superstar-Gethsemane of it all. Then we have my own need to see her cherished and taken care of and protected, along with a bit of weird fascination with how the Calm Emotions spell is actually supposed to work.

Hurt/comfort. Warnings for canon-typical violence and references to torture.

---

Once, there would have been a steady hum, a warmth blooming eternal in her chest. An undeniable, reassuring presence, like a hand on her shoulder, and a loving murmur in her ear as if her Mother were there, but only just out of sight. Now there is nothing.

There is worse than nothing; there is a tug, a pull, a leeching so unnatural and wrong it makes bile rise in Aylin's throat. Makes her first steps into a stumble, as she pulls herself to her feet from where the latest Sharran had felled her, leading her so close to the bounds of her enclosure that the sickly glow of the grasping claws starts to manifest. 

So instead she kneels, as she has done countless times before: in magnificent temples and humble shrines, in muddy battlefields before and after skirmishes, in winter storms and in bright summer showers. Privately, or as one in a crowd of worshippers. Or, a traitorous little shard of her heart pipes up, with Isobel, whose devotion was always catching like the most pleasant of flames. 

"Moonmaiden, hear me," once she finally speaks, Aylin's voice is strong to her own ears, rising clear and resonant from the depths of her chest, unhampered by her predicament or by the bitter sting of grief. It is a bracing thing to note, and it makes it easier to straighten her shoulders and persist.

The odious essence that permeates the Shadowfell makes calm, comfortable meditation a distant dream, but Aylin does her utmost to shake off the worst of it. She chooses instead to focus on going through all the well-practised, familiar, reassuring motions. Hands open, relaxed, palms resting on her thighs, eyes closed but not clenched shut, chin upturned slightly, waiting for the light of an absent moon.

"Weaver of the silver loom, look upon me with mercy and pluck the threads of my fate to lead them away from this place, away from this dungeon of loss and dark and grief." 

It is easy, natural, to intone the words, even as the recitation feels slightly more formal than Aylin is used to. The conspicuous absence surrounding her and blanketing her heart does nothing to deter her.

"Guide me out of the grasp of shadow. Turn the tides, so that I may vanquish Your enemies once more and shield Your faithful from the darkness in turn, under Your watchful eye."

Ketheric will bleed, a Sharran plot that was allowed to fester and grow much too far will finally be thwarted, and Reithwin salvaged, recovered, a haven for those basking in the light of the moon once more.

Surely, whatever time Aylin has spent here… surely it is enough.

Her only answer is a coward's blow; a would-be justiciar who has snuck down to her prison oh-so-quietly, who has chosen to anoint herself with the blood of an unarmed, unaware opponent knelt in prayer.

In the rush of her own lifeblood Aylin could swear she hears laughter.

-

"Hear me. Moonmaiden," the words are ground out this time, slowly and painstakingly. "Our Lady of Silver. Shine Your gleaming light upon me, dispel the grip of shadow and pain, bolster my heart with Your radiance…"

There is an arrow lodged in her flank, and another one near her shoulder blade, still burning with the telltale traces of poison. This one wanted to make sure - a good Sharran: thorough, prepared. Lurking in the shadows and well out of reach, even for this. Truly meant for his mistress' embrace.

"I, whose hand has ever borne Your sword against wickedness gladly and with pride…"

The third in what can't have been more than, what, a day? But how to tell, when her own body falling and rising is the only thing she can rely on to try to gauge the passage of time? In any case, Ketheric is ramping up the production of his army, that much is clear.

So much of Reithwin has paraded before her eyes. People she had lived beside, even if for a little while, coming here to kill her. Some of them acknowledge the fact, even - let her know they never trusted her, sneer about their welcome and respect being but pretence, or forced by fear of divine retribution. Others avert their eyes and pretend they weren't the ones to help her pick out flowers for a bouquet to gift Isobel early in their courtship, just as they weren't the ones to help with the delicate petal-cups of the moonflower arrangements for her funeral.

If she thinks of what has happened, what must be happening to the ones who she hasn't faced here, the rage mixed with the bitter bite of failure threatens to overwhelm her utterly. They were hers to protect. Just as Isobel was.

She can't reach the accursed arrow in her back to pull it out. The sting mounts and mounts and meets the agony driven deep in her heart.

-

"Moonmaiden, hear me. As You guide the lost back onto their paths, as You set before our feet roads out of darkness, I pray. For my path is winding, never-ending, yet I have ever heeded--"

How much more? How much, how much, howmuch…

The spear to the heart she would have taken for one of the quick and merciful ones - but no. Because the Sharran misses, curse them, and then stops to deliver a tirade - before being swallowed by vicious, hungry shadows.

"The tides turn, inexorably," she mutters, half-dazed with blood loss, stumbling to her knees. "The tides, they… in Your strength, as all things, they…"

Aylin's head lolls forward, proud chin meeting chest, prayer cut short. "Enough. It is enough. I have borne--" What, she cannot say. Penance? Some crucial holy burden? Instead, she ekes out syllables around the agony in her chest, where the spear is still lodged. The spear left in her in disgust, once the acolyte realised it was a mere inert replica of the artefact they sought, incapable of delivering true death, of elevating them beyond a mere ordained assassin. Before their own fate was sealed so very efficiently.

One does not become the Chosen of a goddess by choosing themselves, after all.

"Please."

In the silence, she scrabbles with bloody hands and pulls the spear out herself, inch by painfully slow inch. Throws it into the abyss with a roar of fury and disgust, for she has no use for a weapon here. She cannot fight and tear and kill her way to freedom, a sword that cannot cut itself free. The best she could achieve by destroying her captors here and now would be oblivion, to be forgotten here. 

Lost.

"Mother," she whispers, and feels burning shame at prayer being reduced to pleading. "Mother, please."

Nothing.

-

The necromancer visits again, when she is barely recovered from the last freshly-made justiciar, still catching her breath and clutching at newly-unshattered ribs.

Aylin has goaded him before. Barked out whatever insult came to mind, every threat and vow of vengeance most bloody on both him and his coward of a general, who so adamantly refuses to come face her. But this time - she will find she cannot remember, after, what it was she said that led to this - if she even said anything.

But whatever she does or mutters or simply is right then crosses some threshold, unfathomable to her. Something that permits such aimless, gratuitous cruelty, justifies it in the mind of the truly monstrous. 

Balthazar is uncharacteristically silent, the usual sick gloating absent, when he gestures for the hands to pull her to her knees, to hold her in place; when they grip her neck and claw her head back and rip her jaw open against all her mighty strain, as if she is not even trying to resist. When she tastes the rust of the blade and then the rust of her own blood.

Her mouth burns, jaw and chin and palate aflame, agony spreading from the carelessly cut lip down to her throat. She spits blood, and blood, and blood, but it will not stop, and it chokes her. Dizzying, mortifying. Hunched over after she is released, one hand clenched in the dirt of her rocky prison, barely holding her up, the other scrabbling at her neck.

She cannot speak aloud the words that old and young, great and small throughout Faerûn know will bring the Moonmaiden's keen-eyed, loving gaze to them. But then, she has never really needed to. Selûne has ever kept watch over Her daughter, Her sword.

Mother. Aylin tries to think, upwards, upwards, imagining flying up to pierce the shadowy dome. Mother, hear me, when they would silence me.

Nothing. 

Balthazar shuffles into her blurred view, doing something with a jar, and silver-flecked muscle and--

And what will he do with it? What does he do with all else he steals from her? It is a horror she does not want to contemplate.

Her tongue, made for poetry, made for battle cries and striking fear into the unworthy and the wicked, into the scheming and the twisted. Made for jubilation and proclamation, made for testifying the glory of her Mother and the good, righteous cause she championed so gladly. Made to argue and philosophise. Made for joy and pleasure taken in the mortal and worldly and wondrously, preciously, divinely mundane: tasting fine wine and succulent food and the sweetest of lips and the softest of skin and most cherished of flesh, all hers, once, all of it -- all of it taken, gone.

Lost.

Instead, violation and violence. A cut throat, and spilt guts. And here comes one with a cruel mace - atypical, for Sharran clergy. She would laugh at herself, a half-mad thing, at the spark of absurd, sick excitement at being murdered slightly unusually - but what else is there? What is there, here, in the void?

Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. Pain, or nothing.

Her.

Aylin does not attempt to pray when she next rises. She screams curses and barely-coherent tirades against her hated, hateful aunt, if only for there to be something, anything else.

"Silence," comes that rarely-heard voice. Despised, yet known. "My sister spawned a rabid dog, it seems."

A gleam of feeble triumph warms Aylin's heart. A response provoked. A goddess' hand forced, even if in a matter so very small. She stands, as tall and proud as she can in bloodied rags. "I was chosen to bear her light, to be her sword, to champion her cause--"

"She did not choose you," the voice cuts her off, growing louder and closer, echoing in the endless chasm of its domain, surrounding. "She made you. And what a pitiful job she did of it, too." The disdain is palpable, radiating out of every wisp of shadow swirling around the lonesome platform. "She whelped you to hunt down my faithful."

"She charged me with protecting her own." Aylin glares into the darkness, turning this way and that, trying to fathom where to best aim her fury from her perch in the eye of a growing storm. 

"She who seeks always to steal from me, to supplant me, she who knows no measure, whose ambitions know no end."

The raging shadows swirl ever closer, angrier and angrier still. But Aylin refuses to be cowed, refuses to yield, faced with the one who gives her purpose. For the Sword of the Silverlight is a necessity, yes, but it is not Selûne who makes it so. It is her spiteful sister and her misguided followers, ever prowling and looking to harm.

"You lie, as always, Lady of Loss. She wishes only for peace, for her faithful to be left to make their own way, to flourish. Without your schemes, there would be no need for my service at all."

A clap of thunder behind her; Aylin turns, but not in time to see the grasping shadows that rush towards her, wind around her legs and arms, around her neck and chest. Restraints nothing like the eerie, necrotic claws, but just as cold and cruel and unmoveable.

"Ah, so my sister needs to bind her paladins with chains of bloodline to ensure they serve her?" The voice is mocking, and so very, very near. As if Shar herself is standing there, speaking in Aylin's ear as her shadows mercilessly pull her down. "Perhaps, for once, she is right. For I have claimed a prize from her already, and he has brought me you."

"I am not bound," Aylin spits out, pulling against her fetters, grinding her knuckles to dust and bone on the cold stone of her prison. "I am not bound. I choose, I serve, I am faithful--"

"You are a failure."

"I am-- I am Dame Aylin Silverblood, Sword of the Moonmaiden, Moon Daughter, Bearer of the Silverlight. When I am free, there will be a mighty reckoning. I will bring it on wings of silver, on the edge of my blessèd sword, in the name of my Mother, and in my own name."

"You are a failure," the darkness repeats, unphased, calm, certain, factual, "and so you have been discarded."

"I am," Aylin starts, barely forces out, then stops, gritting her teeth against the burning pressure, the rancid atmosphere cloaking her prison. "I am--"

"I am the Nightsinger and you are my Nightsong, and so it is mine to silence you."

The darkness becomes tangible, cloying, suffocating. Aylin tries to draw breath but finds that she cannot. Cannot see through the thickening murk even to the sickly blazing runes of her prison-circle.

"The moon does not shine its foul light here, and it never will. Here, in my perfect dark, we are gloriously free of it. Howl your foolish prayer-ditties, Nightsong - they will fall upon no ears. Your ever-whimsical, capricious mother has abandoned you to my care."

The shadows tighten and Aylin chokes on darkness like she choked on blood. Her back burns with phantom pains, spiking up and down her shoulder blades, and every wound and indignity feels visited upon her again. A scream feels like it should tear itself from her throat, but there is only silence.

"In the creation of my army, I have given you purpose. Much more than my pathetic sister ever has. And once that purpose is fulfilled, I will silence you forever."

She finds herself sprawled on the ground, suddenly free of the restraints, as the final, threatening proclamation rattles through her muscle, deep into her bones.

"The loss of a daughter," Shar sounds amused, almost, a cruel smile tainting her words, "is devastating, I hear. It will make a fine gift for my deserving kin. Now rise. One approaches who must prove their worth."

Aylin's mind is flooded with Isobel, Isobel, Isobel, and her chest feels like it will cave in on itself.

-

The air rushes in, finally, and Aylin tastes blood in her mouth from a bitten cheek, feels a pounding in her head - and very little else. A cool balm, a much-needed distance has been put between her and the red-hot thornvine of the past century, and it allows her to breathe.

She blinks, and knelt before her is Isobel, alive and whole, in a simple nightgown, hands aglow with the remnants of a freshly cast spell.

"Aylin?" She asks, cautiously, with the telltale downturn of the corner of her mouth that means she is concentrating. Her eyes are wide and filled to the brim with such tender concern, the restrained but clearly pained tremble in her voice more agonising than any Sharran knife. She keeps her distance, though the tension and the need to leap forward, to be close, to hold, is palpable.

"You were… I tried to wake you, but you weren't responding. It was like you were lost to me."

Lost.

"I am…"

Aylin stops, because she does not know what words could follow and not be lies.

"This will only last a minute. Please, stay with me, Aylin. Alright?"

Aylin nods.

"Breathe with me." 

Aylin does.

"May I touch you?"

Aylin hesitates, where she should have roared her enthusiastic consent. But her entire body still feels raw.

"...yes," she says only when she truly feels it to be true, and Isobel seems… proud?

The lightest, gentlest hand comes to rest on her cheek and jaw. Familiar, loved, ever so slightly colder than… than before. Isobel.

She would have nuzzled into it happily, usually, pressed a kiss or two to the soft palm. It is a bit much at the moment, though, just that little bit too close, and so Aylin slowly pries it off her cheek and holds the hand between both her own instead.

Then the minute is up and the spell wears off, and the veil that was between her and what seems like the rest of the world abruptly falls away. Aylin draws air in with mounting effort, then lets it out in a hiss at the flood of sensation.

But the hand between hers serves to ground; Isobel's eyes, luminous in the moonlight that seeps into the room, hold her own and seem to encompass her entire.

"Should I cast it again?" Isobel asks softly, free hand already rising towards Aylin's temple.

She moves to decline, muster up some sort of casual air, but stops herself at the last moment. Digs down to the soldierly disposition that has been a help to her, an ingrained way to make sense of so much. It does no good to overestimate one's own capability. Her mind rattles off, almost of its own accord. A correct measure of one's strength is key to all engagements.

"Once-- once more, please, my love," Aylin asks, and is mildly surprised at the complete lack of shame and nauseating sense of inadequacy that had, for a time, become her stalwart companions.

"As many times as you need," Isobel says reassuringly, already leaning forward and reaching out with both hands. "There is no shame in accepting help."

It is a song and dance they both know well by now. The words Isobel has spoken what must be hundreds of times, in an effort to make them real and true to Aylin.

Her touch on what feels like the sides of Aylin's troubled mind accompanied by a murmured incantation take all of a second, but the coolness and numbness and the slight drowsiness ripple outward and encompass her again. The separation from herself, the distance from everything, is always mildly discomfiting and ever-so-slightly reminiscent of the Shadowfell - a reassuring fact, as Aylin takes it to mean she is in no danger of craving it, or growing to depend on it.

It is but a moment of reprieve each time. But it is just enough to buy her a chance to shore up her own defences, when they have been so cruelly torn down by the workings of her own unconscious mind. She places her hands over Isobel's own once again, breathes in time with her, and thinks, very deliberately, of little else.

This time, when the minute runs out, the shock of being plunged back into the world is barely noticeable. 

There is no brand-wound placed on her by Shar, like brave Shadowheart still bears. And yet it still feels so often like her aunt's cruel grasp is lying in wait behind every shadow, waiting to snatch her up and pull her down, down, down, until her knees meet the cold rune-inscribed rock in the heart of the Shadowfell.

It makes Aylin still want to laugh at herself, sometimes. Her knees are, in fact, resting on the finest mattress of the grandest bed Waterdeep's House of the Moon could provide. Her legs are entangled with duvets filled with the softest down, with sheets of finest silk. And yet, and yet.

But she does not let out any bark of bitter, self-deprecating laugh, for even after everything, there is Isobel. The anchor. The crux of everything. The eye of a swirling storm. A beacon of light so blessedly blinding it washes out all else, all pain and sorrow and acrid, biting memory.

Isobel, whose mere presence drowns out the roaring winds of the Shadowfell, fills up the Lady of Loss' cursed silence that steals and numbs everything it touches.

Isobel, something to focus on when all else is too much, or too little. Who scuttles closer to Aylin on the bed once she sees her calmed enough, and leans in until they are pressed shoulder to shoulder.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Her thumb rubs small, delicate circles into the back of Aylin's hand.

Aylin sighs. "I cannot possibly begin to explain… to put into words…"

"Could you try? For me, my love, and for yourself?"

The only thing silencing Aylin now is she herself. 

Truth and honesty, ideals to strive for - and the light that chases away any Sharran shadow. Aylin draws in a deep breath, as much as her chest that still feels cramped will allow. Squares her shoulders as if preparing for combat.

And still her words come out hesitant, almost meek. "I would not have wanted you to bear witness, then. To… to their crimes, their sins against me. To my shame. And so I do not want to make you a witness to them now, even if it is only through my telling."

She feels reluctant to expose Isobel to any of it. Even when, yes, she is an accomplished cleric and a healer and has seen and dealt with her own share of horrors, but…

"Aylin," the palpable pain in Isobel's wide eyes is already too much as she reaches out a gentle hand again, turning Aylin's face towards her. "You are the woman I love, and the chosen of my heart. Nothing will ever change that."

"It has been nigh a year." Aylin knows she sounds petulant. Knows she would have thoughtlessly blinked away the meagre span of a single year, before.

"Compared to a hundred?" Isobel shakes her head, looks at her almost pleadingly. That way she does, the way she seems to have reserved for whenever Aylin insists she should think nothing of the way she hastily exited a too-tight or too-dark space.

"Fine. Fine, my love, for you," Aylin breathes out. "But… outside. Let us first recover somewhat, in my Mother's light."

Let Her hear as well.

Isobel rises, takes her by the hand, and pulls her along, gently, out onto the balcony. Theirs is a spacious, luxurious suite situated in the prime spot of the temple complex housing wing, overlooking the luscious inner gardens in the House of the Moon. Usually, neither of them care for the pomp and circumstance their visits tend to invite in Selûnite spaces. But this time Aylin feels grateful for both the privacy and the position under the moonlight dome, as she does little but breathe in the scent of the moonflowers, freshly opened for the night, each cupping a little mote of moonlight and embracing it in blue.

For a good while, until Aylin feels ready, Isobel chatters, hums, softly fills any second of silence. She has come to understand so much, and Aylin is so grateful as she lets the sweet voice buoy her heart, carry her. 

It felt near-blasphemous, at first, these calls to a goddess over things she would have once called trivial. But the joint efforts of her Mother and her beloved have convinced her they are anything but. 

Mother? Aylin sends out the simplest of thoughts as she gazes upward and feels the moonlight bathe her face, fill her heart to bursting, settle around her shoulders like a blanket.

I hear you, daughter. I see you. I hold you under my gaze, safe.

This, too, is her birthright. Simple reassurance.

Under her Mother's silver eye, guarded in the circle of Isobel's arms, Aylin speaks. Once her words run dry and she is left feeling drained, scoured out, head dizzyingly feather-light, Isobel finally moves from her side. She returns within moments, wraps herself around Aylin and wraps them both in a star-embroidered coverlet. 

"Never again," Isobel whispers, all moon-bathed steel, as she presses a dozen soft kisses to Aylin's face, then holds her to her chest. "I will not let anyone harm you again."

It is a heartwarming, if impossible thought. Aylin doesn't have it in herself to do anything but believe it.

The moon continues on her path across the sky, her Tears shining bright, as the night descends into a silence that is both warm and comfortable.

[lesbism-pyramid]

So around 4 and 1/2 hours later and I end up with this masterpiece. Eat you utter fools. Let us dine upon this beautiful masterpiece.

Here's what it's based off of:

And here's my take:

Let me just @featherwurm @karlachsfootstool @lazylittledragon

Anyways toodles!

[holy-muffins]

word find wip meme

tagged by @goatsandgangsters back in April, I promise I didn't forget!

how it works: I search for the words previously assigned to me in WIPs and then choose four words for you to search in your WIP(s)

I was assigned: tongue, push, alone, glass

Tongue: “We’ll call them back tomorrow, I think. Run a, what would they call it I wonder. A behind the scenes? An exclusive? I was never a TV man, so you’ll forgive my inexperience.” Coriolanus clenched his teeth together, keeping his questions under his tongue. Lucy Gray was also quiet, watching this man whose ideas decades ago had seen her put in an arena to fight to the death. Coriolanus snatched a glance at her, wondering if she knew that this was the man himself. [from a newish Snowbaird AU I'm chewing on where Highbottom chooses to blackmail them rather than try to get one over on Snow].

Push: Still, just as he seemed to cave to Alina’s whining he seemed to realize that someone was in the passage behind the wall, his shadows stirring against the natural dark. Baghra had a single second to decide what to do. “General Kirigan,” she breathlessly called, pushing the hidden door open and stepping out, putting her best frantic grandmother act on. “Baghra?” Alina’s face was sparkling with tears, but glowing despite them. Stupid girl, stupid naive girl. “Is it true? I heard from—that there are assassins in the palace. Is it true?” Aleksander’s shadows retreated, licking at her ankles and digging at the fastenings of her shoes. He didn’t believe her, but he was not calling her out on her lie quite yet. [believe it or not this is one of the earliest things I ever wrote for Darklina, I've never published it]

Alone: Sasha’s merzost had searched out and crammed her soul back into her body, his mad wish to save her willing her back to life with the old magic. It was not the methodical and studied use of a Grisha’s gift, it was the ancient creation of the saints of myth. There was always a price with merzost, she’d thought, struggling to keep her agonized cries from waking the small camp and Sasha was well able to pay. Her last thought as she’d slipped away was that she hoped Sasha found a way to love again, she hoped he found the Sun Summoner he was convinced had to exist, she hoped that this didn’t break him like it had the first time.

When she’d blinked awake they’d been alone. Sasha had either sent the others away or driven them off in his grief or in his fear over what he might let himself do now that he’d lost her again. He’d been holding her body, cradled in his arms, his face tucked into her neck as he cried. [from an old Ludarklina AU I was working on for @midwinterspringwrites ]

Glass: Aleksander had quietly said, after Ivan had bandaged her hand a few days ago and the rest of the porcelain pieces had been cleaned up, that he imagined it was like a house of cards coming down. He had apologized, though he had had no real hand in things aside from letting Papa raise her as he saw fit.

She did not see it like a house of cards coming down, though, but instead more like dropping a wine glass on carpet. There was always a risk of it shattering, no matter how soft the landing. Right now she was working on trying not to shatter, to only spill out her pain and remain whole. [from a sequel to a Darklina arranged marriage Cinderella-adjacent fic originally written for @fiora-miriel]

Tagging @bearholdingashark @featherwurm @briarlily @midwinterspringwrites and @bluecichlid

Your words, should you choose to accept are: candy, whistle, recall, and witness

[owlbelly]

featherwurm

My ex considered the book formative, so I gave it a shot and I just... couldn't do it, but I understand the whole... shebang with that 'this is good but bad but good but please let me tell you about the good stuff but also please understand I know where it's bad.'

yeah i would also consider it formative for me. i did figure out that i'd actually read it first in my teens - before i started i only remembered reading it in my early 20s but in fact that was already a more critical reread & this 3rd time the criticism is HEAVY - but i can't fault anyone for not being down for Barker's whole thing

but the weirdest part is his actual prose. i think sometimes his writing is actually really beautiful - there are sentences & paragraphs in Imajica that i have to reread multiple times because they're so painterly or they have such a poetry to them - & sometimes it's SO fucking trite or cheesy or just tonally awkward that i have to put the book down. it's often gross - gross is just par for the course, if you don't like gross you're at the wrong party, but sometimes the gross feels pointed/intentional & sometimes it feels really out of place. also sometimes the gross is entirely unintentional & the product of some deeply unexamined social/cultural shit

but it's like...you can't even say "he's a good writer with some Problematic Ideas" because sometimes he is literally just a terrible writer. Mister B. Gone was one of the worst things i've ever read, i actually put it down. the third Abarat book doesn't exist to me even though the first two are VERY dear to my heart. he's so fucking weird if i ever met him i wouldn't know what to say. "hi your work (both writing & visual art) has been deeply enmeshed in my life for decades & inspired me in countless ways, also fuck all the way off" lmao!!

[blackjackkent]

YOU WRITE REAL GOOD AND HAVE EXCELLENT TASTE!!! Also your information about debugging is super useful and it's really nice of you to offer coding streams. Very cool, very good, thank you!

(ANONYMOUSLY (OR NOT) TELL ME YOUR HONEST OPINION ABOUT ME. I CAN’T REPLY, JUST PUBLISH)

[bottomvalerius]

also an update on the BG3 play through:

Ive been playing under the impression you find Gale in Act 2. I’ve done. Most if not all of the plot points in act 1, everyone’s level 5, were sorting out how to get to Tilted Towers™️, and @featherwurm needed to inform me that Gale does NOT appear in Act 2 and is in fact. Right at the beginning.

So I would say the play through is going as well as it can be yeah

[featherwurm]

Eh, I'm not above these movie poll things. Here's 100 movies I have seen and have various feelings about, have you seen 'em?

(No Disney, no Pixar, no Don Bluth, no Dreamworks we die like men. I tried to pick things I've seen that I specifically feel ways about, and almost entirely positively.)

This took a surprisingly long time to put together, honestly if you look at one of these posters and go 'what the hell is that it looks neat?' check it out!

[carp-from-space]

OC Vibes meme

Rules: post your OC and then 4 (or more) random pictures with no explanation to convey your characters vibe.

Sasha

Bela

Ossana

Thank you @babumakeanart for tagging me once more so I can do oc nonsense.

I shall tag

@knight-engale @assmaster-8000 @popcornaddict500 @featherwurm @karokawwo @arsenicxarcana @ioshk-chan @perxywonderland @claudia-nomusaabara @ravens-main @bottomvalerius

But also if you wanna do it without being tagged, you can do it and show me. I wanna see 👁👁👁👁👁

[xx-sharpfawngz-xx]

Tagged by @shadow--writer >:3

Tagging: @bottomvalerius @featherwurm @fullyfunctionalminiaturebeehive @hirodraggg @coyoxxtl

[mugwomps]

I have shaved my head for the first time and I Love it! Yay for stubble #it helps the I have a very nicely-shaped head #I was afraid my head was potato-shaped #which would have been peculiar to see # can't believe how much cooler it feels #enjoyed surprising my kids @fullyfunctionalminiaturebeehive and @featherwurm and I am freeeeeeeee!

[lesbism-pyramid]

Well now that you're curious @featherwurm , here are some of the summaries I have of my chaotic D&D group.

So our party consists of

Teifling barbarian (me) Anissue, a lesbian failure on the hunt for her siblings and carrying 84 bagels

Astral Elf Rogue named dereth, an investigator who is a passive Perception of 23 who just recently murdered a bunch of people on accident.

Paladin ranger dragonborn, who is very against me using space Cocaine or trying to sell it

Wood elf cleric under Landther who's threatened to blow up an alleyway because he didn't see me in a bib with a little duck on it

Plasmoid Monk named Orb. He caused a train problem and left a raccoon on a train, and tried to go Dress shopping with anissue. He also goes into a fish form and becomes a swedish fish.

Goblin Warlock, who eats every enemy he kills. And thus is extremely obese. His name is Gorlock the destroyer, And he serves bhaal. Goodie.

Naji, A NPC tiefling paladin, Anissue's girlfriend, helping fight against a cult and is absolutely tired of their dates getting interrupted by explosions and trauma. More on that later.

This is how my D&D campaign went:

Fighting some cultist dudes in a open plaza where they kidnapped only five people out of the hundreds they were planning the kidnap for a ritual. This is also where Anissue and Naji first met, because Naji was riding on horseback and did a basically hit and run lay on hands to the back of anissues head. Romantic.

-A discussion of iron maidens for druids

-shopping spree

-got more money

-Anissue and Naji's date (it went horribly wrong not due to Anissue or Naji, but the rest of the party tried to spy on the date, The cleric threatened to blow up the alleyway of the restaurant that they were having their date, because Anissue had to wear a bib to eat ribs, meanwhile our monk, orb, punches the cleric in the ass three times because he's clinging to the balcony right underneath so he can spy on the two teiflings. Basically there's a massive fight PvP where the paladin comes out and tries to shoot a blindness arrow at the cleric, meanwhile the rogue was on the roof eating popcorn and throws the popcorn bucket at the monk and slips away with his head of disguise to get the guards. The guards come and they say "is there an issue". The rogue only did that for the pun. Well all this is happening the two people who are on the date realize what's going on and Anissue is mad and threatens to throw a candle at the cleric. The cleric saw the bib and left after. So now the cleric has to pay penance, by being blind for a week. Meanwhile our obese goblin warlock is going to be a guide dog for him. Anissue and Naji Go to a park they smooch and Anissue somehow gets a rose because the rogue will followed them and put a rose in her coin purse. So Anissue gave up her lightning javelin and a rose to Naji. And there were three counts of public damage, One because anissue accidentally gripped the door so hard holding it open for Naji that the metal bent, two because of the buffoonery of the cleric, and three because anissue broke a lamp post by headbutting it in embarrassment and then punched it in victory after a smooch. Also during the date the paladin drinks for the first time in 5 years so Anissue immediately bitch slapped the wine off the balcony. )

-another shopping spree where Anissue buys seven sending stones to keep in contact with Naji

At some point we fought a succubus in a tavern of a really sketchy fishing tone so we killed the succubuses and the town basically became a ghost town.

Anissue perhaps acquired 84 bagels

Anissue adopted a calico cat (who I feel like I should mention is a dude cat, due to how rare a male calico cat is) and named him Ritz Cracker.

We ran into some marrow

We did not want to start a fight with the marrow because that means fighting an aboleth, who enslaved these marrow.

Spend 2 hours in real time trying to figure out what we should do to avoid such a fight.

We decided just to sneak through his territory

The lowest roll was a 13. We were all terrified that I was going to roll like garbage considering my dexterity is a 10. But somehow our monk cast guidance on me, And for whatever reason I did not roll below a 20 within the three rolls that I had to make.

We end up finding a spectator and three Chuul

Spectator didn't even get a turn

I did a bunch of massive aoe damage thanks to the Sunforgers unique ability to basically explode when thrown. 21 damage to all enemies within a 20 ft radius, And another 21 damage to the forehead of the guy that I hit with the hammer in first place.

One of them gets knocked prone

I recall my hammer through the guy and kill him

I yell at the other guy to *COWER FOOL*

I roll a 17 on intimidation. He gets frightened. Then the monk just beats the crap out of him from over 20 ft away because he's a plasmoid. Combat over.

No damage to us, One rage charge and one ki point spent

And apparently this was one of the more difficult encounters for five players, according to our DM. We had four players

We headed back to waterdeep in preparation for a aboleth fight but we got completely sidetracked and ended up finding my characters sibling, fight a giant floating black cube and then headed back to water deep. Then we went shopping So I may have acquired a 80 ft swim speed for my teifling I'm playing by getting the Mariners armor and acquiring a Boots of speed. Zoom

Also literally everyone failed a perception check except for Ritz cracker somehow, so we didn't notice this until our rogue succeeded his perception check that the guy we were shopping from from his curios shop was an ancient dragon

We also had to discuss whether a plasmoid could grow a beard or not

Here are some quotes from that D&D session as well because we also went to a tavern where a second date happened between anissue and Naji, which basically it ended up being orb telling us that hey we have one year to solve this catastrophic cosmic event otherwise everything's going to go boom. There are some quotes that I wrote down:

"Are you smoking chairs??"

"She's only 36 she hasn't even had a midlife crisis yet" "well she will now"

"It's like a walrus showing up at your door it's normal enough to not apply to weird fantasy rules but you're still weirded out by it" "Amazon got real fancy"

"How does no one care about the plasmoid in the room in comparison to the male calico cat?? Like excuse me I'm rarer"

"Is it like how dense lesbians can be?"

"MORE MARGARITAS"

"Please don't drink the ketchup"

"I would like to curl around my blåhaj shark, lay on the floor rock myself back and forth and cry"

"So now our barbarian can summon the emotional support cat and has shared custody over it with the NPC paladin?"

"He only peed on my foot once"

"Let me cautiously eat chicken"

"Orb, no. No space cocaine in public"

Anissue also figured out that she can summon Ritz cracker because Ritz cracker is a familiar.

The next session we end up going to the middle of a woods to pick up orbs spaceship end up having to do a time puzzle when we interact with each other's memories and have to put them in order in order to actually access his spaceship and then a white guy shows up and tries to ruin our day by talking about this ancient god. Anissue is not having it in deals 60 damage to his head in one turn before she gets trapped in a box and he disappears. He calls himself the first disciple. But during our memory search we find out that we have to go to the Fey wild to pick up a guy so we can find a way through the mountain pass so we can get to the tree and stop the cosmic problem. So we decide to head to the Fey wild.

We entered the Feywild, a rogue seduced to Medusa we suffocated her boyfriend in a bag of holding and we lured a giant millipede and a sky swimmer to fight each other oh well I was shouting come get this Tief beef.

We answer the humanoid zoo where our dude is held, pass a very obvious joke of a white man named Kevin who's in a florida-like enclosure who's drinking bud light and can just summon Bud lights and the plaque just says Florida man. I may or may not have convinced the guy we've been looking for, accidentally via an accidental intimidation because I was just telling him the plot so I can convince him to not use teleportation to escape the Feywild once he got his tools. I may have also given him ritz cracker to calm down. so now we're trying to convince our fey queen to let this guy create a map so that way we can actually go past a mountain pass so we can save the universe from a potential inevitable destruction. And of course our rogue is trying to flirt with a queen. There also may have been a Florida man in a cage but that's not here nor there. We also came across a tree before we headed into the palace and humanoid zoo That was called Harold and he basically granted his permission and several vine blights to travel with us. I may have been recalled my stupid nickname so now it might actually stick with my character, because due to last session of chasing the millipede to the sky swimmer I did a performance check to try and lure it over by just yelling and screaming and being obnoxious and yelled out "come get your tief beef" so yeah I got called Tief beef.

That's majority of it there's probably going to be more nonsense this Thursday.

There's only one joke that's so consistent throughout the entire campaign is space Cocaine which was the substance I fictionally made up and it was originally a joke and then it got implemented into our game so now there's space cocaine within our universe. Go figure.

But yeah that's our campaign so far. Toodles-