#oak worshipper

[wordsbymae]

Saviour Complex- goddess!Reader x Warrior

Plot: Reader is a young goddess, still yet to come into her full power. The patron goddess of innocence and compassion, she resides deep within the forest, caring for any lost souls who come her way. Destruction finds its way to her lands, as the Emperor's men flood the forest, tasked with cutting down anyone who refuses to denounce their heathen ways. One warrior finds the reader's temple, and tasks himself with 'saving' the reader from herself.

TW: Loosely based on posiden and medusa, which if you know is a trigger warning all on its on, SA, Implied non/con, talks of religion and religious genocide. Neither the warrior's or reader's religions (so to speak) are actual practised or once practiced religions. They are completely made up. Sexual talk. This fic is from the warrior's point of view so very much misogynistic, ignorant, and him being a dick. Also breeding is mentioned (a few times, opps) I see the warrior as Pedro Pascal as Pero Trovar

Notes: This was meant to be priestess reader but I liked this idea better. Enjoy!

He would hardly call the temple before him a temple. It was nothing more than some stones and arches pilled together, hidden under the canopy of a great oak. It was not as old as the other temples he and his comrades had pulled down. The other's, older and more grand than the one in front of him, were infested by savage heathens. They had been dozens of them milling around the great stone pillars. Some leaving tokens of good faith, other's seeming to be in constant service to their wild gods.

This land he found himself in was not under the watchful gaze of the Eye. Nor were they subjects of the Emperor. Instead they worshipped petty gods and goddesses, born from mortal parent's, given gifts of power from Mother Wild. The gifts given depended on their actions as growing gods. Raised as mortals until their 20th nameday, when Mother Wild gives them her final gift, immortality. At least, immortality to a point.

They age as mortals do, but the hands of time pass ever slowly by. As they watch their family and friends grow grey and old, only days have the wild gods aged. It is said that they can one day grow old, grey and tired, succumbing to death as all living things do. But none had ever yet to reach such an age. Gods were able to be killed but it took strength and numbers to do so, and the sword of Caleen, the first wild god ever born. Caleen's own blood had been mixed with the metal, creating a sword capable of penetrating through the gifts given to them. The sword, gifted to him by the Emperor, lay dormant in its sheath by the warrior's side. It was the only method known to truly kill a wild god.

Until then, the only way to defeat a god without the sword was to force them to act in a way that went against their patronage. Salios, once god of law and order, had his gifts ripped from him by Mother Wild, when he unjustly killed an innocent man. Without his gifts, age and sickness came for him thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of years before he should have perished as a god. Yet such an act had not occurred for hundreds of years, least of all forced by human hand. So these wild gods reigned over their forgotten wood, almighty in power and reverence.

It was heresy.

These 'almighty' beings were nothing but demons, given unholy power by the forces of darkness. Born human, yet corrupted by power. It was unnatural, it was all that went against the teachings of the Eye. Humans were sinful creatures, and the more power one had, the more corrupted they became.

The warrior grimaced as he walked up to the temple. A stupid move if he was being honest. He was here alone after being separated from his battalion. But he needed a place to shelter the coming storm, the air thick with the scent of rain. He would rather face a barbarian than freeze in the wilderness. The temple seemed to be empty, no worshippers leaving offers or priests caring after the god. It was quiet and lonesome. Yet strangely welcoming. He could feel warmth emerging from inside the temple, the scent of delicate florals dancing through the air.

He hesitated at the threshold of the temple, it was clean and well looked after. The walls were lined with soft candlelight, and murals of prancing deer and maidens dancing through the woods. A statue of a woman stood silent in the middle, bathed in dark sunlight by a round hole in the roof. The statue was covered in crowns of flowers. Some placed on her bowed head, others hooked onto her arms as they reach outwards, palms facing towards the sky. Gifts of pearls, lilies and feathers of pure white were placed delicately at the foot of the statue.

He did not care to learn these savage gods names. There were hundreds of them, some more powerful than others. Some given patronage over small, worthless things. He had laughed for hours when he discovered that there was a patron god of footprints. Whoever this temple was erected for, was loved yes, but not revered.

The warrior walks deeper into the temple, becoming enveloped in a sense of peace and compassion at the care given to this little goddess. He grunts in frustration, these stupid gods and their stupid 'gifts'. When he and his brothers in arms desecrated the patron god of fear's temple, the battle was nearly lost as they nearly fell to the wild gods powers. Fear racing through their ranks. Just being in the presence of a god was enough for their powers to linger in the air, effecting a mortal humans thoughts and feelings.

This little goddess must still be here.

Rain began to fall from the heavens, it came down with a fury. Yet, the rain that fell through the hole came down in fat, gentle drops upon the statue of the goddess. Water drippled down her stone face, the warrior had to admit this little goddess was quite the beauty. If her statue was anything to go by. He walks deeper into the sanctuary, closer towards the statue. He stops just in front of her image, breathing in deeper at what he can only imagine is her scent, sweet yet comforting, there was an earthiness to it too. He reaches out to caress the stone cheek of his little goddess. What a pretty thing she was.

He kneels to take in the sight of the gifts offered to her. There were the pearls, feathers and lilies he had seen before. But now he could see spools of white wool, wrapped in ribbon, and carvings of hearts, flowers and dozens of names circling the statue.

Lightly touching the most prominent of the carved names, he allowed himself a grin. He had found the wild goddess of innocence and compassion.

He had found you.

You were the youngest of the gods, only decades since you were gifted your immortality. Yet, you had quickly become beloved by your worshippers. The patron goddess of innocence and compassion, you resided deep within the forgotten woods, caring for the animals of the forest and any travellers who crossed your path. It is said that only those in needing of help or guidance, and children looking for a home could find you. The delicate smell of flowers leading the way to your temple. The names carved upon the stone at your feet were those you had cared for over the years. Travellers lost and afraid. Children without parents or care. Women hiding from vengeful men. And men scarred by life itself. All found their way to you, to your compassionate and pure hands.

You were the last of the major gods that the warrior and his men were yet to find. Your brothers and sisters before you had fallen. Some had run like cowards leaving their temples, and their followers, to burn into the night. Others, slaughtered by his hand. Time may only harm the wild gods so much, but Caleen's sword is a deadlier foe than time itself. It filled him with joy remembering plunging Caleen's own sword into the first wild god's heart. He was the first of the wild gods and as such he was the first to fall.

The warrior stood to his full height quickly as soft footsteps made their way through the temple. They came to a stop, the owner hidden by darkness still.

Outside the storm raged on.

"That you little goddess?" the warrior jested, hand coming to rest lazily on his sword's pummel. He stepped around the statue, giving a slight kick at a doll that was laid carefully at its feet.

The sound of hesitant shuffling could be heard. His little goddess was nervous.

"May I see your face, dear one? I have come a long, long way to find you. I wish not to leave this place without seeing your face, it would break this poor soldiers heart" he pouted in fake hurt, creeping towards you as a wolf moves closer to its prey.

"Who are you?" you ask, voice calm and strong. Yet, he could sense fear in your words.

"Just a poor soldier, a lost traveller if you will. Seeking the care and compassion of your grace" he answers, bowing slightly. He toys with his pummel, he had a feeling he would not need to draw it this day.

"Are you hurt?" you plead, taking a closer step towards him, your sense of empathy and compassion shinning through.

The warrior saw his chance, and he was going to take it.

"Not physically your grace, but I have not yet broken my fast or had a drop of water in days." he furrows his brow, grimacing and holding his stomach with his free hand.

"Oh! Your poor thing!" you exclaim, rushing forward to meet him. Once in the light, the warrior damned the creator of the sculpture for failing to capture your beauty. The statue was nothing in comparison to you. Your hair was thick and healthy, framing your face perfectly. Your skin soft and supple. Lips dewy and oh so kissable.

Your were the most beautiful woman he had seen in his entire life.

And here you were, all his for the taking. You were dressed as a goddess deemed fit, perfectly tailored and fetchingly so. But all he could think about was ripping it from you in a daze of lust. You rushed up to him and guided him deeper into your temple. He only realised that the temple was much larger than it seemed when he was outside. These wild gods and their tricks. You cooed to him the entire time. Stating there would be a warm bath and fresh fruit and clear spring water for him in his room. You hadn't even noticed his weapon, or if you had, you truly were the patron god of innocence.

He allowed you to fuss over him. Allowed you to lead him deeper into your temple, until you reached an open court yard, filled with plants of all colours and sizes, soft grass below his feet. At one end a statue of Mother Wild stood, vines and flowers blooming across her figure. In the centre of it was a beautiful flowering tree, more gifts had been left here to.

He stopped you from leading him further on, his eyes set on this tree. There was magic in its very fibre, unnatural power. He could feel it.

"Everything ok soldier?" you try, hand coming to rest on his back. He flinches at the contact, it was so soft and kind. No one had touched him with such care before.

"What is this tree?" he turns to you.

"Oh! Its a magnolia tree" you grin

"No, I know that, why is it here, and why.." he stops himself, he was going to ask you why he felt power radiating from it. "why are there gifts at its base."

You give him a soft smile, gently grabbing his hand you lead you to its base. You softly bring yourself and him to the ground. White flowers fell softly to the ground. You reached a hand out to touch the bark, closing your eyes, before reopening them to look at the warrior.

"Here, give me your hand"

Without thought he places his hand in yours.

What wicked spell have you put him under.

And why does he not care to know.

With your gentle touch on his, the warrior felt heat rise deep inside him. You placed his hand on the bark, yours overlapping his.

"Do you feel it?" you whisper, voice soft and kind.

Of course he could feel it. Pure innocence, unbridled compassion and love.

He hated it.

"This tree is an extension of myself. The day I was born, when my parent's realised who and what I was, they planted this tree. They understood that they and all those who I love would grow old, die and leave me alone. This was their way of giving me a companion. The day I received my gifts and my patronage was the day I laid my parents to rest under this tree's shadow."

He watches in silence as tears well up in your eyes.

"I hadn't even turned four and ten springs yet, when...when they attacked. They were raiders from the south. Brutes, really. My parent's told me to flee, but there were younger children, pregnant women and injured men who couldn't flee, or didn't know where to flee to. So while the warriors in my village tried the best they could to defend us. I went back and forth between this tree and the village, carrying, dragging and leading all those I could to the safety of the great oak that shadows my temple. When I went back the last time, there was nothing left. Our warriors were slain and my parents...."

You break off, tears trickling down. He feels the sudden urge to wipe them from your cheek. He lets himself have the honour of doing so, and your let yourself have the pleasure of him touching you.

"Anyway, there wasn't much else I could do, so I brought them here, buried them, and cared for the survivors the best I could. It was then I was given my gifts, for my compassion for my people and my innocence in the face of death, I was given my patronage. We rebuilt our village, and life was good. But the years after I was given my final gift, were... difficult to say the least. Watching my friends grow old, have families of their own. Then watching their children age and grow grey. I... it was difficult."

You give him a pointed stare, now turning your back onto the tree and rested upon it. He removes his hand from the bark, mirroring your actions.

"Can I tell you a secret?" you plea, eyes big and soft.

"Of course my little goddess, I will take it to my grave." he sternly replies, practically giving you his oath as a holy warrior of the Eye. You thought he was joking, jesting with you after such an emotional story. You gave him a giggle and playfully smacked his chest.

"No need for that, but thank you." you trail off, thoughts of long ago in mind. He nudges you softly, eager to learn your secret.

You look back up and him and sigh, turning off into space.

"Sometimes, when I have no one to look after, and its been months, sometimes years, even, since someone has walked through my temple's door. I wish I wasn't born a goddess. I wish I could grow old, fall in love, marry, have children of my own." you look down, playing with your hands.

The warrior was troubled, yet excitement grew. You could be saved. You wished to be without the corruption of the dark forces that ran through your very being.

"But you could start a family. I have heard tales of demigods"

"Yes, but I can't" you stress turning to him. "I am the goddess of innocence, not just compassion. To bare a child would mean I am no longer innocent, therefore my powers would be stripped from me. I would be mortal again."

You huff in frustration. Even if you were able to have a child, it would still grow old, and you would be left to bury another one of your kin below your beloved tree.

The warrior was delighted. Overjoyed, perfectly happy with this news. Some gods had gifts that were hard to strip from them. How do you make the god of footprints go against footprints? Cut off their feet? Unless....

No he's getting distracted. Here he was being given his own gift, from his god. The Eye was testing him, for sure. Allow a wild goddess to continue her wicked magic, or save the mortal within. You already told him you wished to be free of your curse, the burden placed on you the moment you were born. All he had to do was take your maidenhead. Put his seed in your womb and watch it grow. And what a fine mother you would be. You had spent decades being a mother to hundreds, so what more a burden would a few of your own be. In fact he was sure your would revile in it.

You were practically begging him to fill you with his seed, with those big, soft eyes and those curves that screamed at him to take you. He was without a wife, he would have to break you in for sure. You were a wild one of course. But with a few whelps to look after and one surely in your belly, how much could you defy him?

His cock began to stir. His eyes laden with lust. You look up at him once more, brow furrowing at his darkened eyes.

"Is everything okay soldier?" you sweetly ask, actually concerned for his wellbeing.

"Let me give you the life you want, little heathen" he begs, pushing you down onto the soft grass below the tree.

"What? No! Get off!" you plead, pushing against him. He tightens his grip on your wrists.

"Give me the honour of cleansing you of your dark powers, instead allow me to gift you the honour of carrying my seed." He growls, coming down to give you a lust filled kiss.

You bite his tongue with a vengeance, the taste of blood trickles onto your tongue.

"Mother!" you scream, turning onto your belly. Reaching for the silent statue of Mother Wild. She sat impartial, watching silent and cold. You begin to sob, as the warrior pulls your hips and ass into his crotch.

"Shh, shh little goddess, it will all be over soon. You shall be my sweet wife and you shall grow fat with my child." he comforts, his words tasting like iron on your lips.

"No!" you cry, elbowing him in the nose. You get up to run, straight towards Mother Wild, you drop in front of her and beg for her help.

"Help me Mother Wild. Please!"

You were only gifted the power of healing and other small gifts that now seem useless. What could were they against a man like this? The warrior gets up with blood streaming down his chin.

"My! The little heathen has some bite, huh" he sneers, pulling his sword from its sheath. You turn to look at him in fear, surely that was not what you think it is.

"Recognise this? I drove it through your first wild gods heart, and many more of your brother and sisters since then. I wish not to harm you little goddess, but if you do not renounce your claim to your wicked birth right, then I will be forced to kill you." He almost grins at the sight of you kneeling and afraid.

'That's it heathen, fear me, fear the holy Eye.'

You turn to Mother Wild once more, pleading and begging for protection.

Nothing happens.

You sob as you are ripped from your place by the statue and dragged back to the ground under your tree. You are pushed onto the soft grass, for a moment you forget what is happening, and you are young again, watching the sky through the leaves of your tree. Your parents are still alive, you had yet to be given your gifts, and you can kid yourself into thinking life will be like this forever. You are broken from your daze as Caleen's sword is plunged into the soft dirt by your head, and you are quickly reminded what madness you found yourself in. You stare up at the warrior in front of you, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. He kneels down onto you. His blood drools out of his mouth, dripping down his chin. His eyes are filled with lust and pride.

What an evil, wicked man.

You choke back a sob in fear of what is to happen next.

"My dear one, do not cry for the life you are renouncing, cry with joy for the life we are to create." He shushes you gently, a rough hand caressing your tear stained cheeks.

"What poetry is this, that you should lose your gift of innocence the very place it was given"

[violetmoondaughter]

Many are the faces of the Hellenic God Dionysus, but the duality of his nature is sometimes connected with two specific plants associated to the god. Dionysus relates to many plants such as Fig, Oak, Pine, Vine and Ivy, these two are specifically connected with two opposite faces of the god. 

Grapevine starts its annual growth cycle in spring with bud break. During spring and summer, the plant grows and after flowering the vine sets the fruits that are usually harvested in early autumn. Following the first frost the leaves begin to fall as the vine starts to enter its winter dormancy period. The following spring, the cycle begins again. Following the same annual cycle Dionysus is seen as a god that is reborn every spring, bringing during the hot season prosperity and abundance before disappearing in winter. Grapevine grows thanks to the hot weather and humidity and so it represents the warm fertilizing humidity power of the god. Grape is used to create wine which is the drink sacred to Dionysus because of its ability to release mental faculties.  

Ivy on the other hand, blossoms in the autumn when the vines are harvested and bears fruit in the spring. As an evergreen plant, ivy needs cold weather and humidity to grow and flower.  Ivy vines crawl as snakes and in the myth, ivy appeared soon after the birth of Dionysus to shelter the child from the flames that burned the mother's body. To its freshness was attributed the virtue of dispelling the ardor of wine, so Dionysus was believed to have commanded his worshippers to crown themselves with it. Ivy, in contrast to the vine that bore fruit bearing vitality and exaltation, produced a poison that sterilized and had medicinal virtues that were refreshingly depurative and narcotic. The plant is also connected with thunder and lightning and was believed to have the power to protect from lightning and cure sore throat and cough. 

Thus these two plants sacred to Dionysus are contrasted with each other in an eloquent contrast: the vine, drunk with light, is a child of heat and returns the rays of the sun by warming, with its libation, bodies and souls, while the ivy shows itself to be cold in nature; indeed the sterility and uselessness of its first sprouts recall night and death. 

Their affinity is rooted in the very essence of the dual-figured god, whose nature is expressed from the earth by means of them: light and darkness, warmth and coldness, intoxication of life and breath of death that withers everything; the multiplicity of the Dionysian aspects struggling with each other and yet conjoined with each other is manifested here in vegetal form, stands in struggle with itself and prodigiously transitions from one form into the other. 

Dionysus rules over all moist and hot creatures whose symbol would also be wine, as a hot and moist substance. In wine, heat is made ardor drink of fire that overwhelms everything, that ignites the soul and the body. But the moist heat is contrasted with the moist cold that as a Dionysian element, is manifested in ivy, a plant that greens even in winter when the Dionysian festivals take place.

[gravehags]

smitten by the blackest force

Pairing: Mary Goore x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: witch reader, cemetery sex, deals with the devil, rough sex, devil's marks, mary goore being some kind of supernatural being...?

Words: 2,861

Summary: If this is your Mephistopheles well...just call you Doctor Faustus.

a/n: mary please return my calls i desperately need to get fucked in a cemetery. mary are you there? mary?

~~~

You like this cemetery.

It’s old. Quiet. Set back in the oak trees off the dirt road with ivy entwined in the wrought-iron fencing. You liked to come here often - even on the occasions where you weren’t conducting rituals - sometimes packing a sandwich and an Arizona tea and just sitting on the grass - keeping the spirits whose names have long worn off the headstones company. You’ve never seen anyone else visit but somehow the grass is always trimmed back, never overgrown. Even the local teenagers don’t fuck with this place, your little hideout, and for that you’re extremely grateful. There are some rumors among the townspeople about devil worshippers in the area but considering the questionable nature of your own practice, you aren’t too worried about them (if they even exist at all.) 

Right now you’ve got a blanket spread out to sit on, a knitted shawl around your shoulders, and your various bottles and crystals surrounding you. You hauled out a few camping lanterns from your car to keep the spot well-lit as the sun dips down below the forested horizon. Sighing you lay back against the blanket beneath you, breathing in the evening air and the quiet.

Snap.

The sound has you shooting up, clutching your shawl and eyes darting. The only thing you can hear is the sound of nature around you - crickets and cicadas. You open your mouth with the intention of asking if anyone is there before you promptly close it, thinking better of it. You’ve been out here at night before - countless times - and never encountered anything sinister but you’re not stupid and inviting anything in. Besides, you think as your shoulders sag, it was probably an animal. You scoot back on your blanket until your back is flush with the tall mossy headstone behind you, feeling more secure with its protection. A few minutes pass and you yawn, watching the blink of fireflies in the distance. You slump against the stone, and you feel so cozy and content as your eyelids slide close you only vaguely register the low chuckle coming from somewhere behind you. You’re in the beginning stages of drifting off when a teasing whistle winds its way through the gravestones. You jolt upwards, head whipping around but neither seeing nor hearing anything. That is, until a soft tsk-ing sound comes from behind you and you watch as thick, beat-up boot soles stroll into your line of vision. You crawl away from the person, heart thundering in your chest and your anxiety thrumming through your veins reminding you that you’re probably going to die. When the figure stops at a nearby tall headstone and leans back against it, crossing their legs at the ankles, they speak.

“Kind of a shitty witch who falls asleep in a fucking cemetery,” they smirk, crossing their arms. Thanks to a nearby lantern you’re able to get a better look at them - skinny, but not tall, wearing torn up jeans and a ratty band shirt with the sleeves cut off. Most of their face is hidden by the messy black lock of hair that hangs down over their forehead but you swear they’re wearing some kind of face paint and was that…blood?

“Who the fuck are you?” you snap, eyes darting around for anything you can use as a weapon.

“Oh she’s a mean little thing,” they crow, pushing off the headstone and stepping towards you. The panic is really starting to set in and you wonder if you’d be able to make it to one of the lanterns and hit them in th–

“Relax, sweetheart,” they say, crouching into a squat a few feet from you, “if I wanted you dead you’d be dead one of the other dozen times I’ve seen you alone out here.”

Your blood runs cold as you remind yourself there are things worse than death.

“You’ve been watching me? W-where there’s never anyone around–”

“Forest is big,” they say casually, dropping to their knees and sitting back on their haunches. “Lots of spots between the trees. And I’m real quiet.”

All of this is…troubling information to say the least but their first words stand out to you.

“How did you know I’m a witch?”

They nod, large pale hands resting on their thighs.

“We’ve been watching you for a while. Kind of a…local weirdo in this area, aren’t you? Small town shit seems a little beneath someone like you.”

You snort.

“I like the quiet. And most people mind their fucking business out here. Sorry, did you say ‘we’ve’ been watching?”

“Oh yeah, y’know, the uh,” they bring their hands up to their head and make horns with their fingers, “devil worshippers.”

Huh.

Intriguing.

You scoot a little closer to them and notice the way their full lips twitch in a minute smile.

“The old folk of the town talk about you guys but I never gave it any credence. Thought it was just leftover Satanic panic horseshit from the eighties.”

“Mmm well,” they begin, “we’re not your typical uh…Satan worshippers. It’s kind of more of a big deal than that. Actually, a lot of a big deal.”

“Oh yeah?” There's something magnetic about this slender creature whose green eyes glint in the lantern light. While you’re not necessarily soothed by their presence you cannot deny that you are drawn in.

“Yeah,” they confirm, “I’ll tell you more about it later but uh, let’s talk about you, huh?”

“What about me?” you ask, some of your caution returning.

“Well we’ve seen what you do. Got eyes on you. And we’d like to offer you a place at the Ministry. Our practices aren’t so different, are they?”

No, you think to yourself, no they’re not. You’re no stranger to demon work and after all what is Lucifer but the demon to end all demons? And all your dealings with them have always led to successful rituals and outcomes.

“So what do I get out of it? And why didn’t you just come to my house or my work to ask me all this?”

The slightly sinister chuckle that comes out of them stirs something within you.

“Protection. Power. The ability to do whatever you want, whenever you want to. A home.”

That last one hits you hard but you stay silent.

“Are you interested?”

A moment passes.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I want to live deliciously or whatever?”

They tilt their head back and laugh, slapping their thighs with their palms.

“Haven’t told you how we seal the deal yet, sweetheart.”

“Oh? And that would be…?”

“A surprise. Which you’ll find out about when you answer my question. Are you in?”

You were supposed to be charging your crystals in the moonlight and collecting cemetery dirt tonight, not making a fucking deal with the Devil. But, you think as you look at the figure eyeing you intently, everything happens for a reason.

“Yes. Yes I’m in.”

They give you a wide, sharp grin.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me down, gorgeous. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

Before you can ask what they mean, they’re crawling towards you like some kind of spindly cryptid. You’d be lying if it didn’t arouse you even as you back up against a headstone with nowhere else to go.

“C’mon sweetheart,” they purr, wrapping their fingers around your ankle. “Time to give the Devil his due.”

You yelp as they yank your body towards them, their hand sliding along the curve of your calf and up to your knee. 

“And you’re the Devil are you?” you breathe, watching them slither up your body and settle between your legs.

“Me? Nah. I’m just the poster guy who gets to reap all the rewards.”

“And what do I call you?”

They lean in to inhale deep at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and you have to bite back a moan.

“Wanna know what name you’ll be screaming out tonight, huh?”

“Think pretty highly of yourself,” you murmur, bringing a hand up to drag your fingernails along their back. When they growl and grind their denim-covered cock against you, you grin.

“You’re awfully mouthy, aren’t you?”

“Thought you wanted to hear my voice?”

They’ve got their hands on the hem of your shirt, fingers grazing the skin of your belly, when they look at you with a wicked smile.

“Take this off before I rip it off,” they growl, raising the fabric insistently. You gleefully acquiesce, watching their eyes boggle as your bare breasts sway in front of them. Leaning back on your elbows you blink innocently up at them, watching their tongue dart out to smear the paint near their lips.

“Fucking finally,” they grouse before falling upon you and taking your pebbled nipple in their mouth. 

“You–ah–never answered my question.”

They slide off your breast and grin up at you.

“Call me Mary.”

There’s no softness in their attentions, all hard sucking and teeth nipping but fuck if it isn’t exactly what you need. It’s been a while - much longer than you’d like to admit - ever since you moved to this podunk little town. The selection wasn’t exactly uh, bountiful. You’ve got your head tilted back as they suck pretty dark bruises into your flesh but when they give your unattended nipple a sharp pinch your eyes fly to theirs.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart. Want you to remember exactly who fucked you this good.”

You laugh.

“Haven’t done any fucking yet, have you? I’m withholding my judgment.”

Instantly, they pull away and sit back on their haunches.

“You little bitch,” they crow with a crooked grin, “Oh you’re gonna be fun to have around.”

You’ve propped yourself up once more, watching Mary as they rub the bulge in their jeans.

“Drooling a little, huh baby?”

Maybe. But you’ll be damned if they know it.

“Yeah, out of boredom. Are you gonna sit there rubbing one out all night?”

They squeeze their cock, grinning down at you.

“Maybe I should fill your mouth instead of your cunt? Stuff you so full of me you’ll really be drooling. I’ll shut you up then, huh?”

You’re not totally opposed to the idea but the ache between your thighs needs attention before any other extracurricular activities occur.

“I’ll be good–” you say, reaching down to wiggle your joggers and underwear off your hips. When the heat of you is exposed to their gaze, you slide your fingers between your folds to gather the slick that has accumulated. Satisfied, you raise your hand to your mouth and slowly slide the digits between your lips onto your tongue, “--I promise.”

Mary’s panting now, the heavy rise and fall of their chest hypnotic as they drink you in. They’ve still got their hand to their bulge, lazily squeezing their cock through the fabric. Suddenly their fingers are viciously unbuttoning and unzipping their pants and you both sigh as they take their cock out. It’s a pretty thing, all red and swollen and dripping, and you know it’s going to look even prettier inside you. They stroke it, smearing the pre down the shaft with their lips curled into a grin.

“That’s all it takes to make you pipe down? A nice dick?”

“Who said anything about it being nice?” you say, but your breathy tone gives away your true feelings. They look altogether too pleased with themselves as they scoot forward and drag the tip through your wet folds. When they nudge your clit with the head your hips buck up and you whine.

“Now that’s more like it,” they smirk, pressing against your entrance. “Beg for it,” they snarl, pushing in the tip.

“Fuck Mary, please. I need it, need your fucking cock to fill me up, please, please, please.”

They laugh, the sound jarring in the near darkness.

“Damn, could’ve stopped at the first ‘please’ but you sounded so pretty doing it, think I’ll give you an extra good ride tonight.”

You’re about to say something caustic but before the words can even leave your mouth, they slam their cock into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. True to their word, they set a brutal pace, gripping your thighs and eyes flicking between your bouncing breasts and where they disappear inside of you.

“B-been awhile, huh?” they pant, hips snapping into yours. “Almost like you’ve been w-waiting for me. Saving it up.”

You don’t have it in you to be snarky anymore, too stuffed dumb. So you nod frantically.

“Mmhmm,” you whimper, “all for you Mare, fuck right there.”

“Shoulda done this weeks ago,” they growl, “Instead of jerking off in the–augh–fucking woods. Never–fuck–never thought you’d be so easy.”

You’re not sure if they mean your deal with the Devil or the fucking but honestly you can’t bring yourself to care about anything right now that isn’t their cock pounding into you at a furious rate. They’re relentless, wrenching noises out of you you didn’t even know you could make. When they drag their hand to where you’re joined and dip a thumb in to rub at your clit your body arches off the grass.

“Fuck, Mary!”

“Know you’re close,” they grunt, “can f-feel you. Come on baby, let go. Give yourself to me. Give yourself to Him.”

The entire situation - the damp slide of the grass under your fingertips, the thick night air, the deal you just made, the cock currently hammering inside you - hits you all at once and your hips spasm.

“Don’t stop, Mare, please holy fuck yes, right there.”

Your hands fly to your breasts, cupping the weight of them and viciously pinching at the taut buds, making your lover groan and their hips stutter against you.

“C’mon yeah, play with those pretty fuckin’ tits, sweetheart. Oh fuck.”

You’re clenching around them now as they frantically rub at your clit and piston in and out of you, your moans increasing in volume and pitch. You feel as if you’re levitating, mouth hung open in a silent scream as you come undone, chanting their name.

“That’s it baby,” they snarl, gritting their teeth, “Cum for me, cum all over this cock–ah!”

You’re still riding your own high when you feel their cock twitch inside of you, flooding you with their seed. Their hoarse moans nearly send you into your second orgasm and your eyes slide shut, enjoying the feeling of them emptying inside you when–

They’re gone.

You heave a gasp as if taking a breath after being held underwater, hands flying to the ground beneath you. Mary’s gone–just fucking…gone. The only remnant of them currently dripping out of your used cunt onto the grass. You’re trembling while simultaneously being flooded with warmth as if you’ve been overcome by an awful fever. You ease yourself onto your side and curl into a fetal position, watching a ladybug crawl over the stone next to you. You’re not sure how long you lie there, shivering in the dark, but when your mind finally comes to you see the rosy planes of dawn stretching out through the trees. With great effort you push yourself off the ground - using the headstone for stabilization - your knees nearly giving way when you finally manage to stand. Sluggishly, you pull your underwear and pants up and spot your t-shirt a couple feet away crumpled in a pile. All your little vials and crystals stand as silent witnesses to the depravity that occurred last night and you hastily snatch them up and pile them into your tote bag. Your mind is a haze - too much of a haze to gather the blanket and lanterns - so you stumble out of the gate and head towards your car.

You don’t remember driving home but when you push the door open to the old house you rent, you feel…filthy. You’re not sure if it’s from your encounter with Mary or something else but you know one thing - you desperately need a shower. Your bags get dropped in the living room and you mechanically strip as you head to your bathroom. The shower is just what you needed - the firm stream of scalding hot water on your hair and body rejuvenating. When you step out into your steamy bathroom, you let out a deep sigh. The further you got from the events of last night the more they felt like some kind of wild dream, and you would be content to convince yourself of this were it not for the purple bruises peppered across your breasts that you spotted in the shower. You drop your towel and pad out into your bedroom to look for something clean and comfy to wear when you walk past your full-length mirror and stop dead in your tracks. There’s something on you - you think maybe it’s a tick or mud - so you turn the bedroom light on. High on your thigh, right in the center is a perfectly round mark, the size of a pencil eraser.

You don’t have any birthmarks.

Your stomach floods with panic and you fall to your knees on the rug, still naked and damp.

There’s a knock at your door.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Like Real People Do

Halsin x F! Tav

18+ hurt/comfort, tenderness, implied trauma, oral (f!), face riding, fingering (f!), pants cumming (m!), a little shadowheart love at the end. as a treat!

Since fleeing the vampire lord's grasp Tav is settling into a peace she has not known for years. And finds she has a large welcome guest in her perfect exile...

Part 1, Part 2

-

Laying on her back in the grass she felt... happy. Content. A rediscovered feeling since her escape from his grip. The first gusts of night air tickling her face.

The Selune outpost had become her sanctuary, though she was still hesitant about worship. Seen too many messy gods in the flesh to put her faith in them, killed a few too.

In the weeks she had been there she had gotten stronger, her figure filling back out some. Her face a little less haunted. Even her laugh regaining its power. The life slowly dripping back into her.

Even getting closer to the worshippers, all of them recognizing her and waving hello. Of course they still didn't know who she was, her appearance quite different from the days of defending The Gate, and honestly it worked in her favor.

Of course Shadowheart had been with her every step of the way. Holding her on nights she woke shaking. Encouraged her to eat, bringing her the best fruit, a bowl filled to the brim with stew. Cheered her on as she managed her first few pull-ups in years on a tree outside.

Sitting up to breathe in the heady scent of the orchard, she heard a thud behind her. Turning to see warm hazel eyes filled to the brim with adoration, pack dropped in the grass.

"Tav!" Halsin exclaimed, rushing to her. Scooping her up so easily around her thighs. Holding her up high, close to the heavens.

His face split in a joyful smile as he spun her in a circle.

"Easy!" She laughed, his joy infectious. "You're going to make me dizzy!" As if she wasn't already, her heart lit up like a firework.

A few new scars peppered his face, but he still looked good. Really good.

"Your hair!" Tav marveled, taking a lock in her fingers. "It's long!"

Reaching below his clavicle, the chestnut tresses still deftly braided here and there.

"As is yours!" He smiled, gently pulling her long braid over her shoulder. "Impressive!"

She tried to hide the slight discomfort in her eyes. Her hair still something she hadn't processed yet.

"I'm sorry Tav," Seeing the strain in her face he released her braid, the end swinging back down to the base of her spine. His arm still holding aloft. All soft love in his eyes. "I've been so excited to see you I've forgotten myself."

She knew that he knew there was more to her discomfort, but appreciated the out.

"Oak Father preserve me, you are so beautiful. Memories didnt do you justice." One hand cupping her cheek, arm still supporting her around her thighs.

"Oh Gods, you're already going to make me cry." Tav laughed truthfully, biting her lip. "And you're going to have to put me down eventually."

"Allow me some more, please." He laughed, releasing her far down enough that she could wrap her legs around his middle. "My journey has been long and I've been nearly mad with the thought of drinking you in again."

Gods she missed the deep rumble of his voice, a bow pulled across cello strings. Sending tingles down the back of her skull.

She naturally rested her head on his chest, sighing contently. So warm.

"Please take me inside Halsin."

Laying back in a hot bath she melted under his touch. Strong hands massaging her scalp. The air heavy with lavender, rosemary.

It was almost overwhelming, being showered with so much care. After so long of being nothing but a prized posession to feel so loved was nearly too much.

Aware that she was softly crying again Tav chastised herself. Just be here, be with him.

"Would you like me to stop?" Halsin asked gently, hands slowing.

"No, you're perfect." She sighed, closing her eyes again. "I'm just... not used to this anymore. Being treated so well."

He cupped the back of her head, coming around to look in her eyes. "Did he hurt you?"

"Not physically." She winced slightly, not entirely truthful. Flashes of pale hands. Rough. Taking. "I was looked after. Oh he had endless servants to cater to me but there was only possession there, not care. Not love. I couldn't go anywhere without his approval." She laughed coldly. "Couldn't even decide what I wore. I was a glorified doll. One that he would fuck on the side. Just a thing to be paraded around. To do with as he pleases." She blinked, all of it pouring venomous from her.

"Is this...?" He trailed off, lifting her hair from the back of the tub.

"Yes," She sighed bitterly. "He liked it long."

He circled back behind her, braiding it in strong sure strokes. Kissing each tip of her ears.

She leaned back, suddenly so tired again. Would she ever be truly free of him? Would he haunt her body forever?

A sound of cutting jolted her eyes open. A weight pulling away from her head.

She turned as Halsin held a length of braid in his hand. Nearly a meter of it. The remaining falling gently onto the backs of her shoulder blades.

"Halsin!" She gasped, wide eyed.

"He cannot have you anymore." He said, voice barely above a snarl. Eyes glowing gold faintly.

She stared at him in shock.

Rising out of the tub she held both sides of his face roughly and caught his mouth in hers.

His hand gripping her hip, other tangled in her newly free hair he kissed back with restraint. A low growl reverberating from his chest.

Looping her arms around his neck she stood to go to him. He hooked under her thighs and lifted her out easily, not breaking their hold on eachother.

"Oh I'm getting you all wet." She blushed.

"Small price to pay." He chuckled, laying her down on the bed. Pulling the damp tunic off his wide shoulders.

She looked up at him, a thrill in her chest. Gods she had forgotten that he looked like that.

Tav was not a small person, tall, usually quite curvy and muscular. Filling out her clothes in several ways. Though the dark years had thinned her out significantly she was still not a waifish little thing.

But beside him? She was dwarfed. Still a whole head taller than her and twice as wide.

Crawling down to her he trailed warm up to her neck. Mouth devotional on the soft flesh.

She moaned softly, head falling back. Hands wrapping around his shoulders. Spreading her legs to make room for him between.

His calloused hands explored gently, around her hips, her waist. Up the outer side of her thigh. The touch lighting her up, leaving trails of need on her skin.

He was all slow, savoring. The pace making an ache in her pelvis. Driving her mad.

A soft growl in the back of his throat as she scratched lightly at his scalp. Saw his eyes pull closed. A shiver going down his back.

"Is this okay?" She asked softly. Is it okay that I'm broken goods? That I cant love you like you deserve?

"More than okay. Tav you bless me just being in my presence." He smiled, coming up to look in her eyes. Hand cradling the back of her head. "I'm the luckiest man in Faerun to share a bed with you."

She blinked at him, his sweet words so genuine they stung. Wanted to rip herself into pieces and rearrange them into a person who was better at this.

"Careful with the tender words, I'm all sharp edges now." She tried to joke, swallowed at the lump in her throat.

"I dont scare that easily. You are not too much for me." Leaned in to kiss her reassurance. "On Silvanus I swear it."

She melted into his kiss, eyes closing wet before the tears could escape.

"Please touch me Halsin." She urged against him, moving his wide hand to her breast.

He rumbled his approval, moving his warm mouth to her throat. Kissing, pulling, biting. The soft flesh of her neck his domain.

Calloused fingers brushing against her peaks, making her hips squirm. Back and forth across the pads of his fingers.

The teasing touch making her throb, hips arching up into his. His hard length greeting her seeking.

She felt him shiver again, taking her wrists and pushing them in an arc above her head. Snaring them down in one hand.

His free hand pushing down her front, their eyes meeting as he pressed fingers against her hard mound.

She groaned, eyelids lowering but never leaving his.

"Tell me what you want Tav." He urged lowly, fingers swirling slow sure circles. "Where you need me."

She paused. So long since she had been considered. What did she want?

"Put me on my stomach." She whispered. Shocked at her own words, how sure they tumbled out.

He hooked under her hips and easily flipped her, her shocked giggle eliciting a smile from him.

"Hips up." She grinned into the sheets. She felt comfortable, safe with him. A lightness in her chest under the waves of lust.

His arm pulling up on her hips, gripping her ass briefly. Groaning at the soft round flesh pushing between his fingers.

"Go down on me, please." She hushed. Being so direct making her blush.

"Oh yes," He rumbled, clearly more than pleased to fulfill her request.

His mouth met her cunt, licking hot stripes up her center. She choked out a moan. Hands gripping the sheets under her.

His tongue moving in flat dragging strokes, briefly pushing down into her entrance as he passed it.

Her hips already quaking, toes curling. "Ugh, that's so good." She groaned. Pushing back into his mouth.

He rumbled his pleasure deep in his throat, the reverberations against her making her shudder.

Licking tear drop around her clit, coming down to suckle it into his mouth, tongue pulsing.

She almost collapsed, seeing stars. A near indignant whimper leaving her lips.

He was suddenly gone from her and she looked down, dazed.

He had flipped onto his back, long hair splayed halo around him. Jaw coated in her wetness, his eyes flashed up to hers. Pulling encouragement on her thighs towards his parted lips. Pupils slitted, glowing bright gold.

She needed no further prompting, her thighs releasing to his strong hands.

His mouth pulling her in again, now fully devoted to her clit. Suckling and licking hard and insistent. Hand coming up to push inside her above him. Only two but already filling her to the brim, pulsing hooked fingers.

"Oh Gods," She whimpered, the arousal in her pelvis so full it ached. Both his tongue and fingers almost too much. Her hips moving in time with his worship.

She thought she would go mad, a mewling mess. All decorum gone as the pleasure overwhelmed her. Lewd begging moans muffled into the sheets her face was buried in.

He groaned hard into her, the deep sound unfairly pushing her to near edge.

"Fuck, I'm almost-" She warned, the ache pushing into itself, her limbs hot.

As if the his snarl of approval wasnt enough, his hand snapping down on her ass was overkill. The crack of it on the air joining the indecent sounds of his hungry mouth.

She pulled her arms into her body, white knuckled around the sheets, her orgasm hitting her in great violent jolts. Ripping through her, taloned and merciless. She screamed out muffled incoherent pleas into the mattress. His tongue laving up the cum that pushed thick out of her, clearly pleased with his reward, sighing hungrily into her.

Her body tremored rhythmically to his motions, little gasps leaving her in time.

He slid up over her, cradling her back to his wide chest. "Come here to me." He rumbled, pulling her to fall back onto his chest. Laying them down together.

She fell dumb into him, limbs puddled. Still trying to catch her breath. Eyelids fluttering.

"You didnt," She started weakly, gasped words catching. "We didn't get to you..."

He chuckled warmly, vibrating against her back. "No need, I already did."

She blinked, shocked. Focusing found it to be true, a wetness in his trousers.

"Oh," She marveled. Just her pleasure enough to send him over. Bit back a little proud smile.

"Oak Father sustain me, I dont know how I didn't wild shape." He admonished, gently pulling her hair behind her hair.

Her hair. She took a lock in her fingers, staring down at it.

"Tav I'm sorry I did that without consulting you." He sighed, gentle regret pulling in his deep tone.

"No," She stared, awestruck. "No I love it." Craning her neck to look up at him. "I'll think of you when I see it now. Thank you."

His eyes shone with tears, cupping her face. "You honor me." Pushing a soft kiss into her hairline.

"Hey, no crying." She whispered. Turning to press her head into his chest, letting her weight onto him. His hand threading into hers, secure. "Only I get to be a mess, okay?"

He laughed, his heart steady against her ear. A tranquil drum. Pulling her down, her eyes heavy.

"Can you stay? I dont want to be alone tonight." She whispered, eyes closing. Already drifting. Barely hearing his answer.

"I would want for nothing more, my heart."

Standing quiet at the base of a great tree, Shadowheart slid her hand into hers. Both staring down at the mound of small dirt. The night air chirping with insect song.

"I'll admit it," Shadowheart sighed, defeated. "I dont know what rites to speak at a hair funeral."

Tav smiled, squeezing her hand.

"Here we stand to honor the death of Luscious Locks..." Tav started, tone dour.

"Gone but not forgotten." Shadowheart nodded. "They will be released to the great comb in the sky."

Tav laughed. Knocking her head gently into her silver hair.

Great hands sliding over her waist. "Have I missed the reading of the will?"

She leaned back into him smiling, sighed softly at his all encompassing warmth. "Bad news, you didnt inherit anything. Sorry big guy."

He chuckled, planting a quick kiss on the crown of her head.

"You sure we cant talk you into staying another night?" Shadowheart offered, smiling warmly at him.

"Ah dont tempt me, I've already been selfish staying so long. They need me back home, someone's got to read the children their bedtime stories."

"You'll never hear the end of it, I'm sure." Tav teased, turning to hug him tightly. Burying her face in his chest.

"Thank you." She murmured. "For coming, for being here."

"Oh my heart, knowing you are safe here with us again. That will sustain me for quite some time. I'd love for you to visit some day, if you'd allow me some more of your company." His arms around her so steady and perfect she didn't know if she'd have the strength to pull away. She nodded into him.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked low, hand cupping her cheek.

"Mmm okay, just one for the road." She smiled, standing up on toes.

"Of course." He smiled, lips sliding against hers. All smothered fire and longing. A deep hum in his chest.

Pulling away too soon he rested his forehead against hers. Staring deep into her. His love pouring in.

Leaning back with a sigh.

"And you," He boomed, grabbing the back of Shadowheart's neck and planting a strong kiss on her forehead. "Take care of yourself! Of eachother, nothing is more precious."

Shadowheart squeaked, blushing. Tav throwing her a cheeky smile.

Hitching his pack up his shoulders he trailed one more kiss on her knuckles and turned to leave. Waving goodbye good naturedly at the worshippers pretending not to eavesdrop from their windows.

Shadowheart tutted her disapproval, eyes squinting judgment. "So nosy, all of them."

Tav smiled, watching him leave fondly. Turning back to her. "Oh let them have their fun. It can get awful boring around here."

She mock scoffed, hand to chest. "Oh is watching me pray for hours not stimulating enough for you? I'm hurt."

"Well the view is never bad." Tav shrugged, giggling as Shadowheart's hand shot out to pinch her side.

Tav darted around, her agile arms nearly catching her.

"No!" Shadowheart shrieked, laughing loudly. Running down the small ravine, Tav giving chase.

She laughed, breathless. Watching her silver hair bob in front of her. Catching her around the waist in a patch of undergrowth. Both tumbling laughing into the soft ground. Limbs tangled.

Tav kissed her softly, hand cradling her cheek. Shadowheart's gentle moan licking against her lips.

"I think," Tav started, pulling away. "I think I'm happy again." A soft wonder in her voice.

Shadowheart smiled up at her, eyes bright with tears. "And you even got a free haircut."

Tav laughed. "Actually, I think I want to shave the side." She mused, smoothing fingers along her temple. Gaze sliding to her green eyes, mischievous. "Wanna help?"

"Oh yes." Shadowheart's eyes alight, devilish.

"But first. Tell me everything."

~

Part 4

[autistichalsin]

More thoughts on Halsin's bad ending

First, if you haven't already, please watch Merrinla's video of Halsin's goodbye in Act 2 if the player fails to break the Shadow Curse.

So, there's a few things about that video that keep getting to me the more I watch. One... listen to his voice. Watch his face. He is wrestling with himself not to tell the player that he'll go with them, especially in the first one where they beg him to come, and he has to tell them that "this place needs me". You can see his heart break in two as he says it, and you can see how he would give ANYTHING to go with the player instead. But he can't.

The other thing that gets to me is... Halsin is so deeply, devoutly religious for Silvanus. Any other time he invokes his name, Halsin puts his hand over his chest/shoulder instinctively; there is one point in his good ending, where he mentions to the player that he hopes Silvanus will allow him to see Thaniel and Oliver in person again, where he closes his eyes, holds his hand over his chest, and gives a silent, but obvious prayer. But here? Watch him. The movement doesn't look instinctive; quite the opposite, he moves haltingly, like he's not even entirely sure what he's doing. He is convincing himself to make his usual gesture.

One might even go as far as to suggest he feels betrayed by his deity in that moment. The deity he worshipped his entire life, whose favor he sought for over 100 years after the curse fell, spoke (as Halsin says- "the Oakfather has spoken. My place is here")- and in doing so, condemned Halsin to spend possibly the rest of his life in the cursed lands. Halsin gave everything, and Silvanus answered by condemning Halsin to life without the sun, along with the land he tried to save, until he somehow manages.

There is a line Halsin can speak, not shown in the video, if Art hasn't died and the player suggests staying; Halsin tells them if they stay, they'll jeopardize their mission. Then he adds, "This is my burden alone now until either the curse is lifted, or I breathe my last."

And then comes the letter Halsin sends at the epilogue party.

My friend, I was truly heartened to learn of your success in the fight against the Absolute- the whole of the Sword Coast and beyond owes you a debt that can never be repaid. I dearly wish I could have joined in your moment of celebration, but the Shadow Curse remains, and so my vigil must continue. Perhaps I shall yet discover a way to restore light to this place, but until then, the memories of my time traveling with you shall sustain me through all manner of hardships. If the Oak Father is kind, one day I shall feel the warmth of the sun and know the joys of your company once again. Yours until the end, Halsin

In the letter, even when offering a hopeful suggestion that Silvanus might allow him to feel the sun again... you can feel the hopelessness and resignation. Like he doesn't truly think Silvanus will allow him to leave, even if he still worships him and hopes he will.

It's heartbreaking to think about, really, since Halsin is one of THE most devoted Silvanus worshippers. On the other hand, it also makes his good ending, where the curse IS broken, all the more satisfying as a result.

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

bdubs is a piece of a fallen star.

some million years ago, a fallen star fell to the dirt. Dirty, misshapen, and not alive, yet it shone.

this piece of the stars was worshipped by those who found it. it was prayed to, it was cleaned, polished, loved. Their soft and fur-like leaves and their moss-made hands took care of him.

And just like anything loved and cared for, it grew a mind. A kind one to start, these creatures that worshipped him- he had the responsibility to protect them now. He was still just a piece but these people are His now.

Not a year after, everyone that worshipped him was slaughtered. The wood that made their bodies were stronger than any oak these people knew about and the killers were in the middle of their own war after all.

They theorized that the glowing piece of rock was what made them so tough, so perfect for their shields. They left as quick as they arrived, leaving the piece of fallen star alone.

Still, unmoving, shining, the piece of the night sky wept for his slain worshippers.

He had to do something, he was their protector! These killers shouldn't be able to go scot free! They took what was His and he's going to get them back!

For decades and centuries, the living and vengeful piece of starfall grew dark. Figuratively and literally. It planned and schemed and it used every ounce of its power to create a moving, alive, and shining body.

Until one day he did, and Bdubs was born.

Nothing more than glowing stone, the star piece began to walk. And he found- ruins. Castles and towers and monoliths broken to pieces from a war he has never heard of.

He searched through the streets for anything and found one of the least ruined ruin, an artist's workshop.

He entered and saw remnants of art. Paintings still bright and drawings ripped from whatever war took place.

He stepped through the ruin and a wet squelch startled him. Under his foot was paint, still wet and fresh. Yet there was no one around, did whoever live here create paint that would be everlasting?

Slowly, he crouched and swabbed the paint with his thick fingers and looked around. Paintings of people he never knew displayed, with faces he's not familiar with.

Well, if he's going to take revenge, he should at least be disguised as them right?

An ambush is much more effective when the target doesn't know you're coming.

So, Bdubs sat, his paint-covered fingers dipping into the everlasting paint, and started to paint on his undecorated stone body.

and for the second time, he lived.

he never found the ones who slaughtered his people. in the long, long time it took to form his body, they were wiped out by their own war. a cosmic justice, of sorts, but unsatisfying for this fragment of the stars. if he had crafted his body for revenge, what does he do now that he has no target?

he started by honouring his old worshippers. he could not do for them what they did for him, but he could keep their memory alive. he built grand trees, wove cloaks of leaves and moss, painted their stories. he did all that he could to make sure they were never forgotten.

and then, moss upon his shoulders and love in his shining heart, he set off to find his own way in the world, and lived for the third time.

-Mod Mleem

[kerink]

okay, i have made this point numerous times by now (1, 2), but i think it's worth bringing up in light of the new episode:

kevin was in the DOW prior to strexcorp

in 237 kevin says he was in the DOW as a child:

KEVIN: I remember as a child, when Frown Night ended, I’d take my bag of loot, and sit on the highest level of the lighthouse. LAUREN: Oh, the one at the top of the mountain? KEVIN: Of course that one! Where else would you put a lighthouse, Lauren?

and it devours says kevin went to the DOW, learned about smiling god worship, then brought his teachings back to desert bluffs:

“Kevin was a great figure in the history of the church. He had once been a radio host in a town called Desert Bluffs until one day he had found an old oak door. He had gone through that door, and had entered heaven, where he had met the Smiling God. When he returned, it was with the message of the Smiling God, a message that he spread through his radio shows until he disappeared. It was said that he had returned to heaven, to join the Smiling God there."

and in e41 dana finds an abandoned settlement of smiling god worshippers:

“Beyond the lighthouse, I found a settlement of sort. It was bound inside the stone walls of a tightly wound gorge. […] Also, there were strange drawings along the walls of the gorge. Orange triangles, growing bigger and bigger as I traced my way deeper into the spiral. There was a soft light just around the edges of the triangles. […] When I look to the horizon, I see light. Like the light in the spiral. I feel it push against the back of my eyes. It is the unraveling of all things. The great glowing coils of the universe unwinding.”

so while the timeline is murky about how old kevin was when he first went to the DOW, i think it's clear by now that his current life there is his second life there. It was said that he had returned to heaven, to join the Smiling God there.

in terms of his age discrepancy, though, i wonder if he could have gone to the DOW as an intern? after all, cecil was interning at 15, so it's possible for kevin to have been working at DBCR and still have been a child when he went to the DOW for the first time

i KNOW that kevin's unclear and contraindicatory background is because finknor are fucking up but come here, sit down and play with me

[tiyoin]

god au

“My lily, please-“

“That is not my name”

“It was yours long ago-“

“Right ” You drawled. No matter how fast your legs walked, (more like staggered) the gap you tried to create between the two of you never seemed to lengthen, nor shorten for that matter.

He walked behind you calmly, like he was on an afternoon stroll underneath the willows and oaks. Though with each step desperation seemed to seep into the grass, its heavy burden eroding the soil and leaving footprints his ancestors will clamber about.

Though he kept up his relentless track. Once again you've underestimated the gods

“You have no idea how long we- I have been looking for you. How long I had to go without seeing your face, touching your skin, hearing your laugh. All those thousands of years without you felt like I was in the depths of Tartarus.”

You stopped walking, rearing back to face him as you tilted up to face the oh-so-high and mighty god who kept insisting you were his ‘dead lover reincarnated’

“I am not your dead lover! If I was this lover of yours why was I reincarnated and not resurrected? There are tales of the gods reuniting lovers whose other half had joined the great beyond. You're a god yourself, yet here I am a nymph"

"Just because I am a god doesn't mean I can control the fates. Even if I could there'd be a trick or favor played against me. And I am anything but a fool "

“Then who was I before I was resurrected- and don't you dare say your lover”

You were getting tired of hearing the same practiced lines over and over again- like a bard who only knew one tune.

“…You act high and mighty for a nymph”

You froze, lily pad wilting over your head as you searched his eyes. Yes, they were different from that one peeping god's. But they were all the same.

A different shape, a different color, and a different pupil. You thought you'd never see eyes so cold and lifeless ever again.

Yet here they were, staring straight at you.

In later days you'd come to realize that those eyes were all around you. Each one was different in appearance, like pottery in a shop. Each has its design, its own story, and its price.

They'll always have the same darkness, the same emptiness.

The sun’s warmth no longer reflected in their irises. It was like they stole the eyes of the dead.

“You have no power to ask such questions”

You bit your tongue. Not just because he was right; you had no power. You had no land, no domain, and no special powers besides turning into the murky waters of your swamp, or the reeds and wildflowers that littered its banks. And what were you supposed to do with wreaths? And unlike Antheia, you had no seat in Olympus or at any council. You were a nymph.

You should be honored that a god is even looking in your direction- using it to your advantage to have children to tie him down and to hold onto his power.

“I-“

You stopped yourself. You can't explain the feeling, but it was like a flash of lightning in a tempest, its luminescent zig-zags lighting up the battling sky of your mind.

Yes, you had no land, no domain, no seat at Olympus with your name carved in it.

But you had worshippers. 6 powerful ones who proved time and time again they would kiss the ground you, a nymph walked on.

“You are right, I do not have the power to ask such things” You took a step back, adjusting the white of the chiton as you willed yourself to finally look into his fish eyes.

"But you do not have to power to cross over into the marshes of Antheia"

He let out a huff of air, stepping back as well. "The day you hide behind that goddess is numbered nymph." He took two steps forward. He was dancing on the invisible line you had made. The line Antheia had carefully drawn long ago.

"And soon enough, you'll be on your own" He leaned closer "Because now, you'll be playing with the big boys. And we bite, hard”

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master list

asks about god au welcomed!

[the-blood-tide-rises]

oblivion crisis dashboard simulator

📜black-horse-courier-official Follow

Assassination! Emperor and heirs assassinated, and the Elder Council named as regents. Read this article at our blog.

☀️no-dawn-is-too-mythic Follow

#rip bozo #rest in piss you wont be missed #tamriel ae queue

13,784 notes

💨chapel-climber Follow

even in death, the papers love to remind the public that old uriel took an L when jagar tharn pretended to be him for a decade 💀

mans being slandered in death

#not climbing #vlinorposting #rip uriel though

13 notes

💙justyouraveragepriest

Some affirmations:

Today, I embrace the infinite flow of time guided by the wisdom of Akatosh.

I trust in the divine plan of Akatosh, knowing that every challenge I face is an opportunity for growth and transformation.

I surrender to the divine timing of Akatosh, trusting that everything unfolds according to His will.

I am a reflection of Akatosh's divine essence, radiating love, compassion, and wisdom to all those around me.

Each day is a gift bestowed upon me by Akatosh, and I vow to make the most of every moment, living with purpose and intention.

Above all else, be good to one another. 💙😊

#sundas affirmations #akatosh affirmations #the divines #nine divines #daily affirmations

972 notes

⛪priory-of-talos Follow

Tell me why some random person just so happened to show up at an ungodly hour in the night, just to have the Amulet of Kings? I told them to find the Emperor's bastard heir in Kvatch, or whatever. Will be keeping the Amulet in my sock drawer.

🩸dagonenjoyer433 Follow

Interesting

4 notes

🐺kvatchi-kvetcher Follow

omg i cant sleep wtf is that noise

🐺kvatchi-kvetcher Follow

THE DAEDRA????

#kvetchings #kvatch under attack

40 notes

✨daedraphobic

didn't expect to enter the gates of oblivion, save a city, and retake a castle just to find this Martin fellow

✨daedraphobic

by the NINE he's hot

#i'm ashamed but also kinda not #also got the title of hero of kvatch

2 notes

⛪priory-of-talos Follow

Don't tell anyone, but the Amulet was stolen.

💙justyouraveragepriest

😓

✨daedraphobic

tamriel's smartest tesblr user

#so you're telling me #that you lost the amulet #that you promised to protect #maybe stop LIVEPOSTING EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS TO YOU AND YOUR LIFE #AND WE WOULD NOT BE IN THIS SITUATION

15 notes

🤢bravilhater9000 Follow

#dank memes #offensive memes #memes #funny memes #anti bravil

7K notes

⚔️baurus-the-realest Follow

Going on a book hunting quest with @daedraphobic down in the sewers was not on the agenda today. Another day alive though, bless the Nine 🙏

#personal stuff #daedraphobic

11 notes

☀️no-dawn-is-too-mythic Follow

Had a #great speech in front of my devoted Dagon worshippers today. A new arrival joined mid-speech. Glad to see that more are seeing the #truth.

🩸dagonenjoyer201 Follow

Someone saved that argonian, slaughtered everyone, and stole the Mysterium Xarxes :/

☀️no-dawn-is-too-mythic Follow

It has been brought to my attention that the new arrival mentioned earlier infiltrated my group and stole my fucking book.

#at least i still have the amulet #take that you bitch #tamriel ae queue

301 notes

🎨truepainter-rythe Follow

some bosmer cunt stole my paintbrush, entered into the canvas, painted trolls to protect himself and the trolls killed him. someone please help me.

#the great forest #help

415 notes

🗺️jemane1 Follow

no fucking way rythe is stuck in a canvas

📚give-me-my-book Follow

Talk to me by the Great Oak, I have need of you.

🗺️jemane1 Follow

i don't live in chorrol

📚give-me-my-book Follow

What? I saw you, in the evening hours of yesterday. I ask of you to retrieve a book for me.

🗺️jemane1 Follow

I don't live in chorrol

#i have had about enough of people gaslighting me #i have never stepped foot in chorrol leave me alone #going to start blocking weirdos

5 notes

✨daedraphobic

apparently he was a sanguine worshipper?????????????

#okay so like i was told to get a daedra artifact weird ik #i found the sanguine shrine and crashed a noble party to obtain it #gave it to him and he reminisced about it #???? #y'all think he would be a freak in the sheets or nah

99 notes

💙justyouraveragepriest

Due to recent events, I cannot keep up with posting daily affirmations. I cannot speak more about where I am or what I am doing, but I am doing alright as of now. 😊

🩸dagonenjoyer427 Follow

coc cloudrulertemplegreathall

💙justyouraveragepriest

Hmm?

#nonaffirming #offtopic

148 notes

[nidstiniens]

wip wednesday

it's actually thursday, but i always love these so thank you for the tag, @myreia!! ♥️ tagging: @lilbittymonster @cloudofdarkness @snotsloth @galpalaven @gatheredfates @aethergazing @birues @iona-xiv @gortash @geth-consensus @dogfromfallout @alannah-corvaine @hartsvale @ishgard @fheythfully

He dreamt of home so often, it almost felt more real than waking.

It was dusk again, as it always was. The last remnants of light cast long shadows over the snow blanketing a forgotten village that existed only in his memories. The cobblestone beneath his feet was worn smooth, and the houses that stood on either side were empty and dark, their windows gaping like eyes, and their doors shut tight against the elements.

It was quiet here; there was no howl of the wind, or the crack and pop from a fireplace, or even the soft crunch of snow beneath his boots. All that remained was a vast and yawning silence, cold as it seeped through the cracks of his former life, whispering in his ears like the cries of ghosts.

His feet carried him through the empty streets with a slow and purposeful stride, the trim of his cloak trailing after him like a shadow, his breath misting in a white haze with every exhale. There was a familiar sense of restlessness gnawing at his chest, urging him forward. He was looking for something — someone, perhaps — but, try as he might, he could never recall just what, or whom.

He came to a halt at the foot of the village square, and the cobble beneath his boots gave rise to the ruins of a great cathedral. A soft grunt stirred his throat, more thought than it was sound, as he tilted his head, squinting up at the structure curiously.

The cathedral was all flying buttresses and sturdy stone, a harsh contrast to the village's wooden homesteads, yet the same sense of abandonment hung about it like an old, unwelcome shroud. Its main entrance was marked by large oak doors, flanked on both sides by Ishgardian saints, worshippers of Halone, their weathered faces carved with expressions of reverence. Stained glass windows lined both walls in an arching row above them, while stone gargoyles kept watch from above.

He recognized the building instantly, having walked past it nearly every day of his life, and oftentimes accompanying the granite beasts in their vigil.

What was it doing here, now, miles away from its home in Ishgard proper, on the outskirts of the city-state in a village that no longer existed?

[dalishious]

The Last Court Lore

Hey folks, I decided to waste my time reading through every single card from the now dead game, The Last Court, and record any interesting bits of lore I found.

A huge thanks to the Dragon Age: The Last Court community archival project, for making this possible.

Serault

Rulership is known as the House of Glass.

Serault's motto is “Payment in Glass.”

Serault’s emblem is a mirrored stag.

“Glass is the foundation of Serault’s wealth. Members of its glassworkers guild are privileged prisoners: valued, well-treated, and watched like jewels on velvet.” The glassworkers routinely rebel against the nobility for better working conditions.

Inhabitants are called Seraultines.

Templars are despised and distrusted by many in Serault.

The Masked Andraste Cult

Serault is home to a cult of worshippers of “The Masked Andraste”.

Worshippers gather in the woods at night wearing charred wood masks, to pray around an ancient wooden statue of a masked figure that may or may not actually be of Andraste.

The woods seem to have a supernatural response to this worshipping, by providing more bountiful harvests and hunts.

The Shame

The Shame (the PC’s mage grandfather) is hinted to have performed some kind of magical favour for the Grey Wardens.

The Shame kept his apostate daughter hidden away in a dell all her life. 

Divine Justinia

Justinia killed, blackmailed and intimidated her way to becoming Divine. The Grand Clerics who disapproved of her mysteriously disappeared, were disgraced, or suspiciously became fervent supporters overnight.

The Heartwood Court

The court is headed by the Horned Knight, a creation by The Shame (the PC’s mage grandfather), lives deep in the words and is married to a dryad.

The Heartwood Court is made up of dryads and fauns. They are served by enchanted people who “move dreamily”.

The centre of the court is an abandoned tower.

Drinking water from the tower has healing properties.

The Tirashan

There is a group of elves, presumed Dalish, who all have red vallaslin living in the Tirashan. They attacked nearby villagers for getting too far into the woods. The humans draw the conclusion that the victims were blood sacrifices, though this is unproven.

The Applewoods

The woods near the region of the Tirashan Forest are called the Applewoods, for they are full of apple trees.

The apples from these woods have astringent, intoxicating properties.

The woods are “crawling with dryads”.

The Veil is thin in the woods.

Outlaws

Outlaw groups meet in a place called the Greenvault; a clearing among ash trees.

Named groups include: the Corpse-Dancers, the Dead Rose, the Black Knot, the Blasted Oak, and the Shuttered Lamp

The river running through Serault’s territory is game for pirates.

Miscellaneous

The Wandering College is a faction of scholars “prone to radicalism”. They visit holds and towns and preach revolutions by sharing their philosophies.

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today, on November 10th, 1978 - Queen Story!

"Jazz" album released in the UK

👉 The seventh studio album

➡️ 12/12/1978 - Circus Magazine

🔸In praise of ‘JAZZ’

The boys conjure up a bizarre junket by Mark Mehler

On Bourbon Street, in the heart of New Orleans’ fabled French Quarter, the sign reads, “Bob Harrington-Chaplain of Bourbon Street.” Upstairs, the freelance minister administers to the wicked minions below, while across the street, the Hotsy Totsy lounge features naked women parading across an oak bar from dawn to dusk, and next door, the “X-rated Shop” specializes in scatological posters and joy sticks.

This is Freddie Mercury’s favourite American city, where the Mississippi ends its majestic flow and zealots with big dreams fight a losing battle against hustlers, procurers, and all purveyors of sleaze. It is Freddie Mercury’s favourite city because the lead singer and bucktoothed front man of Queen is, above all, an actor. And in New Orleans, anyone can be anyone they want to be. Tonight, October 31, 1978-Halloween-Freddie Mercury and Queen have flown in 80 reporters from the U.S., Europe, Latin America and Japan, to see a show and be a part of a show at the same time. The third concert on Queen’s 28-city U.S. tour is in the ornate Civic Auditorium. Above the stage are listed the names of the mighty: Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Cellini, Durer, Gounod. Out of the soft blue and green lights and smoke, Freddie Mercury struts like a rooster, striking ballet poses, under an astral guitar blare that neatly skirts the sharp edges of rock & roll. The melodies are undistinguished, but the constant tempo changes of “Bohemian Rhapsody” and “We Will Rock You”, keep an audience awake for nearly two hours of uninterrupted music. The lighting show is one of rock’s most ambitious. Eerie purple lights shine out over the heads of the audience, making their hair seem cloudlike and inanimate. At the midpoint of the show, a smaller stage is lowered from the ceiling and 400 lamps meld into the sheer white plane of curtain light. Freddie is a whirling dervish, dominating every corner of the stage.

“Some people call this song ‘Spread Your Legs’, he tells the audience, introducing ‘Spread Your Wings’. “And I like it that way”.

Starting out in black sequins, he comes out for the first encore bedecked in orange hot pants, dancing around like Peter Pan. For the second encore he’s wearing a revealing, white body stocking. As he wails ‘We Are The Champions’, his voice warbles with mock emotion, and he grasps the microphone for support. At the apex of the triumphant denouement, the top executives of Elektra Records, who have sat smiling throughout the show, arise as one and walk out. Moments later, the show closes with a taping of ‘God Save The Queen’. Body and soul spent, Freddie ambles off stage, drained and spark-less. But Halloween night in New Orleans has just begun.

Back in the ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel, over 400 people have gathered to await Queen and much on a sumptuous table of hors d’oeuvres, such as Oysters Rockfeller and Shrimp Creole. A Dixieland band plays uninspired jazz jingles, until, shortly before midnight, the Olympia Brass band comes marching through the hall accompanied by Queen-the mercurial Mercury, the winsome Brian May, the puckish John Deacon, the velvety Roger Taylor. Suddenly, like a giant circus orchestrated by a deranged ringmaster, a legion of strippers, vulgar fat-bottomed dancers, snake charmers, drag queens, and bizarrely festooned revellers, begin to strut their stuff before the assembled masses. Freddie Mercury is besieged by hungry autograph seekers, groupies and fame-worshippers. People begin shielding their clothes, as an ever-imaginative photographer snaps Freddie signing the bare backside of a willowy transvestite. Freddie begins sucking on his giant overbite nervously, and by 2 a.m., he is mercifully gone. Brian May, who seems to be the true organizer of the night’s carnival, is cornered by persistent Japanese newshounds. “It’s wonderful,” he keeps saying. “It’s so nice to be back.” As the evening wears on, epicene men and butch women act out charades of power that would have embarrassed Hemingway. Three obese black women in g-strings do a pathetic bump and grind, and another female participant amuses a small gaggle of onlookers by putting a cigarette in an unlikely place. People leave to check out the scene on Bourbon Street and drift back to the party like cigar smoke. At 4 a.m., a Queen security guard, haggard and irritable, inquires when it will all be over. “Queen wants the naked disco dancers going to dawn,” informs his partner. And it does. The following day, Queen reappears at a press conference at Brennan’s, one of the French Quarter’s most elegant restaurants. Again, it is Roger Taylor and Brian May who dominate the conversation, as Freddie Mercury seems vaguely preoccupied. The subject of all this is ‘Jazz’, Queen’s new album, which contains no jazz. “People think we take ourselves a lot more seriously than we actually do,” says Roger Taylor. ‘Jazz’, Queen’s reunion with former producer Roy Thomas Baker, offers ‘Mustapha’, an up-tempo Hebrew rocker; ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’, a song that owes a lot to Pure Prairie League’s ‘Amie’; and more indulgent rhapsodies like ‘Jealousy’ and ‘Bicycle Race’, with its topical references to Star Wars, Jaws, and Superman. The ad campaign, like everything about the Band, goes to the limit of good taste: 11 bare-chested, major-league-yabboed women racing bicycles.

“It’s cheeky”, admits Freddie, “naughty, but not lewd. Certain stores, you know, won’t run our poster. I guess some people don’t like to look at nude ladies.”

Freddie, 32, was born in Zanzibar and educated in India, and was a childhood table tennis and hockey prodigy. He studied art and became a graphic designer and illustrator, having given up piano lessons in the fourth grade. But he continued singing, fronting his first band at 14 and forming Queen with Roger and Brian in 1970. After the routine easy grilling, Mercury is cornered outside. “You seem to be removed from the character up on stage. Is that really you?”

“No,” says Freddie, “of course it’s an act.”

He denies pandering to gays; or for that matter, to anyone. He hints at a quiet, restless man who needs to step outside of himself for ego-stimulation.

“I have fun wearing all those costumes,” he says. “I can really cut loose up there”.

Freddie is then swiftly ushered out, and again, Brian May is left behind to field the endless questions of the Japanese. The two-day junket, painstakingly directed by and for Queen, ends with a few straggling journalists eating Bananas Foster and being more cynical than usual. Outside, on Bourbon Street, a folk singer entertains an empty house of red velour seats, affirming that a falling tree makes a sound whether it’s heard or not. Which conjures up something Brian May had said about Queen constantly seeking “direct communication with our audience.” For all the words that describe Queen’s trip to New Orleans, direct is surely not one.

[talonabraxas]

THE ALTAR OF ARTEMIS by: Aleister Crowley (1875-1947)

HERE, in the coppice, oak and pine

And mystic yew and elm are found,

Sweeping the skies, that grew divine

With the dark wind's despairing sound,

The wind that roars from the profound,

And smites the mountain-tops, and calls

Mute spirits to black festivals,

And feasts in valleys iron-bound,

Desolate crags, and barren ground;--

There in the strong storm-shaken grove

Swings the pale censer-fire for love.

The foursquare altar, roughly hewn,

And overlaid with beaten gold,

Stands in the gloom; the stealthy tune

Of singing maidens overbold

Desires mad mysteries untold,

With strange eyes kindling, as the fleet

Implacable untiring feet

Weave mystic figures manifold

That draw down angels to behold

The moving music, and the fire

Of their intolerable desire.

For, maddening to fiercer thought,

The fiery limbs requicken, wheel

In formless furies, subtly wrought

Of swifter melodies than steel

That flashes in the fight: the peal

Of amorous laughters choking sense,

And madness kissing violence,

Ring like dead horsemen; bodies reel

Drunken with motion; spirits feel

The strange constraint of gods that clip

From Heaven to mingle lip and lip.

The gods descend to dance; the noise

Of hungry kissings, as a swoon,

Faints for excess of its own joys,

And mystic beams assail the moon,

With flames of their infernal noon;

While the smooth incense, without breath,

Spreads like some scented flower of death,

Over the grove; the lover's boon

Of sleep shall steal upon them soon,

And lovers' lips, from lips withdrawn,

Seek dimmer bosoms till the dawn.

Yet on the central altar lies

The sacrament of kneaded bread,

With blood made one, the sacrifice

To those, the living, who are dead--

Strange gods and goddesses, that shed

Monstrous desires of secret things

Upon their worshippers, from wings

One lucent web of light, from head

One labyrinthine passion-fed

Palace of love, from breathing rife

With secrets of forbidden life.

But not the sunlight, nor the stars,

Nor any light but theirs alone,

Nor iron masteries of Mars,

Nor Saturn's misconceiving zone,

Nor any planet's may be shown,

Within the circle of the grove,

Where burn the sanctities of love:

Nor may the foot of man be known,

Nor evil eyes of mothers thrown

On maidens that desire the kiss

Only of maiden Artemis.

But horned and huntress from the skies,

She bends her lips upon the breeze,

And pure and perfect in her eyes,

Burn magical virginity's

Sweet intermittent sorceries.

When the slow wind from her sweet word

In all their conchéd ears is heard.

And like the slumber of the seas,

There murmur through the holy trees

The kisses of the goddess keen,

And sighs and laughters caught between.

For, swooning at the fervid lips

Of Artemis, the maiden kisses

Sobs and the languid body slips

Down to enamelled wildernesses.

Fallen and loose the shaken tresses;

Fallen the sandal and girdling gold,

Fallen the music manifold

Of moving limbs and strange caresses,

And deadly passion that possesses

The magic ecstasy of these

Mad maidens, tender as blue seas.

Night spreads her yearning pinions,

The baffled day sinks blind to sleep;

The evening breeze outswoons the sun's

Dead kisses to the swooning deep.

Upsoars the moon; the flashing steep

Of Heaven is fragrant for her feet;

The perfume of the grove is sweet

As slumbering women furtive creep

To bosoms where small kisses weep,

And find in fervent dreams the kiss

Most memoried of Artemis.

Impenetrable pleasure dies

Beneath the madness of new dreams;

The slow sweet breath is turned to sighs

More musical than many streams

Under the moving silver beams,

Fretted with stars, thrice woven across.

White limbs in amorous slumber toss,

Like sleeping foam, whose silver gleams

On motionless dark seas; it seems

As if some gentle spirit stirred,

Their lazy brows with some swift word.

So, in the secret of the shrine,

Night keeps them nestled, so the gloom

Laps them in waves as smooth as wine,

As glowing as the fiery womb

Of some young tigress, dark as doom,

And swift as sunrise. Love's content

Builds its own monument,

And carves above its vaulted tomb

The Phoenix on her fiery plume,

To their own souls to testify

Their kisses' immortality.

[lemonhemlock]

My all time favorite angle of the Valyrian gods versus the Faith debate, is that a lot of the fics/takes around it by Team Black seem to like the Old Gods (which fair enough, I too like the creepy trees. team stark 5ever) or at least play lip service to it to make the Faith of Seven seem less cool (no one has the vision for how insane fantasy Catholicism can be except for GRRM himself) but also including Targaryen characters being respectful/kinda into the Old Gods, which KILLS me. I blame the wildly non-canonical weirwood in the Red Keep’s godswood in the show. It drives me INSANE. What is that doing there!!!!!! The Red Keep has no weirwood!!! Who planted it there???? You telling me that Maegor or Jaehaerys took the time to plant a weirwood for the Old Gods???? If I see one more fic where a Targaryen marries someone not of the old gods under a weirwood tree I’m going to kill someone.

I’m SO defensive of the weirwoods because I know none of them have delved into the fucked up human sacrifices that likely created weirwoods plus the rich symbolism that they create (hello Sansa in the Eyrie, I love you), the erasure of the North-South religious and cultural divide, and acting like the Targs would be so cool with the Old Gods for no reason is driving me nuts.

I just hate the show’s weirwood tree, it makes no sense. I will never find peace as long as I keep seeing scenes from the show set under it.

(Sorry for being insane in your inbox again )

Don't worry about it, your inbox drops lead to interesting discussions! 💚

Totally agree with you on the Old Gods & the unsavory blood ritualistic imagery (like hanging entrails from the branches of weirwood trees). I mean, it may sound heavy metal, but if we're supposed to be critical about religion,* this should definitely come under the magnifying glass, too. As is the super creepy idea that Bloodraven is spying on everyone using the weirwoodnet and manipulating historical events like that.

I also don't see why Targaryens should be Old Gods fanboys either - what could they possibly gain from this? It's such a fanon interpretation, because the old religion doesn't have any organized structure that could act as a political actor. There's this projection happening, because Christianity has flaws IRL and a fraught history, when people encounter its fantasy equivalent, they automatically think any other religion is better. I'm waiting for Cult of Starry Wisdom acolytes to come out of the woodwork and preach how much better Nyarlathotep is than the Seven Gods puts together.

As for the godswood in the Red Keep - Ned tells us it has an ancient, huge oak. That kind of tree can only grow like that over a very long period of time. There's no mention of a weirwood in KL that could have been cut down; also I don't think you can plant weirwood trees? Else I think people would do it more often in the North. I honestly think it's there just for nostalgia reasons for the audience. Though I wonder if George agreed with this addition and why. Maybe the lack of a weirwood in KL was an in-universe limitation he imposed on Bloodraven's power?

*at least that's what they think they're doing, by writing all these critical essays on how problematic the Faith is, but they never bother to do a comparative analysis with the other religions available in-universe. Or they peddle their own headcanons as fact, like how supposedly Valyrian society would have been so much less sexist than Faith-worshippers, ergo their religion should reflect that.

[shadowmonkstone]

Fuck. Fuck fuckety fuck fuck fuck.

It’s all kicked off. Or, it’s about to. If this is my last one, tell Prim that Jayce is a massive bellend, she’s better off without him and she was right. I should never have taken that gig.

So why am I saying all that? Well, because the four of us are about to go an take on an entire bloody goblin camp.

It all started when we found our way to this Drow commander, Minthara. I swear she’s got the same lust for lopping off heads as Lae’zel but with this extra cruel streak that sends a fucking chill down my spine. While she was talking about glory to the Absolute and finding a weapon our minds connected, tadpole to tadpole. This Drow has one of the Absolute’s three top brass whispering directly in her ear so no matter how things pan out from here, we’re fucked.

But you know how I said the artefact Shadowheart had was protecting us? Mate, this time I could feel it was afraid. In a way that says ‘keep me the bloody fuck away from the Absolute’s hands’.

The Drow asked me to join her, to obey. I played the game and said I’d think about it before buggering off. The four of us needed to find somewhere to work out our next move.

Problem was, after we’d walked over a death pit full of spiders (because of course there’s a death pit full of fucking spiders) we stumbled straight into a big fuck-off hobgoblin trying to cast a speak to the dead spell on a Mindflayer corpse.

And he fucking pulled it off!

Which then threw another spanner in our plans because the stupid fucking squid recognised my stupid fucking face!

Thankfully, the hobgoblin had used up all his brainpower on casting the spell so I was able to convince him I was a True Soul and the dead squid was a lying toerag.

After that he was a bit more friendly and sent us to speak to Minthara. We took that as a good opportunity to fuck off somewhere else to work out what we had to do next.

“Where was that somewhere else?” I hear you ask. Well, it was the prison, where the goblin bastards were keeping a bear. A bear we freed and a bear that just happened to be the fucking Druid chief!

I swear this all happened and I’m not making it up.

Anyway Halsin, Druid chief who is built like a fucking oak trunk by the way, when he wasn’t talking about how wonderful it is to hug trees told us that he doesn’t know a cure. What he did know is that we have to go to a place called Moonrise Towers to find the answers, because people go in and tadpoled worshippers come out. He thinks there’s magic at work here and those towers have the answer.

Lae’zel was so fucking smug about all this. She took great delight in telling us (and Halsin) that her crèche would cure us all and Githyanki were the best blah blah blah… honestly, Kay looked like she was about to tear Lae’zel in two and I probably wouldn’t have stopped her.

Anyway, Halsin can help us but only if we help him. And we help him by killing the priestess, the Drow and the Hobgoblin. Which means the four of us taking on the whole Goblin camp together.

Lae’zel and Kay are well fucking up for this.

Wyll has his reservations.

And me? Fuck it, I’m in.

Let’s go!

[willow-the-druid]

We made our way to the Grove, where a team of adventurers had led goblins to the gate. We successfully faught them off, although there was a casualty. Once inside, I met the leader of the tieflings, Zevlor. He told me the druids of this Grove were preparing to seal it off from outsiders and kick out all the refugees from Elturel. I said I would speak with Kagha, their archdruid, and see if I can't change her mind.

Once inside, I explored and chatted with the refugees inside. I convinced the young wizard, Rolan, and his siblings to stay in the Grove in case danger arrived. I talked with Dammon the blacksmith and upgraded some of the team's equipment. And then I met Wyll.

Wyll is a warlock who was training some of the tiefling children to defend themselves. Our tadpoles connected, and I got a glimpse of a fiery devil Wyll had been chasing through Avernus. The two of them boarded the nautiloid and got infected while we were tearing through the Hells. He says that he needs to hunt her down before she terrorizes the whole of the Sword Coast. I decided we could help each other- track down this devil and look for a cure together.

After making it to the inner circle of the Grove, I learned that Kagha was keeping a tiefling child, Arabella, for stealing their Idol of Silvanus. I understand the importance of protecting the Oak Father's visage, but imprisoning a child? What kind of monster would do such a things?

Reaching the druids' chambers, I interevened before Kagha set her snake to bite Arabella. I had to remind her of the Oak Father's teaching; she seems a bit lost. As I spoke with more of the druid's, I learned that their master- Halsin- had gone missing. I said that I would go looking for him. It's not right to leave a fellow druid stranded, even if those in his Grove are misguided.

I explored a bit more of the druid chambers, and found a locked chest. Astarion cracked it open, and we found notes to Kagha mentioning something hidden in the swamp down south. We should try to investigate what's really going on.

Along the walls of the druid chambers are huge murals depicting the events of druids and Harpers banding together to take down a group of Dark Justiciars, Shar worshippers. Shadowheart seemed to take intrigue in them.

I explored more of the Grove, meeting Alfria the bard and saving a young boy from a group of harpies. I've grown up with stories that deemed tieflings as chaotic beasts with no sense of humanity. I used to think myself the same. But these refugees... they just want to survive. Is that really so criminal that these druids would cast them out, even with goblins and gnolls around? In a weird way, it reminds me of home.

We camped out for the night and made our plan to move forward. We're heading west, to the temple ruins where Halsin went missing. We may head north, to the last known location of the devil Wyll is hunting. And perhaps we'll even travel to that swamp and find what Kagha is hiding. So much to do...