Latest Posts by raethanbhanneth - Page 2
it's important to have a group of ppl that you can just sit and think about The Character with
I hate these motherfuckers and I hate everybody whose actions contributed in any way whatsoever to how we got here. None of this bullshit needs to be happening and none of it would be if enough people had pulled their heads out of their asses on or before November 5, 2024.
I get to visit home in two weeks and it cannot come fast enough.
I decided to hop on tumblr because of @thecubspeaks
I read all of their Jaheira x Nine-Fingers fics (every single one like they were ambrosia and I was a starving goddess) and was immediately consumed by the ship. It landed me here. The creatures on tumblr (said affectionately) are far nicer than the humans I have to deal with in real life.
About a year ago, I started talking to one of the best RP partners I've ever had. It all began thanks to one of my longfics. They told me that, during the couple of months it took me to finish it, receiving the notification that I posted was to them like a sign that it'd be a good day.
A couple of months ago, one of my readers invited me to a Discord server about writing they created. I haven't interacted much with other people on the server, but we've been chatting pretty much everyday. They've gifted me some really cool stuff and, even more important than that, they've told me my stories have kept them company now that they feel disconnected from most of their writing buddies.
This morning I woke up to a message by another reader. They're going through pretty serious health issues and thanked me for writing my fluffy series because it's become their comfort through these terrifying times.
What am I trying to say with all of this? WRITE. Just keep writing. Write your silly, self-indulgent stories. Pour your heart and soul in every single one of them. Even if you don't think they're good enough. Even if you believe no-one else is interested in reading them. Do it. You have no idea how many days you may be improving, how many smiles you may be causing.
And no, the fact that it's only fanfic doesn't mean them any less worthy or "not real writing." It's still art. Your art.
Oh, and if you're on the other side, if you're one of those who have been touched by a story, let us know. Tell your authors how they made you laugh or how you felt less lonely because of them. This is exactly why we write.
I just want Jaheira to be happy and be loved again!!! 😭
Ft. my Tav - Neria.
I had to drive to Baltimore (Maryland) and back today. It was a 10-hour drive round trip. I did not have a fun time. However, I did see this monstrosity:
🤷🏻
lets go no contact with mama
My Girl (Chapter 6 - Baldur's Gate 3 fanfiction)
I've made it my personal mission to brighten up everyone's Mondays with a little bit of fluff. And this one is REALLY fluffy. If Lae'zel saw how soft I've made her in this one, she'd kick my ass. Enjoy!
Ship: Shadowzel
WC: 1,291
Warnings: None (unless mentions of unborn children count)
Istik life has definitely taken a toll on her, Lae'zel thinks as she takes a walk around the yard of Crèche Zav'rai. How was she able to grow up in such an environment with her sanity intact? Even though this place is a lot less strict than K'liir ever was, it feels unbelievably oppressive. Not a single moment to be on her own. Being a stranger doesn't help. While she assumes most members are used to her presence, she can't shake the impression that she's being constantly watched and judged. While she washes herself in the communal baths with young students. While she eats in the tiny canteen packed with loud, unruly children who are forever attacking each other with food projectiles. While she goes out to get some fresh air as the aspiring soldiers train. One day, out of sheer boredom, she asked the sa'varsh to let her practice with them; she can't recall a more frustrating experience in her life. She's positively out of practice.
According to the ghustil, she's only been there for nine days, but it seems like a hundred years. It's hard to keep track of time after spending most of it drifting in and out of sleep, high on whatever painkilling potions they were giving her. Since they decided she was healthy enough not to need them and allowed to leave Am'aari's office, her stay in the crèche has been extremely tedious except for the very few times Shadowheart has come to see her. She's still working her two jobs and taking care of the house and the cats, which doesn't leave her with many hours in her hands. Besides, now that night falls earlier, the streets of Baldur's Gate are not safe for a woman by herself; no matter if said woman is adept in radiant magic and knows how to use maces and daggers.
Tsk'va, she can't wait for that godsdamned egg to hatch already.
Looks like, in the end, it's only one baby. Good. Last time she visited, Shadowheart asked her if she was sad about the other two she gave birth to. She isn't. From her reads about the differences between her people's pregnancies and other races', the bond between an istik mother and her child is formed much earlier, already in the womb. Some experts theorize that this is due to the absence of eggs, which make it possible to sense the child's movements and heartbeat. Moreover, Lae'zel is aware that she and Shadowheart are not equipped to raise more than one hatchling.
She sits on the steps of the main entrance and winces, rubbing her breasts. They are fuller than ever, and strangely sensitive. There's a dull, yet persistent pain in them from producing milk. Her whole body is heavier, her endurance and nimbleness considerably lower than they used to be. She needs to start exercising soon, to get back in shape. Yet for the first time in her life, she's too self-conscious to train in front of the other gith.
It's cold outside. She should have put on that borrowed cloak, but wearing clothes that reek of someone else makes her nauseous, and that one is particularly strong. Or perhaps her senses are excessively sharpened. She embraces herself; her skin, too, has become more vulnerable to the ever-changing Faerûnian weather.
“Jhe'stil?” a high-pitched voice behind her calls.
It takes her a moment to realize they're addressing her. She turns around to face a young githzerai and nods for them to speak.
“Ghustil Am'aari sends me,” the youth says. “Your presence is required in the infirmary.”
In the infirmary? She's already been checked up today. What could they possibly need from her? Irrelevant. She rises and follows the child.
“Did she tell you what I am needed for?” she questions.
“Something happened in the hatchery, I believe.”
The hatchery! Lae'zel's heart misses a beat. Has the egg finally cracked open? Or has anything happened to her child?
Her chest tight with trepidation, she enters the ghustil's office without knocking.
All the blood in her veins begins flowing again when she notices that familiar blanket in the healer's arms. Shadowheart brought it the very first time she visited. Holding onto it every night before falling asleep has been more comforting than Lae'zel will ever dare to admit; the only familiar scent in this strange place.
“This is your daughter,” Am'aari tells her. “All cleaned and checked up.”
The weight of that tiny bundle alone is enough for Lae'zel to feel overcome with emotion. And as soon as she looks down, a symphony explodes inside her. Her baby is completely hairless, with skin the same chartreuse color as hers, dark freckles painting her cheeks. She hasn't opened her eyes completely, but those clumsy hands, balled into small fists, grope the air, as though wanting to touch and explore the whole world.
She's perfect.
Never before has Lae'zel seen anything that beautiful. Not the most picturesque sunrise. Not the sea of stars from the back of a red dragon. Not even Shadowheart's smile.
Finally, she understands what Emmeline, Exxvikyap, Isobel and all the other mothers she knows were talking about. The urge to protect such a helpless creature, to hold her and never let go. The incredulity that she created such a precious being. The feeling of seeing a part of her own soul reflected back at her.
The rush of love is so intense she could burst into tears.
“We have called for your partner,” the ghustil says. “My apprentice has been sent to inform her.”
Shadowheart will be here soon. They'll finally be able to go home.
To take her home.
From Lae'zel's point of view, time stops. Everything around her fades away. All she can see is that cute face, that minuscule body expanding with every breath. She traces the apple of her cheek with her fingertips, marveling at the softness. Gingerly, she removes the part of the blanket that's covering the child's head and kisses it. Her nostrils widen, catching the mesmerizing scent of her skin.
She smells like home. Like life. Like all that's pure and beautiful in the world.
And to think that she didn't believe in love until she fell for Shadowheart. This is even stronger, brighter. A warm, blinding light with the force of a thousand suns.
When Shadowheart arrives, she doesn't know how long she has spent there, sitting on one of the infirmary beds with the little one on her lap. Only when she – reluctantly – lets her wife take the baby from her arms does she notice how sore and numb she is. An adorable sound escapes Shadowheart's mouth as she takes in the sight of their newborn daughter.
“She's so beautiful!” Shadowheart coos. “Have you thought on a name?”
Quite honestly, Lae'zel hasn't. She did have a lot of time to think during those long days of waiting, but it seems as though any of those ideas have vanished from her mind.
“No,” she admits. “But I have thought that we could give her an elvish name. Or a human name. Something of your choice.”
“Hmm. I'm not sure about that.” Shadowheart bites her lip. “She looks so much like you! And she carries my family name, anyway. It'd be a crime not to give her a gith name.”
“Chk. I will not give her my name. We will not become like one of those istik families in which every member is called the same.”
“Agreed. I didn't mean that, of course. Aren't there any gith names that have a special meaning to you?”
How is she supposed to find only one word to describe someone that means the whole world to her? None of them would do her justice.
give an audience a canon gay ship and they will be entertained for one season. queerbait them and you entertain them for a lifetime.
Can any of y’all tumblrinas identify this bird? It is very loud and sounds slightly like a car alarm. Location: Eastern Virginia.
It’s driving me insane.
go away forever with me
Me: getting groceries out of the car
My wife: “Oh my god!”
Me: “What!? What’s wrong!?”
My wife, combing the back of my head: “I didn’t realize how gray your hair has gotten back here!”
Me: 👵🏻⁉️
Finally playing bg3 again, yknow what that means...
💕HER💕
I have successfully completed all my house chores AND food prepped for the week. Jaheira would be proud of me and I think that’s an accurate measure of success.
Jaheira’s stretch marks... you agree
ATTENTION!
FEUDALISM RESTARTING IN 10 SECONDS. CLASSES WILL BE RANDOMLY ASSIGNED
Minthara will forever be my favorite muse to paint. I’ve been Trying out some new paint brushes and techniques lately.
Enjoy and apologies for not posting for awhile again!
Me: finally sitting down.
My wife: appears behind me holding a list.
hi everybody please reblog this and tell me your go-to coffee order right now and if you don't like coffee feel free to include your go-to tea order instead
Menzoberranzan Waltz
Karlach x Minthara fic that’s been sitting in my drafts
Read under the cut or on ao3 for funsies
Rain came down in sideways sheets - hard and angry - reminiscent of a broken lover’s tears. The quick flooding caused by the downpour had turned most of their Rivington campground into deep muddy sludge, umber brown and unforgiving, curling fingers of darkness trying to drag Minthara back down to the Underdark. Her small wisteria frame shivered at both the thought of returning to a home in which she was no longer welcome, and the chill from the cold rainy air that was soaking into her marrow. Her heavy boots became caked with sticky earth as she made her way from her tent to the rickety wooden barn where the other adventurers were gathered.
The Drow’s pointed ears flicked upwards at attention as she neared the barn. A cacophony of noise emanated from the barn, the loudest of which being a lively tune Tav was playing on the violin. Finding shelter under a wooden awning, Minthara stopped for a moment to listen. The upbeat tune was high and fast, coaxing whooping and shouting from those within the barn who were excitedly encouraging Tav to continue. Peering into a window, Minthara spied Wyll dancing a lively jig with Astarion – likely a dance they had learned from Karlach. Aylin and Isobel were there as well, swaying in a corner to their own music, while Halsin clapped his hands along, and Shadowheart animatedly explained dance moves and mechanics to Lae’zel, who likely didn’t understand what the dance was or why it even mattered. Jaheira had secreted herself away in her tent with a book and a bottle of wine – something Minthara should have done herself if not for her curiosity getting the better of her.
Minthara trudged on in the gloom, mud sloshing up over her boots and onto her greaves. She wasn’t in the mood for lively dancing or cavorting with her younger companions. Orin had made an appearance in Rivington and that was the sole topic on her mind - the pain of what she had done to her when Minthara was under her enthrallment, the shame of feeling tricked and betrayed by one she thought she could trust, and the fear of what Orin could do to her if she were to fall into her grasp again. The horrors of what she had done in the name of the Absolute would forever scar her. It was fair to say that she had committed just as many atrocities in the Underdark, but at least that was because it was the culture of her homeland and on her own volition. She had no excuse for her barbarism on the surface, neither political nor personal, except that she was deceived, used, then thrown away like a broken plaything.
Dark thoughts continued to plague her mind as she ducked under trees and foliage for refuge from the storm. A few feet from the barn stood another wooden shack which was barely standing in the deluge, but sturdy enough that no rain leaked through the roof or walls. A reddish-orange glow emanated from the doorless entry, pulsating heat and steam. Minthara hid in the opening for a few moments, observing the heat source – Karlach. The Drow’s ruby eyes rolled over Karlach’s body, taking in her scars, her tattoos, and the ridges of her skin along with the vents embedded in her. Her eyes followed up the line of Karlach’s arm. The Tiefling was laying on her back holding Clive aloft in front of her with outstretched arms. Although the stuffed bear was held out in front of her face, Minthara noticed that Karlach’s eyes seemed to be focused elsewhere, fixed on nothing, a thousand miles away. A thought fluttered into Minthara’s brain, surprising her as it formed: the Tiefling was more beautiful than the evening sun and the rising stars.
A sharp breath escaped her nose as she leaned, finally visible, against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You are not in the barn. I would have expected to see you dancing the night away, wet as it is,” the Drow spoke softly, almost as if she was just as far away as Karlach’s eyes.
Karlach drew her arms back in and sat Clive on the ground next to her. She didn’t look at Minthara when she replied, “Just wasn’t in the mood, I guess. Don’t have anyone to dance with anyway, so.” The metal vents in her shoulders scraped the wood as she shrugged against the floor.
Minthara hummed. She didn’t have to ask why and knew Karlach wouldn’t want to talk about it anyway. Ten years in the Hells only to enjoy a few months on the surface before she overheated and was gone for good. Or, alternatively, a return to the Hells. Neither was optimal. Nor was sulking in a decrepit shack in the middle of a monsoon. But Minthara understood her loneliness. Under the cold façade of Drow, she knew what it was to be utterly alone and helpless. In those days and hours that she fled the Goblin Camp for Moonrise Towers, she had felt that loneliness crawl into her own bones. Then, whilst being interrogated by Z’rell and Ketheric, and tortured by her jailers, she knew complete abandonment. Minthara went to take a step towards the Tiefling, but hesitated. The music was loud enough to be heard still, but the tempo was all wrong. The Drow reached out with her parasite to their half-Drow male leader, then she paused, scowled, and waited. A slower tempo floated into the room as her request was granted. Of course it was. Jaluk.
She finally approached Karlach and stretched out a hand towards her. “May I have this dance?”
Karlach sighed, “You don’t need to offer me a pity dance, Minthara.”
“I pity no one,” Minthara stated bluntly. She did not pity Karlach. She understood her. It was different, she told herself.
She continued to stand over Karlach, hand outstretched, until the Tiefling finally relented. Minthara was dwarfed by their size difference, something she had quietly admired ever since they had met at camp. Despite Karlach towering over her, Minthara took the lead. “Place one hand on my shoulder and one on my waist,” she instructed, “and stand so we are two hand widths apart.”
Minthara led her slowly: forward step, slide, close, turn, then step back, slide, close, turn and repeat. Karlach fumbled at first, stepping on Minthara’s foot more than once, but it was a slow enough dance that she picked it up quickly. After a while, they simply swayed along to the music, settling into the quiet intimacy of the moment, not realizing that they were no longer two hand widths apart, nor actually waltzing. Minthara’s arm had become tightly wrapped around Karlach’s upper body, whilst the other had dropped from the Tiefling’s hand in favor of resting up against her sternum. One of Karlach’s arms rested against her shoulders, while her other arm snaked around her slender waist, the hand pressed perfectly into the small of her back.
Eventually, Karlach worked up the nerve to tease her by remarking, “This sounds like a funeral dirge.”
Minthara chuckled low and replied, “It is! Isn’t it wonderful? It’s a Menzoberranzan waltz. I –” Minthara shyly looked away, but continued, “I haven’t danced like this since I left home.”
Minthara exhaled against Karlach’s chest. She didn’t know why she had admitted that, but it was the truth. The last time she had waltzed was at her mother’s birthday party when Minthara was still young enough to dance and fuck all night long, then do it all again the next day. She laid her head against Karlach’s chest, right over her infernal engine, and closed her eyes. She remembered that night as they swayed in the infernally-lit darkness. She had donned an ankle length dress of blood red with high heeled shoes to match. Her hair, much shorter than now, feathered around her face and bounced with her every step as she waltzed around the room with every available woman willing to take her hand. And most were more than willing to take the hand of a Baenre. She let another thought surprise her: she imagined Karlach illuminating the Underdark, taking her hand in a slow waltz and dancing until they were breathless and laughing.
Karlach’s voice drew her from her fantasy, “Did you dance a lot down in Menzo?”
She wanted to answer, ‘Not with anyone like you.’ Instead, she responded with a short, “Yes.”
They continued to sway even after their bard leader changed to another upbeat tune. The Drow was simply enjoying not only the warmth of Karlach’s engine, but also the strength of her arms engulfing her small body. Karlach had rested her chin on the top of Minthara’s white hair and was rubbing absent minded circles on the back of her neck with her thumb. “Minthara? You alright?” Karlach asked softly after their swaying had crossed into a second jig.
Minthara pulled back slightly and, smiling, dropped her arms awkwardly to her sides. “Yes, I… I apologize, Karlach.” She wanted to say more. So much more. But for someone as typically bold and outspoken as Minthara, she found herself suddenly almost shy around the Tiefling. She found herself caring about what Karlach thought about her, and in turn, the group’s decisions and her own desires for the future. Instead of saying any of that, she turned and walked back towards the doorframe. Before she left, she glanced over her shoulder and said, “Thank you for the dance.”
Fun fact - it got hotter:
Help me. I went outside and parts of me melted.
Sorry for infodumping about my special interest out of nowhere, you said a keyword and it activated my unskippable dialogue