Originally, this blog was only meant to be a private dumping ground for my screenshots — especially the ones where my own characters look pretty, suffer dramatically, or somehow manage to do both at the same time. Then the blog accidentally became public, the first followers showed up, and, well… here we are. Oops.
I simply enjoy playing all kinds of PC games and jumping from one world to the next. Right now, though, Baldur’s Gate 3 has me firmly in its grip. This blog is where you’ll find everything related to my OCs: screenshots, little glimpses into their worlds, drama, vibes, background stories in progress, and the occasional tag game.
Please note: this is an 18+ blog.
Due to the nature of my OC’s backstory, darker themes may appear here from time to time, including topics such as necrophilia and cannibalism. Any potentially sensitive content will be tagged accordingly.
Heads up: there may also be nude screenshots/artistic nudes from time to time. These will always be tagged with tw: nudity, so you can block or avoid them if you prefer.
I’m also very new to writing. Like, absolute beginner territory. My current project is the backstory of my drow/Durge: Daughter of Blood — Sons of the Web. That’s only the working title for now, because yes, it does sound ridiculously dramatic—but honestly, it kind of fits.
So please don’t expect literary masterpieces—more like first attempts, sentence-shaped chaos, and a very determined wish to improve.
This blog is meant to be a place where I can experiment, learn, and let my ideas grow over time.
In general, I love OCs in every shape and form. So if you want to throw your own little disasters, passion projects, drama magnets, or blorbos into the world—whether through writing, artwork, screenshots, moodboards, or any other creative escalation—feel free to tag me. I’m nosy and I want to see them. :D
Have a great day!
Often tagging with my personal blog @ratchsellsfornax
Agatha sat on her small stool near the fire in her hut, a cup resting warm between both hands though she did not drink from it. Her gaze lingered on a narrow piece of wood that crackled in the embers and slowly blackened.
By the window stood Ardreyth, her back half-turned. Still, almost listening, as if something outside were meant for her alone. Whether the drow intended to stay or was only waiting for the right moment to leave was impossible to tell.
For a while, the only sound was the crackle of logs burning down in the hearth. Agatha could have begun with the child. It would have been the most honest question. And, thinking about it, very likely the last. She knew better than to rush at Ardreyth head-on. A careless question could close doors that would not open again that night.
“You left the campfire rather abruptly,” Agatha remarked.
Ardreyth owed her an answer. Instead, she leaned a little closer to the window, close enough for her breath to fog the cold glass. Her finger moved before her eyes seemed to follow it, tracing through the mist. A curve. A hooked stroke beneath it. The lines came too easily to be meaningless. The beginning of a house mark, already blurring at the edges.
Outside, dark had long since settled over the forest. Not like far beneath them, in a world untouched by daylight. In the Underdark, darkness had never meant blindness. It had been a language of its own: the warmth trapped in cavern walls, the distant murmur of unseen water, the glow of fungi clinging to ancient vaults, the subtle currents of air slipping through cracks no wider than a hand.
O'loth zah tuht abbil lu'ogglin.
Friend and enemy alike, they said.
For all its cruelties, the Underdark possessed a beauty few surface folk ever understood. Vast caverns glittering with crystal veins. Underground lakes black as polished glass. Forests of towering fungi glowing softly in the gloom. And always there had been limits. A vaulted ceiling somewhere overhead. Solid ground beneath her feet. The reassuring certainty that the world ended where the rock began.
Here, there were none.
Wind moved through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth, grass, and distant smoke. Leaves rustled beyond the window. Somewhere, a bird called into the darkness. Above it all hung the moon and the stars.
Countless.
Ardreyth could never quite look away from them. Even after all these years, part of her still searched for a ceiling that was not there, some distant boundary hidden beyond the stars.
The sky offered none.
“Ard?”
Ardreyth blinked, as if Agatha’s voice had reached her from a great distance. “Forgive me.” She spoke quietly. “My thoughts were elsewhere.” For a moment, she kept her eyes on the dark window.
“It was only a simple question,” she said at last, though nothing in her tone made it sound simple. “She asked me whether I ever wanted children.”
Agatha nodded slowly. “She didn’t know. She couldn’t have.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“It was Micah,” the old gnome said gently. “Of everyone around that fire, she was the last person who would have wanted to hurt you. It was neither a test nor a trap.”
“That doesn’t make it any better,” Ardreyth replied sharply.
The gnomish healer lowered her eyes to her cup. The tea had long since gone bitter. “No,” she said softly. “It doesn’t.”
The gnome took the kettle, rose, and stepped to the window. She refilled Ardreyth’s cup, though the drow had barely drunk from it. The tea no longer steamed. A faint trace of herbal sediment clung to the inside of the cup.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Then Ardreyth slowly slid down the wall to the floor. Beneath the window, she drew her legs into a cross-legged seat, her back against the stone. She held the cup between both hands. Her thumbs moved slowly along the rim.
Agatha stood before her for a moment. Then she set the kettle aside and sat down on the floor across from her.
She snorted softly without lifting her eyes, though the mockery in it had thinned. Beneath it lay something else, older and less well hidden. “As if I had ever been allowed to choose.”
Agatha said nothing at first. Her eyes moved, briefly, to Ardreyth’s wrist. “What did you draw?”
Ardreyth did not answer.
The healer’s gaze drifted to the tattoo at her wrist. “The same mark you wear there.”
Ardreyth’s thumbs came to rest on the rim of the cup.
“House Mizzrym,” Agatha said, choosing her words carefully. “I thought such marks were not worn openly in Menzoberranzan. Not unless one belonged to the First House.”
The question seemed to settle between them rather than reach her immediately. Ardreyth remained perfectly still, her eyes lowered to the cup she held between both hands. The fire crackled softly somewhere behind Agatha, and for several heartbeats the only movement came from the faint shifting of light across the drow’s features. Her thumbs rested motionless against the rim. Even her breathing appeared measured, controlled, as though she were weighing whether the answer deserved to be spoken at all.
Only after a long silence did she slowly lift her eyes from the tea and meet Agatha’s gaze, cold and unblinking.
“Minaste liked exceptions,” she said dryly.
“Or she liked marking what belonged to her,” Agatha said.
A small, cruel smile touched Ardreyth’s mouth. “You learn quickly, my dear Agatha.”
The smile left her face, taking the last trace of mockery with it.
“Minaste wanted to breed what she could not bear herself,” she said at last, calm and matter-of-fact. “Her precious Mizzrym line, bound to Calimar and Da’viir—and to whatever she mistook in me for Lolth’s favour.”
Her eyes lowered again.
“Not a child,” she said more quietly. “A solution.”
“My body became an answer to a question no one had asked me.”
Agatha sat on her small stool near the fire in her hut. The cup rested warm between her hands, though she did not drink from it. Her gaze lingered on a narrow piece of wood that crackled in the embers and slowly blackened.
By the window stood Ardreyth, her back half-turned toward her. Still, almost listening, as if something outside were meant for her alone. Whether she intended to stay or was only waiting for the right moment to leave was impossible to tell.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Agatha could have begun with the child. It would have been the most honest question.
And likely the last.
She knew Ardreyth better than that. One wrong word, and Ardreyth would be gone. Perhaps not from the room. Only from the conversation.
“You left the campfire earlier,” Agatha remarked.
Ardreyth did not answer at once. Outside, darkness had long since fallen. Not like in the Underdark. There, darkness had never meant that one saw nothing.
O'loth zah tuht abbil lu'ogglin. Friend and enemy alike, they said. One learned early how to read it. The warmth of stone. The cold whisper of underground streams behind a wall of rock. The faint glow of fungi in the depths. The barely perceptible pulse of a living body somewhere beyond the next bend. Even darkness had boundaries there. Stone above. Stone below. Up here, everything was different.
The wind moved through the night and carried with it the smell of damp earth, grass, and distant smoke. Leaves rustled somewhere in the dark. A night bird called. And above it all stood the moon and the stars. Countless.
Ardreyth’s gaze lifted slightly. In the Underdark, even the greatest cavern had a ceiling. The sky did not.
“Ard?”
Ardreyth blinked, as if Agatha’s voice had reached her from a great distance.
“Forgive me, Agatha.” Her voice was quiet. “My thoughts were elsewhere.”
For a moment, her gaze remained on the dark window.
“She only asked me whether I ever wanted children.”
Agatha nodded slowly.
“She didn’t know. She couldn’t have known.”
“I know.”
“It was Micah,” Agatha said gently. “Of everyone around that fire, she was the last who would have wanted to hurt you. It was neither a test nor a trap.”
“That doesn’t make it any better,” Ardreyth replied, sharply.
Agatha lowered her eyes to her cup. The tea inside had long since turned bitter.
“No,” she said softly. “It doesn’t.”
Agatha took the kettle, rose, and stepped to the window. She refilled Ardreyth’s cup, though Ardreyth had barely drunk from it. The tea no longer steamed. A thin rim of herbal dust had settled along the inside.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Ardreyth slowly slid down the wall to the floor. Beneath the window, she drew her legs into a cross-legged seat, her back against the stone. She held the cup between both hands. Her thumbs moved slowly along the rim.
Agatha stood before her for a moment. Then she set the kettle aside and sat down on the floor across from her.
“A harmless question,” Ardreyth remarked dryly.
“Liking children. Wanting children.”
She snorted softly without lifting her eyes, though the mockery in it had thinned. Beneath it lay something else, older and less well hidden.
“As if I had ever been allowed to choose.”
Agatha said nothing. She sat across from her on the floor, small and still, her hands loose in her lap. No pressing. No pitying breath. Only that patient waiting which sometimes provoked Ardreyth more than any question.
Ardreyth’s thumbs came to rest on the rim of the cup. Then she lifted her gaze and looked Agatha directly in the eyes, without blinking, without the slightest movement in her face.
“Minaste wanted to breed what she could not bear herself,” she said at last, calm and matter-of-fact. “A continuation of her oh-so-precious bloodline. Mizzrym blood. Calimar’s blood. Da’viir’s blood. And what she believed in me to be a gift of Lolth.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Ardreyth lowered her eyes.
“Not a child,” she said more quietly. “A result.”
“My body became an answer to a question no one had asked me.”
I was looking for a title for this loose collection of “therapy session scenes” between Agatha and Ard… and after about three hours and 37 Photoshop banners later, I finally have a fantastic title.
Really, really good stuff!
The Id Beneath
Let the Id Beneath sink in. Say it out loud a few times.
I know.
It’s a Freud when you finally see it. ( This sentence might be only funny if you speak German :D)
Sometimes I truly astonish myself with my terrifying intellect and devastating wit.
Yes, yes, I know... I haven't a banner for them....
Lol, apparently I have nothing better to do than overcomplicate the simplest things. I've started making individual banners for every theme and every OC ship. :D
Gotta love having a day off… and immediately turning relaxation into a full-scale OC design project.
A small passage from a conversation between Ard and Agatha about Ard’s pregnancy. I’m still not sure whether I’ll keep it as part of this scene, let it become a separate one, or cut it entirely and not use it at all.
...there...
The last word was barely loud enough for Agatha to hear.
For a moment, Ard went completely still. It was as if she had left the room without moving. Her gaze passed straight through Agatha, as though somewhere behind the wall a crack had opened that only Ard could see.
Agatha knew that look.
She had seen it in Ard. In Calimar, too. In those who had returned from the depths and sometimes still remained there, long after darkness and violence lay behind them. Over time, Agatha had learned that there was little use in simply talking at Ard in moments like this, or calling her name. Sometimes she heard the words well enough. They simply found no way to reach her.
Agatha slowly reached into the pouch at her belt.
“Stay with me, girl,” she said.
Ard did not react.
Among herbs, linen, and small sealed pouches, Agatha’s hand found the dried cluster of snowball blossoms. She drew it out and held it visibly between her fingers for a moment.
“Forgive me.”
Then she crushed the brittle capsule.
The smell filled the room at once, penetrating, sharp, and sour-foul all at the same time, driving so suddenly into Ard’s nose that her head jerked back and a raw, startled breath broke out of her. Her hand flew up, not to attack, but in defense, as though she had to fend off something that was not there.
Agatha stayed where she was.
“There you are,” she said softly.
Ard stared at her, furious and breathless.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Well,” Agatha said, “I brought you back.”
Ard did not answer. But her gaze stayed on Agatha.
The gnome took the small cloth pouch from her belt and placed it on the floor between them.
“Lavender, mint, moss,” she said. “Take it if you can.”
Ard looked at the pouch, skeptical and appraising, as if she first had to decide whether something so harmless could be dangerous. Then she reached for it.
At first her fingers closed around it so tightly that the fabric gave a quiet creak. Agatha said nothing. She let her have the pressure, the anger, the decision to hold something in her hands that was not a weapon.
Only after a few breaths did Ard’s grip loosen.
The scent rose from the pouch: lavender first, then mint, and beneath it damp earth and moss. Softer, more calming than the snowball.
Ard drew the air deliberately through her nose. Her mouth twisted slightly.
“You cannot be serious,” she muttered. “This is ridiculous.”
“Perhaps,” Agatha replied with a smile. “But I owed you something more pleasant after the snowball.”
Ard looked at her and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. A fleeting hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, hardly more than a shadow, but Agatha saw it all the same.
Ard rubbed the pouch between her hands. Her breathing was still rough, but it no longer came quite so short. Slowly, the hut found its way back to her: the stone floor beneath her, the tea beside her, the window, Agatha’s voice.
I have nothing fire-related , except the obligatory emoji :D
Thank you so much for the tag @optimisticgrey - always a pleasure to read your texts <3
But I do have a snippet from a conversation between Ard and Agatha. It's a wip.. so maybe not the right thing for the indulgent Sunday... Idk...
Agatha Creampuff is a gnome healer Ard meets on the surface, and she becomes something like a therapist for her: patient, perceptive, and one of the few people who helps Ard deal with her trauma and the Dark Urge without flinching from either.
I created Agatha partly because I felt guilty for putting Ard through so much and realized she desperately needed someone she could actually talk to.
Not someone who fixes her. Not someone who makes everything softer or easier. Just someone patient enough to sit with her in the aftermath and help her find words for things she was never supposed to survive.
and a pic but it's not so well done. I have first find some clothing stuff which I can use with the mod.
Two designs for Agatha so far.
She is a wonderfully chaotic woman who loves trying things out, and sometimes her experiments go… slightly sideways. Which is why, for a few months, she does in fact have a beard.
The white wolf is Micah. You rarely see Agatha without her somewhere nearby.
Her final look is not completely settled yet — I might still switch her to a half-orc design, because honestly, that could fit her energy very well too.
I tagged so many people yesterday—or maybe it was Friday? Time is fake and I genuinely cannot remember.
I really need to make a proper tag list, because every time I tag people I get that little voice going, “what if I’m being annoying?” 😅
OPEN TAG for all! <3
Ah, ... and of course burn it with fire.... :D
Mods: Blooming Flowers- Pregnant Body replacer by radiostacey
Mini VP Tutorial - How to take a moon shot and how made light rays in Lighty Lights Mod
Since I was asked how I made the shot from my last commission, here's a short tutorial.
I hope it's understandable (but feel free to ask if you have any questions!), because I'm not in very good shape now, so my English might be terrible 🤣.
Tag list
If you would like to be on or off the list, let me know:
Welcome in my world of little disasters, where the lighting, sharpness were doing crimes, the poses were fighting me, the shaders had opinions—posting them as a "warning". 😂😂😂😂
I had these pretty pictures by @lucretiouswept on my dashboard—and I also meant to make something completely different. But then this happened instead. Maybe not exactly cute in the traditional sense, but somehow cute to me—Durge-cute, maybe!? Anyway, I like how it turned out. :D
