Willow_Wisp
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When he wakes up, he's not himself. Not that he can remember what being 'himself' even means. All he has is a pounding headache and a name, 'The Dark Urge'.
Oh, and memories of the real world and over 500 plus hours of playtime in Baldur's Gate 3.
Now he's stuck inside the game, with no idea how he got there or what the fuck is going on. And very quickly, he'll realise that the real world of Faerun is nothing like the game. Shit hurts, there's no maps, fast travel, or save scumming. And people are far more complicated than simple video game characters.
If he can keep himself alive and make it through this, perhaps there's something waiting for him in Faerun, a life he can build for himself. But the urge is just as real as everything else, and it's out for blood.
All he wants is to find his freedom before the game kills him or the urge overtakes him.
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On an indefinite hiatus until I figure out how to write again. You can follow me on tumblr here- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 604,357
- Chapters:
- 198/250
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Bookmarked by Willow_Wisp
13 Nov 2024
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Between the Pines by northerntrash for loyallokigirl
Fandoms: The Hobbit - All Media Types
20 Dec 2015
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He is a lost spectre, a thing of fable, and when he hears the wolves howl their melancholy chorus, announcing a presence in his forest, he rests his head in his hands, and wonders how long it will be before he is burying another pile of clothes and chipped bones in the part of his garden where once his ancestors were buried, before they ceased to live.
Bookmarked by Willow_Wisp
29 Aug 2016
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The Ungraceful Art of Falling by brainless_scarecrow
Fandoms: Captain America - All Media Types
03 Apr 2016
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Bucky Barnes was cold.
He felt like he’d been cold for months now; doing nothing but experiencing one unending chill after another. He’d been cold in England, and again in Italy, and again especially in Austria – both while he was kept in an underground cell, and when he was strapped without cover to the unforgiving metal of Zola’s lab table.
But Steve… Steve Rogers was sunshine. Everything about him was warm, from his crinkly-eyed smile to his white-hot rage. Steve was Coney Island on a summer’s day; lying back on high rooftops to watch fireworks on the 4th of July; drinking stolen whiskey in his parent’s living room…
Loving Steve was a fact – simple and plain, like breathing air or bleeding red; loving Steve was soldered into his skin like a tattoo – it buzzed in his brain like its own kind of high. It was a part of who he was.- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 134,597
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- 25/25
- Comments:
- 566
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- 3,541
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Bookmarked by Willow_Wisp
05 Apr 2016