#I KNOW MINTHARA IS OUT OF PLACE

[dilutedpilk]

A random assortment of drawings that's been sitting open on my pc for idk how long. Dunno if I'll make more later tbh

[trappedinafantasy37]

Minthara reading everyone to filth upon recruitment is funny, but it also highlights just how paranoid she is. Realistically, it probably takes her a few days to figure everyone out rather than the instant she is recruited. When talking about all the companions, a common theme in all her responses relates to their combat capabilities and survivability, and points out their strengths and their weaknesses. She's not throwing shade or stirring the tea. Minthara is conducting a threat assessment. Minthara having very realistic and accurate readings of everyone is a trauma response, because she needs to know who they are and very quickly.

She is trying to figure out who is the most likely to kill her and why they would kill her. But also how they would go about it and is weighing her odds against them. She has to know their weaknesses in case she needs to exploit them, and she has to know their strengths so she can defend against them. And Minthara doesn't just consider their combat capabilities, but their psyche as well, using it as a factor to determine the likelihood of them ever coming after her specifically and how she can disarm them psychologically if need be. But you know who she doesn't provide her assessment for? You.

You are a conundrum. The moment you saved her, she has been curious of you, but wary. Although grateful you saved her, she doesn't understand why you saved her when she believes you had far more reason to either kill her or leave her behind. She wants to trust you, but her trust has always gotten her stabbed. She wants to have faith that her savior won't turn against her, but she has no reason to believe you won't. She spends the entirety of Act 2, watching you, analyzing you, trying to figure you out because she doesn't know what to do with you. She asks you some questions because she is still trying to figure out what motivates you. "Why come to Moonrise? Why raid the grove? Why knock me out?" In two of these questions, she is determining how likely you are to harbor any violent intent. And one of these questions is born of your history of bringing her harm. (Oh the irony of Minthara trusting you less if you knocked her out)

You're a potential enemy whose weakness she doesn't want to exploit, a potential enemy she doesn't want to have to defend herself against. And all this time she spends watching you, she finds things about you that she likes. Really likes. And while conducting her assessment of you, she falls in love with you, and it terrifies her because she still does not know if she is safe with you. So she asks you to share your mind and just tell her if you're safe and can be trusted. She doesn't want to guess anymore, and she doesn't want to come to a potential conclusion she doesn't like. She doesn't want to do the analysis, she doesn't want to be paranoid, she wants to trust you and feel safe with you. She needs to know that you are a safe person for her to love.

[danielnelsen]

huh i remember grymforge being really hard to navigate and really frustrating but it’s literally fine lmao. did everything except the actual forge today and that’s all i have left of act 1

[fallenbhaalspawn]

hmm, so i find it unlikely that bhaal sent cruor to orin before she took care of the dark urge, as what's left of cruor's body is in the room that was durge's and the book talking about cruor is labeled 'experiment on cruor' and not experimentS. i would assume she moved it but it does seem to be just like. a gore pile she didn't clean up and i'm not sure why she'd have the same amount of emotional attachment to cruor as helena or durge.

of course this would mean the dark urge was down in the colony under kressa's authority for like eight to nine months which is. something!

[wysteria-bloom]

I have a funny little request, How do you think the baldur's gate 3 companions would react or respond to Tav talking to someone and who ever they are talking to asks them something about a husband/Wife and they point to one of the companions say “Yeah that’s my Husband/Wife right here”, Or Tav greeting the bg3 companions and saying “Hello my beautiful Wife or Handsome Husband how are you today?” Idk I think it would be funny you can either do all the companions or just a few and whoever else you want.

P.S One of the companions has to Karlach pls and thank you. Have a good day/night

↪"Say that again?"

Bg3 companions x reader

Warnings : none that I can think of, if there anything triggering please let me know

A/n : this is such a cute idea !!! Thank you so much for the request and ofc I'll include Karlach it's a literal crime if I don't

Characters : Astarion, Karlach, Shadowheart, Gale, Lae'zel, Wyll, Halsin, Minthara, Rolan, Raphael

▢ astarion

Astarion is mid-sip of his wine when he hears it. You’re chatting with a bartender, mentioning offhandedly, "Oh, my husband enjoys that brand of wine!" The words seem to hang in the air. A moment later, he chokes, coughing as he hurriedly sets his glass down.

"Sorry, darling, did I just hallucinate, or did you actually call me your husband?" He grins, sharp and playful, but there’s something else lurking in his ruby eyes—something softer. "How bold of you. I don’t recall signing any vows, though if they involve more pet names and adoration, I might be convinced."

Despite his teasing, there’s an undeniable smirk of satisfaction on his lips, and later that night, when he thinks you’re asleep, you catch him whispering his name with your last name attatched—testing the sound of it with a chuckle.

▢ shadowheart

Shadowheart stiffens, her hand momentarily pausing over the clasp of her pack as you effortlessly refer to her as your wife in conversation. She recovers quickly, a well-trained mask slipping into place, but you catch the slight widening of her eyes, the way her fingers tighten just a bit.

When the conversation is over, she turns to you, arms crossed, voice a delicate mix of amusement and hesitancy. "Wife, huh? That’s...a rather serious word, don’t you think?" There’s no irritation in her voice, just a quiet wariness.

You lean in and reassure her—tell her it just felt natural—she exhales, her stance softening. "I suppose... it doesn’t sound terrible coming from you." She smirks faintly, then, in a rare show of vulnerability, she murmurs, "Say it again. Just once."

▢ gale

Gale practically beams. He was in the middle of explaining some grand magical theory when you casually referred to him as your husband, and the conversation might as well have ceased to exist. He turns to you with wide, delighted eyes, as if you just handed him the crown jewel of Mystra herself.

"You—you truly think of me that way?" His voice is filled with genuine wonder, his hands twitching as if resisting the urge to pull you into an embrace right there. "I must admit, I rather like the sound of it."

For the rest of the day, he finds ways to bring it up—entirely coincidentally, of course. "Ah, yes, my spouse and I were just discussing that," he’ll say to a trader. Or, "Well, as my beloved has so kindly pointed out..." He’s positively radiant, and when the two of you are alone, he holds you close, murmuring, "One day, perhaps, we could make it more than just words."

▢ karlach

Karlach lets out the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. One moment, she’s hauling a crate of supplies, and the next, she’s throwing an arm around you, laughing loud enough to startle a nearby bard.

"Wife? You think I’m wife material?" She practically lifts you off the ground in a hug, her infernal engine humming warmly. "Oh, babe, you really know how to make a girl’s heart melt."

For the rest of the day, she won’t stop teasing you. "Hey, love, your wife could use a back rub after all that heavy lifting." Or "Shouldn't a wife get extra rations? I think that’s fair." But underneath the playful exterior, there’s a warmth in her gaze every time she looks at you—like you just gave her something precious she never thought she could have.

▢ lae'zel

The moment the word leaves your mouth—wife—Lae’zel halts. Her expression sharpens, golden eyes locking onto yours with an unreadable intensity. The person you were speaking to wisely excuses themselves, sensing the tension crackling in the air.

She steps closer, head tilting, her voice a low rumble. "You claim me as a wife?" It isn’t anger, but a challenge. Prove it, her tone demands.

You meet her gaze unwaveringly and confirm it without hesitation, she exhales, something pleased flashing across her face. "Hmph. Among my kin, such a title is not spoken lightly. If you speak it, you must own it."

Later, when camp is quiet and you were walking towards your tent, she pulls you aside, her hand gripping your wrist—possessive, firm but there was a softness to it that couldn't be denied. She looked flustered, frowning at you with a twitch of her brow," As your... wife. I demand we sleep in the same tent."

▢ wyll

Wyll is in the middle of charming a noble when you casually refer to him as your husband. The words slip from your lips without hesitation, and at first, he doesn’t react—so well-trained in maintaining composure. Only until the noble left did something warm flicker in his bi-coloured eyes, his confident smile faltering for just a heartbeat.

"Ah—your what?" He turns to you, and for the first time in a long while, the Blade of Frontiers looks genuinely caught off guard.

When you confirm it with an easy smile, he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, as if trying to suppress the warmth creeping up his face. "Well, now you’ve gone and made a man blush," he teases, but there’s a softness to it. A part of him that seems to hold onto the word like a cherished melody.

Later that evening, when the two of you have a rare quiet moment, he leans in, his voice lower, more earnest. "You really see me that way?" His hand finds yours, thumb tracing circles against your palm. "Because I could get used to that."

▢ halsin

Halsin is kneeling by a wounded animal, murmuring a quiet spell of healing, when the word husband leaves your lips. It’s said so casually—to another druid, in passing—that at first, he doesn’t seem to react.

But then, as the spell finishes, he turns to you, golden eyes warm with something deeply affectionate. A slow smile spreads across his face, creasing the corners of his eyes. "Husband," he repeats, testing the weight of it, his voice rich with amusement. "That is… a title of great commitment. And yet, hearing it from you, it feels as though it has always been true."

There’s no teasing, no hesitation—only an earnest kind of joy. He steps closer, brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch feather-light. "If this is how you see me, then I will wear the title with pride." His voice drops to a low murmur, meant only for you. "And should you ever wish to make it more than words, I will answer gladly."

From that moment on, he often refers to you in kind—my heart, my love, and, on particularly affectionate days, even my wife/husband/mate. It is not just a title to him; it is a promise.

▢ minthara

Minthara doesn’t react at first. Not outwardly. She merely continues sharpening her blade, her red eyes cold and unreadable as you casually refer to her as your wife in conversation.

The person you were speaking to quickly departs, sensing the weight of silence that follows. Then, without looking up, Minthara speaks, her voice dangerously low. "You called me wife."

It isn’t a question. It’s an evaluation. A test.

You confirm it, she finally lifts her gaze to meet yours, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "How bold of you," she muses, setting her blade aside. "Amongst lolth-sworn drow, such words are not spoken lightly. They are a claim. A promise."

She stands, stepping into your space, her presence as commanding as ever. A hand grips your chin—not harsh, but firm. Possessive. "If you call me wife, then you had best mean it."

And yet, later that night, when the camp is quiet and she believes no one is watching, she lingers at your side a little longer. A rare softness flickers in her eyes before she turns away, murmuring to you just loud enough for you to hear—"Hmph. It does have a certain... power to it."

▢ raphael

The moment the word husband leaves your lips, Raphael goes completely still. The conversation you were having with an unfortunate merchant screeches to a halt as the cambion turns his attention fully on you. The air crackles with something dangerous—something deeply, intensely amused.

A slow smirk stretches across his lips. "My dear, I do believe I misheard you," he purrs, voice as smooth as velvet. "Did you just call me your husband? How delightfully bold of you."

He steps closer, red eyes gleaming with something unreadable—pleasure? Possession? The thrill of a game he suddenly must win? He takes your hand, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. Never breaking eye contact as his lips were curved in that usual salacious smirk of his,"Now, if you are to call me husband, I expect proper treatment. Gifts. Devotion. Perhaps a throne befitting a devil of my caliber."

There’s teasing in his tone, but beneath it? Oh, there’s something else entirely. Later, when no one is around, he murmurs against your ear, "let me hear it again... it sounds so terribly tempting when it falls from those lips of yours."

▢ rolan

Rolan is mid-rant—complaining about some idiot who failed to organise the library books the right way—when you absentmindedly refer to him as your husband. He stops talking. Completely.

His mouth opens. Closes. His tail flicks rapidly behind him, betraying his internal spiral.

"Wha—wait—what did you just call me?" His voice cracks, and he immediately clears his throat, straightening his shoulders in a desperate attempt to regain his dignity.

When you repeat it, casual as ever, he stares at you like you just cast Wish in front of him. "That’s… I mean, I am an impressive partner, but—" He crosses his arms, looking away, his cheeks burning a darker, unmistakable shade of red. "You can’t just say things like that without warning someone!"

But for the rest of the day, he’s noticeably smug—standing taller, magic practically crackling at his fingertips. And if you listen closely, you might hear him muttering under his breath: "Husband. Hah... obviously."

[moonselune]

I've been playing alot of harvest moon/stardew recently and was wondering how the companions would react to a tav or durge prefering to settle down for the farming life post game. I know Shadowheart would love it anyway but Astarion would be the type to groan about the summer heat at times.

Btw love your work ❤️

Awh thank you! I freaking love stardew valley, I actually got to the point where I would see things in real life and be like oh i need that for my bundle...

Minthara:

Minthara had agreed to come with you back to your little patch of dirt. That was the first miracle.

She stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the rows of squash you'd lovingly planted weeks ago. Her elegant armor had been swapped—begrudgingly—for leather trousers and a dark green blouse with the sleeves rolled up. She claimed she only wore it because it “blended well with the shadows.”

In reality, she looked dangerously attractive, and you told her so often enough that it stopped earning you eye rolls.

“I still don’t see the appeal,” she muttered one morning, kneeling beside you in the loamy soil as you both weeded a row of carrots. “Endless dirt. Scratching at the ground like a deep gnome grub. You truly believe this is more fulfilling than conquering the Underdark?”

You grinned, pushing your hair back and letting the sun warm your face. “The carrots don’t scream when I pull them out of the ground.”

Minthara snorted—an actual laugh, short and sharp. She caught herself, frowning like she hadn’t meant to let it slip.

“I could grow mushrooms,” she said after a pause. “Real mushrooms. Not these surface-dwelling imitations.”

You perked up. “You want to farm?”

“I do not want to farm,” she snapped, yanking a weed a little too aggressively. “I simply think someone must bring standards to this pitiful excuse for agriculture.”

That night, you caught her carefully organizing mushroom spores in neat rows in the shaded part of the garden, whispering Drow words of encouragement under her breath.

And every evening, she helped you without complaint. She said it was only because you were “hopeless on your own,” but there was a softness in her touch when she handed you tools, when she brushed dirt from your face. Once, she found a fat, horned beetle in the lettuce patch and spent nearly an hour observing it before letting it crawl onto her hand and releasing it at the edge of the forest.

“I could get used to this,” she murmured that night, curled beside you on the porch. The stars glittered above like Underdark crystal formations, distant and sharp.

“You already have,” you whispered back.

She didn’t argue.

Karlach:

Karlach loved it from the very first moment she stepped onto the farm.

“This place is sick!” she bellowed, boots thudding across the dirt as she chased one of the goats around the field. “Look at this little beastie—oh, she’s got attitude! Just like me!”

You could barely keep up with her enthusiasm.

Where you had slowly learned the rhythm of the fields, Karlach plunged headfirst into it—planting, harvesting, repairing fences with her bare hands. She named every single animal and gave them nicknames too. Your prize ram? “Sir Headbutt.” The hen with the limp? “Motherclucker”

You’d wake some mornings to find her sitting in the barn, curled up with your herd of goats, one snoring against her shoulder as she scratched behind its ears.

You stood in the doorway, arms folded. “I’m starting to think you love the goats more than me.”

Karlach looked up, grinning that wild, warm grin. “Babe. You don’t chew cud and you hog the blankets. These little sweeties are pure, no complaints.”

You made a show of gasping in betrayal, and she laughed so hard she nearly toppled into the hay.

She was clumsy with gardening, planting seeds so deep they never saw the light of day, but she didn’t care.

“I’m all about the brawn of the operation, baby!” she said, hoisting a broken fence post like a weapon of war. “You’re the one with the gentle hands. You’re the heart. I’m just the muscle.”

You couldn’t count how many times you found her fixing things, adding improvements. She built a rainwater system for the fields, oiled the hinges of every barn door, and even made a small, hand-carved sign with all the names of the animals.

She hung it crooked on purpose.

And on summer days, when the sun burned and the sweat clung to your back, she'd scoop water straight from the well and splash it over both of you, laughing as you sputtered.

“You look good with dirt on your nose,” she’d say, brushing it off with her calloused thumb.

And you’d smile, because she was the kind of fire that didn’t burn—it warmed. And here, among the goats and gardens and peace, her flame could finally just... flicker, without fear.

Lae'zel:

No one had expected Lae’zel to take well to the slow life of a farm. She had always been all sharp angles, roaring fire, and a blade ready at a moment’s notice. But then again—no one had expected her to stay, either. And she did. With you.

What none of you accounted for was how seriously she’d take the training of the livestock.

"These creatures lack discipline!" she declared one morning, standing in the field, arms crossed and unimpressed as a trio of goats casually ignored her barking orders and continued to gnaw on the same patch of fence they’d been told—repeatedly—not to chew.

She turned to you, eyes narrowed. “Do they understand Common?”

"They understand,” you said, trying not to laugh as a particularly rebellious chicken pecked at her boot. “They just don’t care.”

You would have offered to help, but you were too busy melting at the sight of Xan, the tiny Githyanki infant wrapped securely to her chest in a sling you had made together. Lae’zel had first insisted that she didn’t need it—that she could carry her hatchling in her arms at all times like a proper warrior—but even she couldn’t argue with the convenience of two free hands. Especially for chicken combat.

You’d find her some mornings standing in the pasture, her face serious as she recited commands to the goats and hens like they were soldiers on a battlefield. "Form ranks! Maintain spacing! No, Clucker, no! That is not your perch—”

And all the while, little Xan would nap contentedly against her, a bundle of soft green skin and big yellow eyes, utterly unmoved by the chaos of the yard. Occasionally he’d gurgle and tug at her leathers with one hand. Every time you saw the two of them, your heart swelled nearly to bursting.

You leaned against the fence one afternoon, watching as a pig stubbornly refused to move out of Lae'zel's designated “training circle.”

“You know,” you said, grinning as she glared at it with more intensity than she had ever shown a goblin, “maybe farming isn’t about commanding obedience.”

“It should be,” she replied sharply. “They would be more efficient.”

Still, you saw her lips twitch when a goat headbutted her in protest. And she didn’t stop them from clambering all over her later when you both sat in the grass and let Xan play in the sun.

Shadowheart:

The house was small, sun-dappled, and always smelled like hay and something baking. Scratch lay sprawled across the front steps most days, belly-up, completely spoiled. The owlbear—too big for the barn, too curious to be penned—had taken to nesting in the orchard, gently knocking apples from the trees like it was performing some kind of divine rite.

Shadowheart had fallen in love with it all faster than even she expected.

You found her in the mornings tending to the goats with a quiet, practiced grace, her long hair tied up messily, a smear of dirt across one cheek that she never noticed. Her cleric’s robes had been replaced with linen tunics and earth-toned skirts—though her armor still hung by the door, just in case.

“What happened to the chicken pen?” you asked once, only to be met with a long sigh and her pointing silently toward Scratch—muddy, feather-covered, and absolutely unrepentant.

You were never alone. Not really. The animals had adopted you both. Scratch followed you everywhere. The owlbear guarded the house like it was the holiest temple. You even had a few stray cats that Shadowheart swore she didn’t feed, but you caught her slipping them treats more often than not.

Still, there was one part of the land she hadn’t explored yet—because you were keeping it a secret.

You worked on it in the evenings, tucked away behind the western slope of the hill. A dozen rows of posts were driven deep into the soil, with the first few vines already climbing, green tendrils reaching for the sky. You’d been studying grape varieties, borrowing books from Gale, and mapping sun paths like your life depended on it.

And finally, one golden evening, you took her hand and said, “There’s something I want to show you.”

She followed without question, her fingers warm in yours, and when you rounded the hill, her breath caught.

“You—” she started. “You planted a vineyard?”

“For us,” you said simply. “I know you love wine. I thought… one day, you could make your own.”

She stared in stunned silence, eyes glossy in the light.

“This is…” Her voice trembled, and she smiled so wide you saw the dimples that only showed when she was truly, deeply happy. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” She launched herself at you, arms thrown around your neck, kissing you with such fervor that you stumbled backward into the half-dug earth. “You sappy, wonderful thing. I don’t deserve you.”

“You absolutely do,” you whispered, burying your face in her hair.

And from the other side of the hill, the owlbear let out a low hoot of approval—promptly followed by Scratch barking and barreling toward the two of you like a freight train.

“You know,” Shadowheart said as you braced for impact, “we might have too many animals.”

“I regret nothing.”

Jaheira:

Jaheira had said no at first.

She’d crossed her arms, brow furrowed in that eternally war-hardened way, and declared she was not the “settling down type.” A Harper, a druid, a warrior—too much duty still ran in her blood, and she wasn’t one to lie to herself.

And yet, you often found her on the porch in the morning, sleeves rolled up, tending to the basil or trimming back the ivy that tried to swallow the trellis. Her hands were calloused, steady, already shaped by years of coaxing life from the soil—and the moment she touched the earth here, she remembered. Not war. Not rebellion.

Peace.

She fit into the rhythm of the farm as if she’d always belonged. Milking the goats, harvesting herbs, reorganizing the tool shed within an inch of its life.

“A sharpened blade is less likely to betray you than a dull one,” she’d say when she caught you leaving shears in the dirt. You tried—gently—to get her to stop sometimes.

“Jaheira,” you’d say, handing her a mug of tea in the shade, “you’re supposed to relax. Remember that? The whole ‘breathing’ thing?”

She’d huff, but her smile would betray her.

“I’ll rest when the tomatoes stop growing unevenly,” she’d mutter, before adding with quiet fondness, “Besides… this is good work. Healing work.”

And the best days—the very best days—were when her children visited.

The younger ones would come tumbling down the trail with satchels and stories, running up to greet their mother, who stood like a pillar of strength at the garden gate. The number of times Jaheira had to pry Fig from a scarecrow as she was practising her 'wrestling moves' was one too many. You’d watch her soften visibly, smile lines crinkling, arms open as they piled into her.

They helped with the animals, with mixed results. One of them always ended up covered in chicken feathers, another face-first in a flowerbed, and Jaheira would roll her eyes while secretly delighting in every second of it.

It was domestic. Soft. Loud and messy and full of warmth.

Every now and then, you’d catch her staring out over the fields as the sun set, a quiet melancholy in her eyes. You knew she felt the pull of Harper duty—that someday, she’d have to return to that life. But she never pulled away from this one.

And you never stopped reminding her: “This moment is yours. Don’t let it slip away.”

Gale:

Gale loved farm life. Maybe a bit too much.

He delighted in every step of the process—from sowing seeds to baking fresh bread in the stone oven. He was the first to rise (with magically summoned coffee, of course), and the last to go to bed, always muttering about “optimal composting cycles” and “rotational planting enchantments.”

You never had to worry about the crops failing. Not when Gale enchanted the soil to stay perfectly moist and fertile. Not when your scarecrow occasionally waved to you and politely asked for new clothes.

And that might’ve been fine.

Until he started taking the produce to Blackstaff Academy.

"Look at this carrot!" he’d proclaim with the glee of a proud parent, holding up a perfectly orange, absolutely normal vegetable.

Then he’d bring it back.

And it would be the size of a horse’s leg, glowing faintly, humming with a magical pulse, and—for reasons unknown—smelling like cinnamon.

"Gale!" you’d exclaim. "It’s a carrot. It does not need to be arcane-tuned!"

“But imagine the nutritional value!” he’d insist, delighted. “It now increases constitution by two points for an hour! Also, I added a small glamour charm—look, it sparkles in the moonlight!”

You buried your face in your hands. “It was for stew. Now it looks like it is for a health potion with a beard.”

The tomatoes came back one week with eyes and a faint sense of existential dread. The potatoes exploded on contact with fire. A single cucumber once tried to recite Elminister.

You instituted a new rule: No magical alterations unless specifically requested.

Gale apologized with his signature dramatic charm, bowing deeply and presenting you with a bouquet of roses (grown in your garden, made of light, that sang quietly when touched). You forgave him. Eventually.

You did catch him sneaking a pumpkin to his satchel the next week. You pretended not to see it.

After all, the man who once swallowed a Netherese orb deserved a little whimsy.

But gods help him if your wine starts talking.

Astarion:

The summer sun blazed above your little stretch of farmland, turning the sky into a wide, cloudless expanse of light and heat. Cicadas sang from the trees. The golden fields shimmered. You were sweating through your shirt, but you'd gotten used to it by now. Not everyone had, though.

“I am wilting,” Astarion declared from the shade of a fig tree, fanning himself with a piece of parchment and looking like the most glamorous corpse in Faerûn.

You were knee-deep in the garden bed, dirt up to your elbows, pulling weeds with the satisfied sort of grunt that only came from knowing your tomatoes were going to thrill the next farmer’s market.

“You know, you are wearing a magical ring that lets you walk in the sun,” you reminded him, not even glancing back.

“Yes, and I am grateful,” he said in a tone that was both long-suffering and exasperated. “But that doesn’t mean I must enjoy it. Honestly, do farms not understand the concept of ‘shade’? Or a cool breeze? Or a bloody parasol?”

You chuckled and wiped sweat from your brow. “I can take the ring back, you know. Could always go back to lurking in crypts and brooding in velvet.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then: “How dare you.”

You turned just in time to see him stalk toward you, predator grace still intact despite his muttering.

“That was a threat, wasn’t it?” he said, tone mock-scandalized. “You’d condemn me to a shadowed existence just to win this argument?”

Before you could get a word out, Astarion planted both hands on your chest and shoved. You stumbled backward with a yelp, landing with a mighty splash in the nearby pond, water closing over your head with a slap. When you surfaced, spitting water and pushing your hair out of your face, he was at the edge of the pond, arms folded, grinning.

“Next time you threaten to take away my precious accessories,” he said smugly, “perhaps you’ll remember who you’re dealing with.”

“Oh, I remember,” you said, swimming toward him with a grin of your own. “I also remember that you’re a terrible swimmer.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you—!”

You grabbed his ankle and yanked. Astarion screeched like an offended seagull as he tumbled in after you, limbs flailing in the most elegant way a vampire can flail. The water swallowed him with a splash, and when he resurfaced, gasping, you were already laughing.

“Well,” you said, treading water beside him. “You’re cool now.”

His curls were plastered to his forehead, pale skin gleaming with pond water, clothes clinging in all the right places.

“I loathe you,” he hissed, completely unconvincing as he waded toward you.

“You love me,” you replied, and when he tried to dunk you under, you laughed even harder. He did try to drown you (with affection), and the pond echoed with splashes and laughter long into the afternoon.

Wyll:

Wyll loved the farm. Really, truly loved it. He dove into farm life with the same unshakable optimism he brought to battle: sleeves rolled up, a bright smile on his face, and an absolutely terrible sense of crop rotation.

“Look!” he said, beaming, holding up a vaguely wilted carrot. “That’s my fifth one! It only took me six tries!”

The carrot was... lopsided. And slightly blue.

You peered at it. “Wyll... did you plant it next to Gale’s ‘experimental vegetables’ again?”

He gave you a sheepish grin. “Maybe?”

Despite his noble upbringing, Wyll took to labor like it was second nature. He loved feeding the chickens (even if they pecked at his boots), singing as he milked the goats (who responded by trying to eat his shirt), and tending the soil (even if he constantly mixed up which plants needed full sun or partial shade).

But he tried. Gods, did he try.

He’d wake up before sunrise to help gather eggs and bring you wildflowers with muddy fingers and a bashful smile. He gave names to every single pumpkin, saluted the cows like old comrades, and taught the pigs how to sit. (One of them sort of learned. You suspected it was coincidence.)

The vegetables he harvested often ended up a little too bruised, or crooked, or tiny—but he presented them with the proud air of someone who had just defeated a demon lord.

“This one’s for you,” he’d say, placing a funny little beet in your hand like it was a diamond.

And honestly? It was perfect. Because Wyll’s joy was infectious. His laughter echoed over the fields. His presence made every sunrise feel warmer, every day brighter. Even if his corn always grew sideways.

“I might not be the best farmer,” he’d admit, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I’m exactly where I want to be.”

And when you kissed him, fingers brushing dirt from his cheek, you couldn’t help but agree.

Halsin:

If anyone was born to thrive on a farm, it was Halsin.

Where others groaned about early mornings and sore backs, Halsin greeted the day with that warm, deep voice and a calm certainty that made the roosters crow more enthusiastically. Shirtless more often than not, with the morning light catching on his golden skin and broad shoulders, he looked like a god of the harvest incarnate—muscles flexing as he hefted hay bales like they were pillows.

You tried not to gawk every time he wiped the sweat from his brow with the hem of his tunic.

(You failed often.)

“I thought you were a druid,” you teased one day, leaning on a fencepost, watching him load the cart with fresh hay. “Shouldn’t you be turning into a bear and napping under trees or something?”

Halsin smiled, the kind of smile that settled in your bones like warmth. “Being one with nature doesn’t mean shying away from hard work. Besides, the goats get nervous when I shift. And they like it when I talk to them.”

He said this while gently stroking the head of a particularly moody billy goat, who stared up at him like he hung the moon.

You raised a brow. “Are you telling them secrets?”

“I’m telling them not to eat your herb garden,” he said. “Again.”

It wasn’t just his strength or his ease with the animals—it was the way Halsin belonged here. The land responded to him. Trees leaned in closer. The soil felt richer. Even the bees seemed to hover around him longer than they should’ve. And when the chores were done and you sat together beneath the old oak with your hands dirty and your hearts full, it felt like everything was in balance.

He never rushed you, never questioned your need for this life. He only helped shape it into something stronger, steadier. More alive.

And when he pressed a kiss to your temple after a long day, murmuring about stew for dinner and the chickens needing checking, and building some new play equipment for the goats -and the orphans, you couldn't help but smile.

Because your druid? He wasn’t just a bear in the forest. He was the heart of this little farm.

OMG how freaking wholesome was this, I did it more as a drabble style as I kinda had rambling thoughts about this, but I hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[madschiavelique]

Could I request nsfw headcanons for poly tavrem where everyone is jealous of some guy trying to flirt with female Tav but she's doesn't know it's flirting at all please?

ohoho they maddd (not proofread)

content warnings : jealous bitches, mayhaps a bit yandere if you squint, voice kink, knife play, biting, pnv sex, hair pulling, cunnilingus, they're all feral word count : 1.1k

you had stopped at a tavern to treat yourself to a well-deserved meal after a busy day killing enemies. knowing everyone's orders like the back of your hand when it came to their drinks, so you volunteered to go to the counter and order for everyone, leaving the rest of your group to sit at their table. however, while you were standing by the counter waiting to be able to place an order, a young man came up to you, and all pairs of eyes on the table found themselves riveted on you both.

wyll didn't appreciate the way he introduced himself, the young man coming to grab your hand to bring it to his lips without ever taking his eyes off you as he presented himself to you and you nodded. you weren't specifically attentive to his behaviour from what he could see, just smiling politely, but the idea that this fool's simple saliva could have a place on your body led wyll to grip the scabbard of his sword hard.

shadowheart wasn't keen on the fact that he was trying to get so close to you, to have a conversation while his eyes were roaming the length of your body a little too freely for her taste. how dare he gets so close to you? her nose wrinkled in anger when he came to whisper in your ear, and that as he stepped back you were laughing softly.

gale crossed his arms over his chest, frowning and huffing a breath of mockery while the young man performed a meager beginner magic trick to impress you and created a flower that he came to place in your hair. he could do better, he had shown you, even made you learn much better, and the tips of his fingers tingled as he itched to cast a spell on him to turn him into some kind of critter that he could crush.

karlach's body was spitting and crackling little flames of frustration as the fool ran his fingers through your hair, smiling at you when he probably wasn't listen to a single word you could say to him. until recently, the idea of being able to touch you for her was only an idea that she could never reach, and the mere thought that he would allow himself to touch you so simply made her engine growl.

astarion bit the inside of his cheek when the young man had the indecency to approach his hand to your neck, tracing with the tips of his nasty fingers the two marks that the vampire's bite had left on you the night before. what a nerve he had, to let his disgusting mitts approach where he had kissed your skin and whispered praises to thank you for the gift you offered him every night.

lae'zel could not prevent a tchk from escaping her as he pointed to one of your daggers and asked you to show it to him, its blade that she herself had sharpened passing over his unsightly fingers. your blade was far too beautiful to end up in the hands of a microbe like him, and if he pursued this way, it could soon make him discover the taste of the metal of her own sword.

halsin was not jealous by nature, otherwise he would not be able to relish in the relationship that you all had, but there was something in the young man's attitude that deeply displeased him as he put his hand on your shoulder. he had the urge to get it out of the way, to simply stand and walk up to him so that his size alone could lead him to step back from you.

minthara was already imagining how she could capture him and give it as a pittance to her spiders when he took a piece of paper and began to write on it his room number for the evening and he passed it to you. did he think that you were just a body to add to the list of his nocturnal conquests? that you could be worn out like a vulgar puppet for his good pleasures?

the order finally arrived, and you found yourself carrying a huge tray of all kinds of drinks. the young man suggested his help to you, but you refused it as you returned to your companions' table and put down the tray.

“I didn't know they made men as annoying as that anymore,” you sighed before taking a loaf of bread and taking a deep bite from it.

everyone at the table smiled, relief taking them as they all toasted and their frustration subsided, but they were not about to let this go so softly. once you'd came back to the camp, clothes had been thrown off the minute you had settled.

wyll's lips were all over you, kissing your every knuckles and fingers individually before he came to kiss you lips, nibbling the skin of your lower lip as he hummed in relief. if he had to cover the entirity of your body with his own mouth and saliva, he would.

shadowheart was kissing your ear, whispering sweet nothings to you and taking great pleasure to the way your skin covered in goosebumps by the simple sound of her voice and the effects her words were having on you.

gale had made vines grow to hold your body right for them all, your wrists and ankles tangled in plants which perfumes' made you feel all fuzzy and soft and needy for any touch they might provide you.

karlach's hand combed through the hairs on the back of your neck before she pulled on it, arching your back so good for her while her hot tongue licked your lips and jaw with hunger.

astarion's fangs grazed the soft skin of your inner thighs, biting relentlessly and leaving in the trail of his mouth marks after marks that he knew only him and his partner would see and touch on you.

lae'zel had taken your dagger, trailing the new cleaned blade on your body, the cold metal kissing your skin and making you shudder. she covered the handle of it with your slick, thrusting it in you as your back arched.

halsin halsin towered over you, his massive hands keeping you in place by holding your waist and shushing you down as once the dagger got removed his own length took its place.

minthara's tongue was lapping at your cunt, curling around your clit in madening circles before she came to suck on it, her eyes never leaving yours as her nails digged in your thighs.

[imakemywings]

Things that make me insane about Minthara's romance(s):

"I wanted this, for myself." Even in the midst of her total brain fog by the Absolute, she knows she wants to be close to Tav. Even when she's been manipulated not to merely serve, but to serve in ecstasy, she wants to be near Tav and that is the one thing she chooses to pursue for her own ends--which are purely pleasure and comfort.

This could have easily been a victory bang one night stand, which might have tracked with her being the "evil" companion, but it clearly meant more to her from the very beginning. She stays with Tav after the sex, she snuggles, and she willingly bears her heart to Tav about her fears and anxieties regarding the Absolute and her place on the surface.

If Tav pries into her thoughts while she's sleeping, they see "the scars of a life spent anticipating betrayal." Life in Menzoberranzan trained her to expect a knife in the back constantly, and she remains paranoid about this even on the surface. But even so, she takes this moment with Tav, seeking to overcome her own fears about intimacy.

The skill check you have to pass to convince her not to kill Tav? 2. She is looking for a reason to not have to kill Tav, even if Tav spoke complete heresy to her. She wants to let Tav live, she wants to see them again at Moonrise.

Obviously, the big sad puppy eyes when she turns to see Tav during her castigation in Moonrise. Worst moment of her life and who steps through the door? The one person she has wanted to be close to maybe since she left the Underdark.

The way the two gnomes torturing her call out her "longing for acceptance and affection from a mortal," which confirms that her night with Tav always meant more to her than just a hook-up. She wanted more than just physical intimacy--she wanted something emotional. And that is what is being highlighted in her torment as one of her worst failures--that she, essentially, wants to be loved.

Related to the above - after Orin is killed, Minthara sort of laments that if not for Tav's strange act of mercy in saving her from Ketheric and Z'rell, she would have been just one more casualty in Tav's quest to destroy the Absolute, and "nobody would remember me."

"You came. I prayed that you would." I am howling at the moon. Minthara, the paladin, prays for Tav. For Tav to come rescue her. Minthara, who spurned Lolth, who has realized the Absolute was a lie, prays for Tav to come and save her.

The interplay between Minthara and a Dark Urge's respective relationships with Orin--how Orin's brainwashing and torment was what set Minthara on her quest for revenge against the Absolute, and how Durge was perhaps the very first of the cult's victims and all the amnesia they've struggled with throughout the game the result of Orin's torture.

Related to the above - if Minthara is the one kidnapped by Orin in Act III, that once again Orin has taken Minthara captive and once again Tav will free her.

The way Minthara tries to pry into Tav's mind again in Act III, only to quickly withdraw and apologize for not asking first. Minthara! Apologizing! That instead of letting it go, she still asks if she can be allowed to look into Tav's mind, because she is so desperate to see how Tav sees her. If Tav says they'd rather just use words to tell her, Minthara insists that the parasite connection is more true and accurate, and she wants to see that.

That she is hoping Tav sees her like a lover, and is openly disappointed if that's not the case. (Tie back to point 6.)

The way she begs to see herself through Tav's eyes, because "without Lolth, without the Absolute, without my home, I do not know myself." Her sense of self is so tenuous that she turns to someone else to help her understand herself--and that person is Tav, possibly the only person in the world she trusts.

The adoring look she gives Tav after some of their kisses, followed by the throaty "thank you." Thank you! She thanks Tav for their gestures of affection! (Tie back to point 6.)

That she is quietly poisoning Tav to build up their resistance in case they ever go to her homeland.

"I have never needed anyone, but I want you."

The way she is so all-in once her romance is locked in. Tav can become the Slayer, become Bhaal's chosen, become a mind flayer, choose to enslave the brain, choose to destroy the brain, go to Avernus--no matter what they do, Minthara is with them. They are her Person.

Related to the above - if Tav does become a mind flayer and tries to leave her on the grounds that they're a monster, she says "So am I, my love. Let us be monsters together." She "mourns" the loss of the parasite, because she yearns to share minds with Tav in their new state.

If a mind flayer Tav tells her they need to figure out who they are alone, without her, she pleads for just one day to change their mind.

If romanced by a Karlach origin who chooses to die rather than return to Avernus, Minthara is in tears as she promises to stay with Karlach until the end.

If Tav proposes they return to Menzoberranzan and conquer it after defeating the Netherbrain, Minthara casts off Baenre and declares "their" new house will be named after Tav.

During the epilogue, she seems rather keen to leave, and no matter what dialogue option is chosen, she admits to a romanced Tav what bothers her: she's afraid no one there likes her.

[hijackalx]

FEMALE BG3 CHARACTERS EATING OUT F!READER +18

characters included: karlach, shadowheart, lae’zel, minthara

MALE BG3 CHARACTERS

SHADOWHEART

okay i LOVE the idea of overeager inexperienced shadowheart like it’s SO hot……

she’s a little aggressive and all over the place but she DOES NOT CARE 😹😹

she also gives me selfish vibes, so if she’s eating you out she’s doing it solely for her OWN enjoyment LMAO

loves to tell you to hold still or to be quiet, that way when you slip up she can degrade you

“shut up, you sound like a whore” or “squirming already? how pathetic” she is MEAN

will also knead your tits the whole time. not softly either— it will make you gasp and that’s exactly why she does it 😹😹

prefers to have your hands bound above your head so you can’t touch her. she likes seeing how frustrated you get when you can’t pull on her hair/move closer when she teases

will spit on it. and she will hold eye contact with you while you watch as it drips from her mouth onto your pussy

gets SO wet from eating you out

she will reach between her legs every once in a while to touch herself because she gets so worked up

sometimes she’ll get too distracted in her own pleasure and just start whimpering/panting into your pussy

if she doesn’t already finish before you then she’ll IMMEDIATELY want you to return the favor

KARLACH

she aims to PLEASE

you WILL be having a life changing orgasm every time. no 3 second O’s over here baby 😹😹

she can tell when you’re close and adjusts her pace to make you hold off for just a littleee longer (a lot longer)

wishes she could live in between your legs. obsessed with the way you smell and taste so much

likes when you start telling her what to do— she is more than happy to do what you want because of how badly she wants to watch you come apart

grab her by the horns and move her where you want and she’ll moan

will dig her nails (claws?) into your thighs occasionally, not because she wants to hurt you but because she gets so into it

if she leaves marks she’ll make sure to kiss them better 💗

the more of a reaction you give her the more her tail thrashes around excitedly. it has a mind of its own honestly 😹😹

speaks almost exclusively in praise and reassurance. “you’re being so patient for me”, “don’t worry— mama’s gonna take good care of you”

LOVES having your thighs over her shoulders and against her head/ears. also likes that she can feel every involuntary twitch and tremor of your legs on her back

lowkey likes when she can still smell you on her top lip afterwards LMAO 😹😹

MINTHARA

you would think she’d be aggressive and mean but i think she’s lowkey pretty sensual? still very stern though. very much giving mommy dom vibes

EXPERIENCED. she knows what she’s doing and you can tell

will make you BEG !!!!!!

teases you with her tongue until you are whimpering and crying for her. needs to see you fully submit before she gives you what you want

you need to be aware of how lucky you are that she wants to do this. she doesn’t give head to just anyone

will always encourage you to be loud. if she notices that you’re suppressing your voice she’ll pull away— she needs to be able to hear you otherwise she feels like it’s not worth it 😹😹

can be really sweet in subtle ways. will kiss your pussy/inner thighs occasionally or absentmindedly run her thumb over your skin

also if you reach out to hold her hand she’ll give it to you without hesitation

her tone when she talks to you is almost condescending. she thinks it’s kind of pathetic how badly you need her. but she loves it

“your eagerness to give in to me is pitiful”, “you’re a greedy little thing”

sometimes she’ll hum/groan into your pussy with her low, raspy voice and it’s so 😩

will kiss you while/after you come so you taste yourself. with LOTS of tongue

LAE’ZEL

y’all are not going to want to hear this but i get pillow princess vibes from lae’zel LMFAO

i think she defaults to the receiving end so her eating you out is something you have to initiate. she WILL do it though

she has the most perfect, pouty lips for eating pussy. they’re so soft and plump 🥵

LOVES when u pull her hair. she tries to hold back her moans but if you do it enough she’ll eventually give up lol

a glutton for praise— she needs the reassurance that she’s doing a good job. she can’t stand the thought of not being perfect at something 😹😹

will want you to hold your thighs up towards your stomach so you’re as spread open as possible lol. that way she can tease your hole easier. also she just thinks it’s hot

loves the way your thighs look in that position. will run her hands over them a lot. usually pretty roughly

likes to use her fingers while she eats you out too. just overall really handsy

REALLY possessive over your body, but especially your pussy. she seriously worships it

doesn’t really talk a lot, mostly just groaning/growly type noises. will occasionally say something like “you’re mine” or “you belong to me”

gets sooo excited when she can tell you’re about to cum lmao she watches you SO intently with her big doe eyes. she has no idea how cute she looks (don’t tell her or she’ll get flustered 😹😹)

smugly waits for you to tell her how amazing it was afterwards

[trappedinafantasy37]

There are multiple gods in the game that you can directly interact with and they all have ties to the narrative. You can interact with Shar via Shadowheart. You can interact with Mystra via Gale. You can interact with Myrkul via Ketheric when he takes on the avatar form. You can interact with Bhaal via Durge and in the fight with Orin. You can interact with Bane after killing Gortash and using "Speak with Dead" in which the soul you speak to is not Gortash, but Bane himself. I would include Vlaakith in this list but Vlaakith is not a god, she is a lich presenting herself as a god. And, of course, there is the Absolute which doesn't really become a god until it ascends into the Netherbrain (although that is debatable).

But, did you know that Lolth will also interact with you? As far as I am aware, Lolth is the only non-story related god in which you do have interactions with. One of them is only available if you are a Lolth-sworn drow, and the other is only available if you are a Cleric of Lolth (you do not need to be Lolth-sworn for it).

The first instance is in the goblin camp with the spiders in the pit. This does require that you are a Lolth-sworn drow and that you have the ability to speak with animals. When talking to the spiders, you will have the option to present yourself to the spiders as Lolth herself. If you fail the persuasion check, Lolth gets pissed off as she was listening to you and is not happy that you tried to present yourself as her. And she tells the spiders you are an imposter and they attack you. But if you succeed the check, Lolth doesn't do anything and the spiders will think you are Lolth. So, Lolth doesn't really have a problem with you pretending to be her. But if you are going to pretend to be her, you better do it right. If the spiders think you are Lolth, you can ask them about what's going on in the goblin camp and the spiders only talk about one thing. They immediately tell you that there is another drow in the camp who has forgotten her way and that she is forsaken. And, as I said, Lolth is here. She heard the spiders admit this. Lolth does nothing about it.

The second instance is in the Underdark with the Phalar Aluve. When you interact with the sword, you have two different checks, a Strength check and a Religion check. If you do the Strength check, you can just pull it out of the stone and be on your merry way. If you perform the Religion check, the narrator will tell you different things depending on certain conditions. If you are a Lolth-sworn drow and/or a Cleric of Lolth, the narrator will tell you that the religious rite to pull the blade from the stone is blasphemous as it pays honor to the weak. If you are of any other race and/or cleric of any other god, the narrator will tell you that the sword is of Eilistraee and the rite pays honor to the fallen. The religious rite is that you spill a little bit of your blood and the sword will rise out of the stone on its own. If you do this as a Cleric of Lolth (you don't need to be Lolth-sworn) you will feel hundreds of spiders crawl all over you as Lolth is warning you not to do shit like that ever again. Not only did you perform the religious rite of another god, you performed the religious rite of a god she hates. And she is letting you know how much she hated that.

These are the only two instances in the game that I have found in which Lolth interacts with the player but there are plenty of other moments in which Lolth could interact with you, but doesn't (such as with the Phase Spider, the baby spiders in Grymforge, Kar'niss, or the dead spider in the Gauntlet of Shar). Of these two moments where Lolth does interact with you, one of these instances is in the goblin camp, and the other is in the Underdark not too far away from the goblin camp. I don't think it is much of a coincidence that these two interactions occur in close proximity to Minthara. Almost as if Lolth has a reason to be in that area specifically to watch and monitor things, and you just so happened to be there. And the only things that compel her to interact with you is because you pissed her off. But, as long you don't piss her off, she will do nothing and she will say nothing.

When Minthara was being tortured by the Absolute, she prayed to Lolth and begged Lolth to give her the strength to fight her enemies. But Lolth does nothing and Lolth says nothing. In fact, that was the full extent of Lolth's "punishment" for Minthara, nothing. All Lolth did was not answer Minthara's prayers and not show up when Minthara needed her the most. Lolth did not torture Minthara like the Absolute did, Lolth did not turn her into a drider, nor did Lolth eat her. All she did, was nothing. And yes, Lolth is known for abandoning drow and no longer interacting with them. A drow has to do something incredibly awful in order for Lolth to just back away from them entirely. But you cannot convince me that Lolth is going to let one of her Baenre's go so easily. It's not as if Minthara has done anything truly awful either to make Lolth that mad.

According to Minthara, she herself has sinned against the Spider Queen, but it's not as if she chose to abandon Lolth, she was forced away and mind controlled into being devoted to another god. But would this make a difference to Lolth? Does it really matter if Minthara was compelled to have faith in another god besides Lolth? It isn't until Minthara is freed and feels the absence of Lolth that she chooses to no longer follow Lolth. Minthara even mentions how turning against Lolth is a big no-no in Menzoberranzan. Minthara herself at one point has hunted down and killed those who turn their backs from Lolth so she knows the same will be done to her if she were to ever return home. In fact, if you are a Lolth-sworn drow or a Cleric of Lolth, you are given unique dialogue options with Minthara to kill her because she is a traitor to Lolth and these options continue to show up until you recruit her into your party and she joins your roster. Despite all of this, Lolth does nothing. Minthara spews anti-Lolth rhetoric left and right, and Lolth does nothing. If you take Minthara to the tabernacle, she will spit on a shrine to Lolth, and Lolth does nothing.

Minthara is also able to walk through the Gauntlet of Shar, which is in the Underdark, and Lolth does nothing. Sure, you could argue that its connection to the Shadowfell and the fact that Shar is there via Shadowheart is enough to keep Lolth away. The lore of DnD does not make it quite clear what the relationship between these two goddesses are. But I am willing to bet that Lolth is smart enough not to step on Shar's toes because Shar would annihilate her. However, there is a small little section of the Gauntlet where it actually does spit you out directly into the Underdark and into Lolth's territory. Minthara can walk right out there just fine, and Lolth does nothing.

But most importantly, Minthara's default ending is her returning to the Underdark with the sole purpose of destroying House Baenre and then killing Lolth. Destroying House Baenre could lead to a chaotic and political disaster in Menzoberranzan, and Lolth does nothing. Minthara quite literally wants to kill Lolth and has intentions to do so after taking House Baenre, and Lolth. Does. Nothing!

If Minthara goes into the Underdark and destroys House Baenre, this will cause chaos and death. And the Baenre's won't be the only ones she has to destroy, but any and all allies of House Baenre in which they do have a lot. And Lolth will feed off of all the death and carnage and chaos that Minthara is about to bring to Menzoberranzan because Lolth loves chaos more than she hates traitors.

Maybe, Lolth has not abandoned her as Minthara thinks she has. Maybe, Lolth has done nothing and said nothing because Minthara has not actually upset her. Maybe, Lolth has done nothing and said nothing because Minthara is already doing everything Lolth wants her to do. And all it took, was making Minthara think that Lolth abandoned her. There was no need for Lolth to answer Minthara's prayers, because Minthara always had the strength to fight her enemies.

[thehistoriccemetery]

BG3: Reader is Kidnapped/Tortured

This one started as a Shadowheart oneshot, but I decided to expand it to include Lae’zel, Karlach, and Minthara as well.

Let me know your favorites! I’m looking to expand more of my stuff into one shots, so it’s good information to have!

Content Warning for torture (obviously)

Shadowheart

When the days adventuring party returns without you, her blood immediately runs cold. They didn’t just come back without and leave you out there right?

When they inform her that you’ve been taken by the cloister, her face goes pale.

It takes Karlach and Wyll on either side of her to get her eased down onto a bedroll and breathing regularly. You were gone.

And to make matters worse, Viconia DeVir had you in her grip. Even with her amnesia, she could recall just how cruel the woman was.

The party had made great strides in passively finding clues about the location of the House of Grief, but they were still yet to find it.

Finding it had now jumped from a passive priority to the single most important thing they could be doing.

Shadowheart spent most of that night weeping in frustration at her inability to remember. She had grown up there for gods sake. The past 40 years at least had been spent in that damned house.

In the end, it was actually Astarion who finally discovered the sanctuary’s location. It was decided that he and Shadowheart would be the two best suited to sneak in and retrieve you.

When they found you, you were lying on the house’s marble floor, chained up to rigs that came out of the ground. The chain around your neck only barely allowed you to sit up to look at your rescuers.

“Shadowheart? Shadowheart is that you?” You whispered into the dark room. You could only see two silhouettes, but the quaffed elven hair of Asterion and the pointy crown of Shadowheart gave it away.

You instinctively tried to rush towards her, only to be stopped by the strain of your restraints. It didn’t much matter though, because Shadowheart was at your side in a matter of seconds.

She stroke your cheek, paying special attention to cut that stretched across your face. She was quick to move around to other parts of your body, stopping to carefully examine each of your wounds. Your restraints left you unable to reach out to her in anyway.

“Shadowheart, please, you have to get out of here, now,” you nearly cry. “They’re looking for you.” Astarion joins the two of you on the ground, getting to work at picking the several locks that held you in place.

It takes her a moment to register what you were saying. Her first thought is an obvious refusal, she’s not going anywhere without you.

But then the implications of your words dawn on her. They took you because they couldn’t find her. All of this torture you’ve endured, you’ve done it to protect her.

“Please Shadowheart,” you beg. “I swear I didn’t tell them anything. You’ll be safe at camp, just please go.”

Her head spins with newly uncovered memories of the torture she inflicted before the Nautaloid. She remembers how the Sharrans go about getting information from people.

“Astarion, how are coming along on those locks?” she ignores your pleas in favor of getting you free. Your upper body is now free, but he seems to be having trouble with your ankles.

“Patience, darling,” he quips, nearly earning him a slap across the face from Shadowheart.

Within the minute the shackles drop from your ankles, leaving you free to stand up on shaking legs. Shadowheart gives you a quick healing spell before asking “do you think you can make it back?”

You nod, following her and Astarion back the way they came in.

You had never been more excited to see camp than you were in that moment. You laid down face first on the plush Elfsong mattress. You hadn’t slept at all the previous night, and being tortured really took it out of you.

Shadowheart sat on the bed next to you. The fact that you laid down on your stomach did not bode well for the condition of your back.

She tugged gently at the hem of your shirt. “Arms up, love,” she cooed. You whined and crossed your arms over your chest. You didn’t want to show her what they had done.

“If you truly will not show me, I will get Jaheira to look after you,” she reasoned. “But, please, let me take care of you.” The second part was more a plea than anything.

Reluctantly, you lifted your arms and allowed her to pull the shirt over your head.

She did her best to remain stoic. She had seen endless wounds like this. She had inflicted endless wounds like this. But against her will, a sob choked its way up her throat.

The same back she had spent so many nights tracing and trailing with kisses was now so raw and bloodied, she wondered for a moment if you had any skin left.

She used every last bit of energy healing the wounds. By the time she was done she had exhausted herself too much to even make it back to her own bed.

She spent the night curled up around your legs, resting her head on your lower back. Viconia was going pay for what she’d done, she’d make sure of it.

Lae’zel

Lae’zel isn’t the usually the tactical planning type, but when you’re captured by Vlaakith’s army, she realizes this isn’t a kick-down-the-front-door type of mission.

This does not, however, make her any more patient during the planning process. The githyanki could have you floating halfway through astral plane by now.

Luckily, the gith as a whole aren’t known for their subtleties, so you’re not hard to track down.

Protection is thankfully slim enough that the party can pretty much strong arm their way to you.

When Lae’zel finds you are bound by some magical device that was, as loathe as she was to admit it, beyond her level of expertise.

You were at least conscious, which was truly remarkable given your condition. All your clothes were torn and bloodied, but the most concerning and blatant wound came for the side of your head.

Almost the entire left side of your face was completely covered in dried blood, all leading back to the gash on the side of your head that was once your left ear.

Lae’zel cursed, pointlessly kicking the arcane barrier.

You could see her shouting at Gale. Presumably she was impatiently rambling about freeing you, but you couldn’t make out what she was saying through the barrier.

All you saw was a long dagger that she pulled from her belt before storming off in the direction of your now dead captors.

Lae’zel was still gone when the party finally figured out how lower the barrier around you.

You stumbled out onto your knees and immediately found yourself surrounded by the party’s healers.

Lae’zel came stomping back moments later, carrying a small wooden bucket she didn’t have before. Likely she just found it somewhere around the gith camp.

She dropped the bucket at your feet without a word, leaving you to examine the contents for yourself.

You looked down into the bucket to find a dozen or so fleshy green ears.

You look back up at her, not sure whether to be honored or disgusted.

The smug look on her face let you know that this was certainly a gift she was proud of, so honored it is.

“Thank you. It’s nice to have plenty of choices when it comes to choosing my replacement.”

Karlach

Karlach really does try to be tactical most of the time, but you’ve been taken by none other than Lord Gortash himself.

And the idea that you are gone and she is here, at camp, while the others make a plan of how to rescue you? She can hardly contain herself.

She paces around camp, leaving a thick line of charred wood beneath her as she walks the same path over and over again.

Chewing her nails isn’t usually a nervous habit of hers but at this point she’s liable to chew her fingers off.

She logically knows it would do no good to come out guns blazing when you’re probably locked up behind the entirety of the steel watch, but worry and adrenaline nearly get ahead of her.

It is Shadowheart and Halsin who finally pull her from her thoughts. They have a plan, and much to Karlach’s relief it involves her. She was terrified they might agree upon a stealthier approach and ask her to stay behind.

She would have done it, if it were truly what was best for you. She might have burned up the entirety of the Elfsong Tavern by the time you finally got back though.

Luckily, since Karlach was mistaken by the steel watch as a defective watcher, she was actually best equipped to break in.

The plan, in whole, ran pretty smoothly. At least until the moment Karlach actually set eyes on you, bruised up and unconscious in the middle of a cell.

All bets were off after that. There was one thing that mattered and it was having you, safe with her again.

The minute it took Astarion to pick the lock was the longest of her entire life. She was nearly burning hot enough to melt through the bars herself.

The moment the door popped open, she was beside you, on her knees pulling you into her chest.

Shadowheart whisper-shouted behind her, reminding her to watch your neck and be gentle with your head. She carefully situated her large hand to cradle your head.

She rocked back and forth, trying to soothe her own panicked heart. “Hey bub, it’s me. I came to rescue you. I… please wake up. I’m here now. You’re safe.”

When you didn’t ever stir, Karlach looked up at Halsin and Shadowheart, eyes brimming with tears and worry. “They aren’t waking up. Why aren’t they waking up?”

Halsin joined Karlach on the ground, leaning to put his head on your chest. “Their heart continues to beat and their lungs draw breath, but they are weak. We must get them to camp.”

There was an incredibly brief argument about who was best fit to carry you, given that your skin was already starting to redden from Karlach’s heat, but her bottom lip quivered at even the mention of you leaving her arms.

When they managed to get you back to the Elfsong, Karlach was reluctantly convinced to lay you down on your bed.

She winced when she saw the small burns starting to form on the side of your body she had held to her own. Your left cheek was already starting to blister. Maybe she should’ve let Halsin carry you after all.

The healers came by to try and figure what had happened to you. You had no visible injuries, aside from the minor burns, yet you were still unable to be stirred.

It was actually Minthara who suggested they may have inflicted mental torture rather than physical, similar to what was inflicted on her at Moonrise.

The idea made Karlach burst into uncontrolled sobs. “You think they may have been erased?!”

Minthara looked sympathetically down at Karlach, but didn’t have an answer for her.

The party collectively decided that the only thing they could do is wait and let you rest.

Afraid to burn you with the fire that courses through her veins, Karlach restrained herself from crawling into bed with you. Instead she knelt next to the bed, resting her head on the mattress and reaching up to stroke your body.

She couldn’t sleep at all that night, only stroke your burned cheek and cry softly into your mattress.

She started to talk to you, talking about all the things she’s like to do with you when all of this was over.

“Maybe we’ll get a little place in Lower City, next to the water so we can watch the sunsets with all the boats ‘n stuff floating out in the distance. Oh! And we can go on little picnics in Bloomridge Park, and feed our leftovers to all the stray cats and dogs. Oh who am I kidding we’re taking all of them home with us. We’re gonna have a whole farmhouse if you can’t stop me.”

When you finally do wake up, Karlach wraps her arms around in a hug so tight you nearly suffocate. She eventually settles to sit in your lap while you gently stroke her hair.

Gortash better start counting because his days are dangerously numbered.

Minthara

The moment Minthara finds out you’ve been taken by Orin, her heart nearly stops beating.

One moment it was you, the love of her life, standing before her. Then, through the breaking of necks and cracking of bones, she finds herself face to face with one of her few fears. Orin the Red.

How could she fall for this again? Her head spins with the thought of all the things Orin may be doing to you. She knows you could hold your own, but Orin had a way of breaking the unbreakable.

Sometimes, with how loyally she followed you, it was easy to forget that Minthara was used to being the one in charge. A lot had changed since you met her as the Nightwarden.

But it all comes back quickly as she barks out orders to the now leaderless party. They were marching on the Temple of Bhaal, now. Minthara was prepared to take on the god of murder himself if it meant saving you.

As tempting as it was to charge straight into the temple, it left you all with little hope of survival. She decided the party’s presence near the temple would be enough to lure Orin out, leaving her an open opportunity to slip in.

Orin’s tactless blood thirst made the plan go over all too well. She couldn’t resist the smell of fresh unspilled blood at her doorstep.

By the time Minthara got to you, you were weak but still painfully conscious. You were hanging over an alter like a sacrifice by meat hooks that cleaved into your skin.

You had been tortured in true Bhaalist fashion. While your body displayed clear evidence of the slicing and cleaving, your mind was even more clouded by the things you had been forced to do and endure. It made you even more sympathetic to Minthara’s past.

Minthara climbed onto the unholy alter and began to remove you from the cruel hooks. She ignored your weak protestations, refusing to even look you in the eyes.

She resisted any urge to comfort you, pushing all the softness from her mind until the mission was complete and you were safe. She did not speak, fearing she may distract herself for the task at hand.

She only allowed for a brief moment when she picked you up and felt your throw your arms around her neck. You curled into her stomach with a choked sob and cried “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you better than to think you are foolish. Orin is cunning, persistent, and full of deceit. I do not fault you for what has happened.”

Escaping the temple was easier than getting in. She wordlessly worked her way back to the Elfsong with the ease of someone who wasn’t carrying a bloodied body.

She did what she could to heal you herself, given that none of the others had returned yet. A mildly concerning tidbit that seemed not to faze Minthara in the slightest.

It wasn’t until she was positive you would be okay that she allowed herself to soften, running her hands through your blood crusted hair and gently cleaning you with a dampened rag.

She paid little mind to the rest of the party, who returned looking a little worse for wear. She was disappointed but not surprised to hear that they had failed to kill Orin.

She recruited Jaheira to assist in your healing. She trusted her more than Shadowheart. She never let go of your hand, even when you squeezed so hard you thought you may have broken her fingers as Jaheira patched wounds with a variety of burning liquids.

She laid next to you on the bed, resting her head gently against your stomach and allowing you to stroke her head. She wasn’t bothered by the filth and blood that covers nearly every inch of you.

“We will make her pay for what she’s done to you. What she’s done to us. We will match every scar she’s inflicted tenfold until not even Bhaal with recognizes his own blood,” she swears, placing a gentle kiss on your stomach.

[mistercrowbar]

Sketchy lineup of origin companion (+Aldiirn) body type headcanons because I really would have like to see more variation in game. And c’mon the guys all dumped Strength they shouldn’t have six pack abs.

Thoughts under the cut!

Lae’zel - her being the shortest mostly because its funny to me. I legitimately did not realise she’s small & thin in game until most of the way through Act 1 because she’s so freaking intimidating. So she’s just like, mini murder machine. Utterly ripped keeping with the in game look for githyanki, trying to keep her shapes sharp and muscle bodies short. No boobs because githyanki lay eggs and honestly I find them weirdly out of place on her body.

Astarion - Slim and svelte, to seduce, not scare. I know canonically Larian said he’s 5’9” but look we need at least ONE guy to be short and it’s going to be Astarion.

Aldiirn - Soft body befitting a soft heart! Also to appear non-threatening. He’s active pre-campaign so the pudge stays consistent until he transforms and tummy hurty. :(

Shadowheart - Bottom heavy with muscle that can still be seen under the fat.

Wyll - gets a pass at having the default figure because he was making a career of the hero hobo thing already. But a bit less defined.

Gale - Good hearty chonk. Fat. Man’s been cooped up for a year, lost his magic (I assume casting costs calories), and has a penchant for wine and cheese. I figure he would slim down a bit due to being more active during the campaign (and certainly the cheeses are less fine on the road) but still remain the heaviest. Not gonna be beholden to if this is act 1 or act 3 tho because I am still learning how to draw fat on guys.

Karlach - BEEF. Gets the Gamagoori treatment where she’s as big as she needs to be to be the biggest in any given frame lmao. Still, keep her muscle shapes on the rounder side (compared to lae’zel especially) because she’s a sweetie.

I didn’t draw the non-origins because HONESTLY I get overwhelmed at the number of companions wheeze but Halsin gets the bear look and is a smidge taller than Gale, Minthara is like a more filled out Lae’zel, and Jaheira and Minsc as they are in game.

[lunastrophe]

BG3 Drow Lore 🕷️Minthara's Age and Name Meaning

🕷️Year Of Birth - Minthara was born before 1297 DR. In one of her lines, she mentions that she remembers a scandalous event from the past – when Viconia DeVir, a noble female drow and a daughter of the fourth house of Menzoberranzan, disgraced her family:

Two hundred years ago, she disgraced her family - the DeVirs - by refusing to obey a divine order from Lolth. It was quite the scandal, and I was young enough that it left an impression on me.

House DeVir fell out of favour with Lolth because of Viconia's transgression and ultimately, in 1297 DR, they were attacked and destroyed by House Do'Urden. During this time, Minthara was likely in the first decade(s) of her life, since by drow standards, she was still young and impressionable.

It would mean that she was born at least several years earlier, likely between 1270 DR and 1290 DR.

🕷️Age In BG3 - during the events of Baldur's Gate 3, Minthara is over two hundred years old, but probably less than two hundred and thirty.

🕷️Name Meaning - Minthara's name means „minor / second rune” or something similar, being composed of female prefix Min- („lesser, minor, second”) and female suffix -thara („glyph, marker, rune”). The name was probably given to her by her mother shortly after birth, according to drow custom.

We do not know if the meaning of Minthara's name was important in any way to her mother. Sometimes drow names seem to be connected to the child's future profession, ambitions or fate, but in many cases, there is no such connection and a name is just a name. For example, the eldest daughter of Matron Mother Yvonnel Baenre was named Triel, which means simply „wing” or „bat”.

🔹If Minthara's name meaning is not accidental, it could imply that she is her mother's second daughter (but at the same time, the eldest living daughter).

Noble drow females typically value their eldest daughters the most, from early years grooming them to become their successors. Who knows - maybe in this case, the first daughter did not survive, ending up being assassinated by enemies, or simply failing to meet her mother's expectations. Then Minthara would be „the second try” kind of a child – her mother's second chance to raise a worthy successor, to strengthen her position in the family and in the society.

🔹It might explain why Minthara's mother considered her so special and important: I have been told that I am special since my mother first held me in her arms. The burden of expectation.

Normally, drow children are not considered overly special by their mothers. The usual exception is the eldest daughter, expected to take her mother's place in the society one day.

In the next post - thoughts about Minthy's childhood, family and the identity of her mother 🙂

For more of my drow lore ramblings, feel free to check my pinned post 🕷️

[thewritetofreespeech]

hello, hope you are having a good day! could i get some platonic bg3 headcanons about a tav that puts up a front of "witty, kind, confident leader!", but is secretly very depressed and hides their own traumas. one day, tav, having gone off alone to cry, gets caught with the "mask" off by a companion and hurriedly tries to keep up the act, but the jig is up. when asked why they didn't tell anyone, they say something along the lines of "...please, don't think it was because of something you did. i place no blame on you, any of you. just...what all of you have gone through is so, so much worse compared to my problems. why put more on your plates?"

Astarion

They never fooled Astarion. He knows the acts in this little play well, and has been exploiting Tav this whole time. Confronted with it, he doesn’t know what to do. Genuine care is not something he is familiar with and it makes him uncomfortable. Like all his other parts, however, he can play this one too. “Darling, we’re a team. Partners in…whatever you need. Let me be your shoulder to cry on. Just not on this shirt. It’ll stain.”

Gale

Even though they say it’s not his fault, Gale can’t help but feel like it is. If he only took on more for them. If only he hadn’t told them of his condition to burden Tav further. If only he had done more. Gale feels guilty and selfish for not seeing it. “A wise poet once said comparing problems is like comparing sands on a beach. They are vast, infinite, and each unique. Sharing your burdens isn’t to compare. You have been so kind to me, let me return the favor for you.”

Halsin

Halsin feels gutted that they couldn’t trust him with their burdens, when he himself has added so much to them. He had sought so little from people for so long, then just thrust all his problems onto Tav at the first shine of hope. What a selfish, blundering fool he has been, even after all these years. “I spent so much time focused on my own problems. The Shadow Curse. The Grove. It consumed me to the point that I thought I would never find a path out, so I know what you are going through. And like you, I want to offer whatever support I can. Let me help you, as you have helped me.”

Karlach

It hurts Karlach’s heart, more than her engine, to see them like this. They are always so good, so open, that Karlach didn’t think that they had any problems. Still the gullible fool she guesses. Just believing what people say or show on the outside without looking past for the problems. “Hey, what do you think these big shoulders are for soldier? My good looks? You cry as much as you need. Let Mama K do the heavy lifting for a while. You’ll be alright. I promise you.”

Lae'zel

What trivium. Is the moisture on your face solving the problem? Is the burden of leadership too much to bare? tsk'va! “What burden is too great for a warrior such as yourself? I did not put my faith, my survival, in lott of one such as this. But…if you must lay your burdens down to wield your sword, I shall carry them for you. My strength is mighty enough for the both of us ra'stil .”

Minthara

Minthara is…surprised. Displays of emotion like this are not shown in the Underdark. But, she does realize that they were doing this in private; which is something done in the Underdark. She thought Tav had no burdens. Beloved and adored by their peers, and feared by their enemies, what more could they want? “Do you think I am immune to the burdens you speak of? Far from it. Since I was a babe at my mother’s breast I was subjected to incredible pressures. As that is how one makes diamonds. You will learn. You will adjust. These cracks will harden and strength as your stone polishes into precious stones. Trust me. This will pass, and you will be grateful for it’s challenges.”

Shadowheart

It is not in her teaching, from what she can remember, to be open with their emotions like this. The ‘mask’ is the norm. All who worship Shar must be a blank slate for her will. But…Tav does not worship Shar. She was not taught the same way. And Shadowheart feels like a horrible friend for not even being a little supportive in a way that could help them with this. “You…take all the time you need. I’ll keep watch. Keep the others away. Unless…you would like company. I am a poor measure when it comes to sharing feelings but…I have two good ears. And I’ll probably just forget anything you’ve told me in the future anyway.”

Wyll

Wyll didn’t think he was to blame, but hearing them specifically say that he wasn’t makes him think that perhaps he is. He knows he hasn’t made it the easiest on them. His secrets. His changes. His stowaway. Wyll also feels dejected that they didn’t trust him enough to be honest with him. He is more than a blade at their side arm. He considered them a friend. “We all have our crosses, eh? But you needn’t hide it from me. I know how hard it can be to somedays tack on a smile. Just lean on me. I’ll be your shield if you need to unscrew it for a while.”

[moonselune]

I literally check your page everyday for new writings and I'm never disappointed! I wanted to make a request too!

I wanted to ask how the ladies would react with a Tav that got into a lot of fistfights. They don't always win them and it isn't always their fault but they like to pick fights at bars or purposely defend someone getting harassed and egging on a fight. Sometimes they roll a nat 20 on intimidation sometimes it's a nat 1 lol.

Maybe Karlach and Lae'zel would be on board until Tav comes back with a broken jaw or something, maybe Jaheira can actually keep Tav from getting into silly little fights, and I'm not sure about Shadowheart and Minthara. Probably oh my god calm down until someone talks shit and then it's hold my mace lol.

But those are just my little thoughts, I'd like to know yours! Thank you for your content! I know it's free but let me get back on my feet with my job and possible school and I will definitely 'buy you a coffee'!

Omg thank you and absolutely no worries, I know what it's like x I also adore this idea!

Karlach:

The tavern was alive with the sounds of laughter, off-key singing, and the occasional slurred argument. You and Karlach were right in the thick of it, your arms draped around each other as you reveled in the end of another rowdy night. It had become something of a tradition—going out, drinking, getting into a fight with someone who deserved it, and stumbling home bruised but victorious.

Karlach loved it. The energy, the thrill, the righteous satisfaction of knocking a bastard flat on his ass. And tonight had been no different—until it was.

The fight started the way they usually did. Some drunkard got too handsy with a barmaid, or someone made a snide remark they thought they could get away with. This time, it was the latter—some slimy, overconfident lout made a crude comment about Karlach’s infernal engine, something about how "fiery" she must be in bed. You hadn’t even glanced at Karlach before your fist was already flying.

The man staggered back, stunned, and for a split second, the whole tavern went quiet. Then it erupted into chaos.

Karlach, naturally, was thrilled.

She let out a bark of laughter, slamming her gauntleted fist into the nearest idiot who had decided to back up his friend. Chairs crashed, drinks spilled, and you could feel the energy crackling between the two of you. It was exhilarating, chaotic, perfect.

Until the bastard you’d punched recovered enough to swing back.

You barely had time to register the movement before his fist connected with your nose. A sickening crunch filled the air, pain exploded across your face, and you stumbled back, hands immediately flying up to your face as blood started pouring down your lips and chin.

"Shit."

Karlach’s laughter died instantly.

The brawl was still raging around you, but she didn’t give a damn anymore. She was at your side in a heartbeat, her hands hovering uncertainly near your face, her eyes wide and frantic.

"Oh my gods, babe, your nose!"

You let out a wet, congested-sounding snort, still clutching your face, trying to wave her off with one hand.

"I’m fine!" you protested, though it came out more like ’mb ffbb’ through the blood.

Karlach did not look convinced. In fact, she looked horrified. "This was stupid! This was so fucking stupid—why do we do this?! Why do I let you do this?!"

You peeked up at her through teary, swelling eyes. "Because it’s fun?"

"Not anymore!" she snapped, her voice high with panic. "I just watched your nose break like a fucking twig! That’s not fun, that’s just—gods, baby, you’re bleeding so much—*"

She was fretting. Karlach, warrior of the Hells, the strongest person you knew, was fretting over you. It would have been adorable if your face didn’t feel like it was on fire.

"It’s fine, it’s fine," you tried again, sniffling through the pain. "Just—ugh—gimme a second, I’ll pop it back into place—"

"Oh, no the fuck you won’t!" Karlach seized your wrists, stopping you before you could do something truly regrettable. "We’re getting you out of here. Now."

The fight was still going on around you, but Karlach didn’t care. She scooped you up like you weighed nothing, barreled through the crowd, and stormed outside into the cool night air. You protested weakly, mumbling something about how you could walk, but Karlach was having none of it.

She sat you down on the nearest crate, gripping your face with both hands, tilting it this way and that as she examined the damage.

"This was so fucking dumb," she muttered under her breath, reaching for a rag from her belt to press against your nose. "We’re dumb. I let this happen. Why did I let this happen?*"

You chuckled, though it quickly turned into a groan. "You love it."

"*Not when you get hurt! Gods, I love fighting with you, but not like this! Not when you’re the one bleeding all over yourself!"

You blinked up at her, finally taking in the genuine distress in her eyes, the guilt flickering across her face. You frowned slightly. "Karlach, love, it’s just a broken nose—"

"Just a broken nose?" she repeated incredulously. "Babe, that’s your face! The face I love! Gods, what if it was worse? What if next time someone has a knife, or a club, or a godsdamned crossbow?"

You sighed, wincing as she dabbed at the blood trickling down your lips.

"I’m stronger than I look, you know," you murmured, voice softer now. "I’ve been withstanding pain like this my whole life."

Karlach froze, her brows knitting together as she stared at you. Then, slowly, she cupped your cheek, her touch infinitely more gentle than it had been just moments before.

"I know," she murmured, her thumb stroking softly against your skin. "That’s what scares me. You just take it. Like it’s normal. Like it’s okay."

You swallowed thickly, something in your chest clenching at the raw sincerity in her voice.

"It’s not okay," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "*You don’t *have* to just take it. You don’t have to prove how strong you are to me—I already know how strong you are. But, love, just once… could you not charge headfirst into a brawl? Could you let me have your back instead of always trying to throw yourself into danger?*"

Your throat tightened. Gods, she meant it. She wasn’t just upset over the fight—she was scared. For you. You sighed, your shoulders sagging slightly.

"Okay," you murmured. "I’ll try."

Karlach searched your face, as if making sure you were telling the truth. Then she let out a breath and finally cracked a small, wobbly smile.

"Damn right you will," she said, booping your still-bleeding nose.

You yelped. "Karlach!"

She laughed, loud and warm, the tension finally breaking. "C’mon, soldier. Let’s get you cleaned up before I decide to swaddle you like a baby."

You groaned, but leaned into her touch anyway as she fussed over you all the way home.

Minthara:

The moment you step into Minthara’s tent, you know you’ve made a terrible mistake.

You’re limping. There’s dried blood at the corner of your mouth, your ribs ache like they’ve been used for target practice, and your knuckles are torn to hell. Shadowheart, who was supposed to be your partner in crime tonight, is nowhere to be found—passed out drunk in her tent, completely useless to you. Halsin is off getting freaky in nature, which left only one option. The love of your life.

Minthara.

You barely make it through the entrance before she looks up from sharpening her dagger, her piercing gaze sweeping over you. She doesn’t even need to say anything. The flicker of amusement, followed immediately by exasperation, is enough to make you shrink.

"You’re limping." Her tone is flat.

You clear your throat. "Slightly."

She sets her dagger down with an almost deliberate slowness. "And your lip is split."

"Possibly."

Her gaze narrows. "And you’re holding your ribs like an old man clutching his coin purse."

You drop your arm to your side immediately. "That’s purely coincidental."

Minthara tilts her head, watching you like a cat watches a particularly slow-moving mouse. "Let me see if I understand this correctly. I told you, explicitly, not to get into a fight because you are still recovering from the last time you got your head caved in—"

"In my defense," you interrupt, raising a hand, "he started it."

"Did he?" she deadpans.

"Okay, I may have called his mother a gelatinous cube, but in my defense, he deserved it."

Minthara exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face. "You absolute fool."

You grin sheepishly, but before you can utter another word, she’s already on you.

"You are aware," she begins, rising to her feet, "that I knew you would do this. That I knew you would ignore me, prance off to some filthy dive, and do exactly what I told you not to. That you would come crawling back to me, bruised, bloodied, and in need of my mercy."

Your mouth opens. Then closes.

Minthara smirks. "Admit it."

You shift on your feet, wincing. "…I may have slightly underestimated my opponents."

Minthara raises an eyebrow.

You sigh dramatically. "Fine! I got my ass beat, are you happy?"

She folds her arms. "Not yet."

You blink. "Wait, what?"

Minthara takes a slow, deliberate step toward you. "You want my healing?"

"Obviously?"

She leans in, smirking. "Beg."

Your stomach does a weird little flip. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." She taps a single, sharp fingernail against your chest, right where the bruises are worst, and you almost double over. "I told you not to fight. You disobeyed. You got yourself beaten senseless. Now, you want my help? You want me to undo your idiocy?" Her lips curl. "Then beg."

You groan, tilting your head back dramatically. "Gods above, you are impossible."

"And yet, I am the only one here who can mend you."

You glance toward Shadowheart’s tent, then back to Minthara. She follows your gaze and smirks. "Oh, you thought the cleric would save you? Pity she can’t hold her liquor as well as she says, isn’t it?"

You hate how smug she is. With a long, suffering sigh, you drop to your knees in front of her, placing a dramatic hand over your chest.

"Oh, my dearest, cruelest, most merciful Minthara," you begin, voice laced with exaggerated desperation. "I was a fool, an arrogant fool. I should have listened to your wise words, and now I am paying the price. Please, my love, my heart, my ever-so-beautiful goddess of destruction—will you please heal me before my ribs collapse inward and puncture my lungs?"

Minthara lets you grovel for a moment longer, clearly savoring it, before finally rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath. Warm, golden light spreads through your body, mending the worst of your injuries, easing the ache in your ribs, and sealing the split in your lip.

You sigh in relief. "Thank you."

"You are still a fool."

"Yes, but I’m your fool." You flash her a cocky grin. "And since I was very nearly murdered tonight, I think I deserve some cuddles."

Minthara scoffs. "Cuddles?"

"Yes." You flop dramatically onto her cot, holding your arms out expectantly. "I require immediate comfort."

Minthara stares at you for a long moment, clearly debating whether to throw you out of the tent entirely. But, after a second, she sighs and shakes her head. "You are insufferable."

"And you love me."

She grumbles something under her breath but, to your delight, she climbs in beside you, settling in with a huff. You immediately pull her close, pressing your face against the crook of her neck, and for all her earlier scoffing, she doesn’t pull away.

"Next time," she mutters against your skin, "*I am breaking your legs myself so you can’t go out.*"

You chuckle sleepily. "Kinky."

She smacks the back of your head.

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel watched from the corner of the tavern, arms crossed, as you moved through the chaos of the fight like a blade through flesh.

At first, she was impressed. Even intoxicated, your form was strong, your strikes well-placed. You dodged and countered with the reflexes of a trained fighter, and she felt the faintest flicker of approval at your skill.

But then she noticed.

Your footing was loose. Your balance wavered just slightly. You were relying more on instinct than control, and that was dangerous. And then the fool you were fighting landed a solid hit to your jaw, sending you stumbling back. Her admiration quickly turned to anger.

"Enough."

Lae’zel moved before she even registered the thought, her body reacting purely on instinct. In a blur of motion, she was at your side, shoving you behind her as she punched your opponent square in the face. The sound of breaking bone rang through the tavern. The man collapsed like a sack of grain.

The room fell silent.

Lae’zel scanned the other patrons, her glare sharp enough to cut. No one dared step forward. She turned back to you.

"You idiot," she hissed, her voice low and furious. Before you could protest, she bent down and hauled you up, throwing you over her shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"Lae’zel—hey—put me down!"

She didn’t listen and with a huff, she carried you out of the tavern, ignoring your weak protests and the scattered laughter from the remaining patrons.

"This is humiliating," you groaned, letting your body go limp.

"It is what you deserve," Lae’zel snapped. "What kind of warrior allows themselves to get so inebriated they cannot even hold their stance properly?"

You pouted, wincing as the motion pulled at your split lip. "I was doing fine."

"You were losing."

You grumbled under your breath, crossing your arms against her back. "I had it handled."

"You were struck in the face like a witless hatchling."

"Only once—"

"Enough." Her grip on you tightened as she carried you back to camp, her muscles flexing as she adjusted your weight with ease. "You are stronger than this. You are better than this. You disgrace yourself by allowing drink to make a fool of you. I cannot stand it, I cannot stand to watch you get hurt"

You sighed, the room spinning either from the amount of drink you had consumed or the blossoming concussion. "You care."

"I am irritated."

"You really care," you repeated, your voice a little softer this time. "If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be carrying me."

Lae’zel was silent for a moment. Then she exhaled sharply, the sound closer to a sigh than she’d ever admit.

"You are mine," she muttered at last. "And I will not allow you to be so careless with yourself."

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. Even through the pain in your jaw, even through the exhaustion settling over you, warmth bloomed in your chest.

"You’re a terrible liar," you murmured, pressing your forehead against her shoulder. Lae’zel scoffed but said nothing. And though her voice was sharp, her hold on you was gentle all the way back to camp.

Shadowheart:

"You are not getting into that fight."

Shadowheart’s voice cut through the noise of the tavern, sharp and unwavering. She stood with her arms crossed, her dark eyes fixed on you with a mix of warning and exasperation. She had that look—the look—the one that meant she was already planning the I told you so speech for later.

You, in your infinite wisdom and three drinks deep, shot her a lopsided grin. "Come on, it’s just a bit of fun."

"Fun?" she repeated, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. "Oh yes, of course. Who doesn’t enjoy getting their teeth knocked out by some brainless drunk?"

You chuckled, rolling your shoulders in preparation. "It won’t come to that."

"You’re drunk," she pointed out, unimpressed.

"Just a little!"

"That’s exactly my point." Shadowheart sighed, rubbing her temple like she was already exhausted by you. "Don’t do this."

But, predictably, you ignored her. And the fight broke out not even five minutes later. Crawling back to camp was nothing short of humiliating.

You limped towards Shadowheart’s tent, every step punctuated by a sharp, pulsing pain in your ribs. Your lip was split, your jaw ached from a particularly nasty punch, and you were fairly certain your nose was either broken or very close to it.

And to make matters worse? Shadowheart was waiting.

She was seated on her bedroll, calmly polishing her armor in the dim glow of the campfire. She barely spared you a glance as you shuffled in, cradling your ribs.

"Go on," she said without looking up. "Say it."

You hesitated. "…Say what?"

She finally turned, her dark eyes locking onto yours with unrestrained amusement. "You know exactly what."

You shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, wincing as pain flared through your side. "I might need some healing."

"Might?"

You groaned, defeated. "Definitely. I definitely need some healing."

Shadowheart sighed, but there was something smug in the way she set her armor aside and motioned for you to sit. "Unbelievable."

You slumped down beside her, biting back a hiss of pain as you did. A soft, warm glow spread from her fingertips as she channeled her magic, the soothing energy flowing through your body and mending the worst of your injuries.

And then—

"Oh, you poor thing," she cooed, her tone suddenly dripping with mock sympathy. "Did the big bad fight not go your way?"

Your eyes snapped open. "What?"

She patted your head. Patted you, like you were some foolish child who had fallen off a horse. "Didn’t listen to me, did you? Nooo, of course not. That would have been smart."

You groaned. "Shadowheart—"

"Shhh," she hushed you, dramatically brushing a hand over your hair. "The grown-up is talking."

You scowled, but she only smirked, her fingers tilting your chin up so she could inspect your nose.

"Hmm," she mused, tapping it lightly, "you’re lucky it’s not completely broken. Still, it looks like it hurts."

"It does hurt," you grumbled. "Which is why I came to you."

"And here I thought you were just visiting because you enjoy my company," she teased, her lips quirking into a smirk.

You let out a long-suffering sigh. "You’re never going to let this go, are you?"

Her grin widened. "Absolutely not."

Shadowheart took her time finishing up her healing, making a show of carefully wiping the last of the blood from your lip with a damp cloth. It was almost gentle—almost—except for the way she was clearly relishing every second of your embarrassment.

"There," she said finally, tossing the cloth aside. "All patched up."

"Thanks," you muttered.

But before you could even think of making a dignified exit, she smirked.

"Now," she said, nudging you backwards onto her bedroll, "lie down. You’re officially on time out."

You groaned. "Oh, come on—"

"Nope. You acted like a reckless child, so I suppose I’ll just have to treat you like one," she said, patting the spot beside her with a mocking little smile. "Now, be good and rest, darling."

You grumbled under your breath but complied, slumping onto her blankets.

Shadowheart smirked. "That’s what I thought."

And despite her teasing, despite the endless humiliation, you couldn’t help but smile a little as she settled down beside you, her fingers absently brushing against yours.

Jaheira:

You barely felt the punch land, which was probably a bad sign.

The world spun around you in a chaotic blur of overturned chairs, shattered mugs, and the thick smell of ale and sweat. Someone’s boot caught your side, sending you stumbling back against a table that definitely hadn’t been there a second ago. You were grinning like an idiot, adrenaline and drunkenness making you blissfully numb to the fact that you were very much losing this fight. And then—

"By Silvanus, you absolute disaster of a person."

Jaheira’s voice sliced through the noise, clear and exasperated. You blinked blearily toward the entrance, where your beautiful, radiant, stunning lover stood, hands on her hips, looking every inch the furious savior you never knew you needed.

"Jaheira!" you slurred, pushing yourself up with what little dignity you had left. "My love, my light—"

"You’re concussed," she deadpanned.

"—My warrior queen!" you continued, unbothered. Jaheira sighed through her nose, then rolled up the sleeves of her tunic.

"Alright," she muttered, stepping forward. "Which one of you idiots started this?"

You pointed at a random guy. "All of them!"

The nearest brute lunged at her. Big mistake.

Jaheira ducked beneath his swing effortlessly, her elbow snapping up into his gut before he could even think about retaliating. He doubled over with a wheeze, and she didn’t waste time—she caught him by the shoulder, yanked him forward, and slammed him face-first into the very same table you’d been struggling to stay upright against moments ago.

You let out a loud, drunken cheer. "*Gorgeous! Incredible! Have I ever told you how hot you are?*"

Jaheira barely spared you a glance as she sidestepped another attacker, twisting his arm behind his back and tossing him into a pile of already unconscious bodies.

"Yes," she said dryly. "Many times."

"And you never believe me!" you lamented.

Someone else tried their luck, a stocky man with more muscles than sense. Jaheira simply kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling backward into a row of barrels. He didn’t get up.

"Have I mentioned you’re the most skilled, amazing, unparalleled—"

Jaheira turned, grabbed the last remaining idiot by the collar, and headbutted him hard enough to make your skull ache. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.

"…Absolutely terrifying woman I’ve ever met?" you finished, blinking at the carnage.

The bar was a mess. Broken furniture, spilled drinks, and unconscious (or groaning) men littered the floor. Jaheira stood at the center of it all, adjusting her tunic like she’d just finished tending her garden rather than wiping out half the tavern.

Then she turned her sharp, emerald gaze to you.

"You are a menace," she said, striding over. "And a fool. And an idiot—"

"I am very concussed," you reminded her helpfully.

"And concussed," she added, before grabbing you firmly by the scruff of your robes. "Come on."

You stumbled after her as she dragged you bodily toward the exit, your feet barely keeping up. "Jaheira, my love, my storm, my—"

"Walk," she ordered.

You did. Barely. But as she pulled you through the ruined tavern, you couldn’t resist turning back to the remaining patrons—many of whom were watching in awe, some in horror, a few taking bets on whether you’d survive the night.

"I’m gonna get lucky tonight!" you announced proudly.

Jaheira didn’t even hesitate. "Say that again and I swear I’ll dunk you in the river."

You gasped dramatically. "You wouldn’t!"

She yanked you out the door and toward the road. "Try me."

You pouted but leaned into her, letting her guide you with a firm arm around your waist. Maybe you were concussed, bruised, and a complete and utter mess.

But Jaheira was here. And gods, she was magnificent.

guys they changed the Lucille font idk what to do with my life. I really loved writing this and i hope you guys enjoyed it! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[blackjackkent]

@astreamofstars suggested my next dive into the parsed dialogue files should be looking at the various Vicious Mockery lines available for player characters, and the ways the different companion character VAs speak them. This turned out to be quite challenging, as there are a LOT of them!

There are a total of 97 unique Vicious Mockery lines, each of which was recorded by all ten companion character VAs PLUS all twelve custom character VAs, for a total of 2,134 recorded lines, which is wild. (This is not including Ethel's 60 unique Vicious Mockery lines as well, which brings the total to 2,194.)

In this video, I've collected all 97 VM lines across all ten companion VAs, along with notes (where applicable) on things like

references to Shakespeare (or other pieces of media)

places where BG3 continues a time-honored tradition of the series by butchering archaic English grammar

interesting inconsistencies between the VAs or with the written dialogue

(If you notice any references I missed, please let me know and I might edit the video! :D )

In making this video, I ended up listening to all these lines a LOT, and I do love that some definite patterns emerge which are very on-brand for the characters in question.

Astarion often sounds deeply disdainful and at times almost bored. He barrels through some of the lines as if he doesn't think the recipient of his insult is even worth his time. (Also him calling someone a "parchment-pallored villain" is a bit rich, don't you think? :P )

Gale is deeply pleased with his own cleverness and laughs at his own jokes.

In my opinion, Dave Jones by far most Understood The Assignment; Halsin bellows out the lines like a Shakespearean actor playing to the back row and really relishes the language.

Jaheira is in full mother-tiger voice and clearly ready to kick ass and take names; she's not messing around. (With one exception - I have been laughing over Tracy Wiles's reading of "Mouthier than an arse, twice as full o' shite" for the entire duration of this project, because solely for that line she sounds like she's been possessed by some unknown force and is utterly baffled by the words coming out of her own mouth.)

Karlach reads most of these lines as either battle-cry or schoolyard taunt and seems utterly delighted in both cases. I enjoy that she adds a fun roll on her r's to sound all mockingly fancy.

Lae'zel generally sounds like she's about to rip someone's throat out and often seems completely oblivious to the humor involved, even on lines like the delightful pun, "As the leg, you'll end in defeat."

Minsc definitely doesn't know what most of these words mean but he makes up for it in enthusiasm. I enjoy that "Mouthier than an arse" becomes "mouthier than a butt" only for him. XD

Minthara, like Lae'zel, is mostly not coming at this from a place of amusement; she's MAD. She sounds like a judge handing down sentence in the most disdainful manner possible. (That said, she has my favorite deliveries on some of the lines with timing-related humor: "Thou art saucy... as gruel," "Thine eyes! Pools of tepid piss," "Like a summer's day... thou art sweaty," etc.)

Shadowheart just sounds deeply offended that her target is existing anywhere near her. She's practically spitting on all her plosive consonants and it's delightful.

Wyll sounds remarkably fierce given how nice a dude he is, but a lot of his lines have some righteous indignation (appropriate for a former noble and the Blade of Frontiers) - or he just sounds like he pities his opponent. His reading of "It vexes me to know of you" is my favorite of the whole cast; he just sounds so disbelieving of his target's stupidity.

Overall I think my favorite of these lines is towards the end: "Your body's a temple - to an idiot god!" All ten companions really stick the landing on that one. :D

Thanks for watching! Hope you enjoy.

(Got requests for other investigations into BG3 dialogue? Drop me an ask and let me know! )