#also the only character so far that can look him in the eyes is halsin and i keep thinking about it

[lucius-the-sinful]

snarling growling biting,,, he is everything

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Positively unstoppable (Halsin Silverbough x reader)

synopsis: It is the height of bear mating season and with the heat around all of you, you and your group are forces to stop traveling for a while. Well, it seems your lover is not quite comfortable telling you it is mating season as he is scared you are weirded out. Yet he also can´t hold himself back when faced with you.

warnings: p in v sex, mating press, Halsin in heat should be his own warning, some bear like behaviour ig, basically porn without plot, kinda fluff at the end, afab reader

word count: 1.5k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @foxyanon

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon that requested Halsin in heat as soon as they saw my post about researching bear mating season for this <3

Dividers by me

The heat of the height of summer was burning down harsh upon your traveling bodies, bringing your party to a screeching halt when the only thing possible, was to put up camp and find a way to cool down your overheating forms. As soon as your tent is set up, you decide to head to the river nearby, wanting to cool down in the little lake it ended in.

Only after you rid yourself of the clothing and stepped into the water, you notice the towering form of Halsin sitting close by already, his eyes focused on the flow and movement of the river. From the movement of his shoulders, it was clear that he was breathing deeply, most likely meditating. For a moment you contemplate going over to him, but when you look back to where he sat Halsin was already gone. Or so you thought until the water began to ripple into small waves upon the druid stepping into it. He looks tense. More than usual and for sure more than the past couple of weeks, which honestly you didn´t think was possible.

“Are you feeling well? You have been behaving differently for quite some time now.” You voice your concern quietly as to not disturb the peace of the nature surrounding the two of you.

“I can assure you, that I am feeling quite alright.” His words hold relatively little meaning in the face of the way he borderline flinches away from your touch as you begin to run the water over his warm skin. Or the voice that comes out is gruff, yet you can feel his breath hitch just the slightest bit. Immediately you pulled your hands away from him, trying to see through him. A futile attempt so you take his hands in yours and look him deep in the eyes.

"Love, I would be fine even if you told me, you do not wish to talk about it, but just tell me truthfully. Are you alright?" Looking into his eyes, Halsin's pupils have swallowed almost all the green that surrounds them.

In what you perceive as just a sweet attempt to calm your worries, the tall man leans down to rest his forehead against yours, while holding your chin in one gentle hand.

"I am fine." He put emphasis on every word he speaks.

But you are so close and your scent so much stronger than the rest of the year, singing to him in the most irresistible tones. It all made the druid unable to keep himself from nuzzling your face and neck, thus eliciting a so far successfully held back moan and a shiver of arousal runs down your spine. A ripple of pleasure runs through your entire body when he begins to nibble on the tender skin.

"Halsin..." His name trembles from your tongue.

"You're mine." He only growls in return.

It's a rarely seen show of possession from your lover and all the more powerful whispered in the low baritone of his affected voice.

Halsin picks you up as if you weigh nothing and lays you in the grass at the riverbank and doesn't waste a second to crawl on top of you. With one swift motion he hooks his large, muscular arms into the hollow of your knees to lay them over his shoulders.

"Damn it, I cannot wait any longer. Your folds simply feel too immaculate." The druid breathes out the trembling words as he rubs his hard cock between your folds to tease the sensitive bundle of nerves atop it with his tip.

With one strong push and a sigh that fans his hot breath over your ear and cheek, Halsin bottoms out inside your tight cunt. In turn, your walls flutter around his thick member and your back arches until your chest squishes your legs even more between the two of you. 

"Oh, you feel so good inside of me. Always stretch me out so much it's like my cunt will take the shape of your cock one day." You babble mindlessly as you get used to the stretch that feels like it threatens to split you in two.

Halsin doesn't give you much time to get used to his massive size as he sets for an ambitious pace, pushing into your core painfully over and over again until your pained whimpers and moans turn into sounds of pleasure and begging for more.

"Please do not ever stop." You cry out as Halsin's massive paw of a hand begins to pinch and twist your nipples, losing control of himself a bit more and taking the pace and intensity of his thrusts up a notch. One of your hand buried its nails in his shoulder to attempt to ground yourself, while the other grips and lightly pulls on his hair. Immediately your companion leans down to seal your lips with his, kissing you with teeth and tongue. The moment your lips meet, he is positively unstoppable.

You get pushed into the grass with his whole weight, his balls slap against your ass cheeks as you get rocked back and forth by inhumanely, animalistic thrusts. The wet sounds of the tip of Halsin´s cock bullying your most sensitive spot, drenching it in your juices as a result and making the sounds of your hips slapping against each other wetter as time went on. It felt so good that the brain fog soon took over, rendering you unable to kiss him back any longer.

“Nothing feels so divine as your tight walls fluttering around my cock.” Your brain barely registers the words the druid huffs against your lips before kissing you again. Unwavering despite the fact your lips hang open ever so slightly to make way for shaky breaths and high pitched, eager whines.

“Fuck, I can feel you are close, my love. Your cunt could not possibly squeeze me any tighter.” Halsin lets out another insatiable growl, before he coaxes the first peak out of your body. Revelling in the sight of you being shaken by the waves of pleasure he provides.

“Halsin…” You moan the druids name like a mantra, like a quiet prayer to your own personal god that simply continued to bless you with the pleasure that still caused your body to tremble in the aftershocks of climax.

Two more peaks he pulls from your body until you are nothing but a puddle of panting breaths overstimulated cries and a lose grip that tries to hold onto his shoulders, to hold your legs where he put them. Only then Halsin bottoms out inside of you once more. Buried as deep as he can, with his thick tip kissing the opening to your womb, he shoots a great amount of his seed into you. Together the two of you stay intermingled for what feels like an eternity. With your arms wrapped around the other to hold them close as you breathe in the air that the other lets out until you both feel dizzy. The druid wipes the sheen of sweat from your forehead with the greatest care and strokes a lost strand of hair behind your ear, while all you can do is to fight the brain fog and keep his eye contact. Those sage coloured eyes you loved so much, gently get you back to reality, where there is nothing left but to giggle until you burst into full on satisfied laughter.

“Hah, I had a feeling you would go insane on me one day. Yet I never would have imagined it would happen after I laid with you.” Halsin jests as he sits back on his haunches and taps your thighs to motion for you to assist him in sitting you up as well.

You follow his wordless command and sit up, wincing when there is a dull sensation shooting through your core.

“Do you feel aright, my love?” He asks with his eyebrows suddenly knitted together in concern.

“Yes, love. Positively spend, but fine nonetheless and you need not worry about my state of mind any time soon.” You lean forward to place a peck on the tip of your companion’s nose. “I was merely overwhelmed with the content feeling that floods me whenever I am near you and did not know how else to handle it. In fairness one should think I would have learned it by now, but I am far from it. It still is so hard to believe I am lucky enough to be able to call you mine.”

Gratefully you accept the small pouch of water that Halsin hands you and take a few sips, before handing it back.

“I understand what you mean. Sometimes it all feels like it is too good to be true. Like being on the verge of waking up from the most beautiful dream.” The soft voice of your lover makes you feel all fuzzy inside with how effortlessly he understands.

“Exactly, like being on the verge of waking up from the most immaculate dream.”

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Found this lurking in a doc of random writing prompts from months back. If anyone remembers the exhausting discourse about whether or not bg3 characters would peel oranges, I apparently snapped, wrote all this for some reason, but then only ever posted the Minthara one and totally forgot all the others:

They would all peel the stupid orange you donkeys, if the point of this exercise is to complain about your non-favs being assholes that's stupid, use your brains and broad character interpretation to extrapolate HOW they peel the orange-

Like this!!!

Gale would peel the orange bc you asked and he's considerate like that, but like he's reading at the moment and doesn't want to fully be pulled away from that to do something you can obviously do yourself so he's curious why are you asking, is this some kind of gambit? a test? he's good at those, he'll pass, he'll be the best orange peeler. Gale casts mage hand, shows off an advanced level of dexterity not only in peeling the orange without direct tactile aid, but he also conjures a plate, nicely arranges the individual slices, adds a napkin and asks if you want something to drink with your snack. He is at once gracious and condescending, but everyone wins, you get a treat and he gets to show off and doesn't even get juice on his hands or the book he's reading.

Wyll won't even question it. If you walk up to him when he's doing absolutely anything at all and ask him to peek an orange, he will immediately remind you that he's a better person than you and that you should peel an orange for him---he will not do this directly, he will do it by a) being Wyllyam Ravenguard, and b) by looking pleased to see you and your orange and saying, "oh, we have oranges?" as he's already peeling said orange and licks a little juice off his thumb "that's quite nice---sweetest orange I ever had came from the grove of a family friend, same day I learned to play lance-board. We're so ready to be delighted by everything when we're young, aren't we?" And he's looking at you all sad and pensive, and you say "hold on" and leave to get another orange and now both of you are peeling and eating oranges and you've lost track of who's orange is whose, but you're laughing and chatting and it doesn't matter, you just had a nice talk with Wyll and somehow earned 20 points of approval for asking him for a favor.

Astarion would peel an orange for you because it's not hard and he's actually not nearly as much of a salty asshole as people think, it's just that he mirrors energy, so if Tav is going to sass him, he'll sass Tav back. I know it's tempting to choose the bitchy dialogue response when speaking to him, but there's also the consequences of your actions. So, you approach Astarion and ask him to peel an orange. You do it without being a bitch to him, presumably, because we all know how to put on our "asking a favor" voice, and he responds in kind. He sighs, says nothing, takes the fruit, pulls a dagger from seeming nowhere, and expertly quarters the orange, peeling each section of skin as far off as he can into the bushes. He offers you the knife to lick clean, promises he's like 90% sure it's free from the blood of his last kill. He takes a bite of one of the quarters and gives you the rest of the fruit to eat. You ask him if vampires eat normal food, he rolls his eyes and says "no" with a smirk. You spend the rest of your life wondering if he was being sarcastic or not.

Halsin initially doesn't have much of a reaction to your request beyond taking a split second to process, then he takes the orange and begins to peel it. He's deliberate, slow. Taking it in small pieces and you're sure you've seen him do this before and it didn't take so long, what's he doing? After about fifteen seconds of solid silence and too small flecks of orange skin piling up at his feet, he says, "I assume there's something more you wanted to ask me?" but you literally just came over here to ask help for this orange, didn't you? Oops, you've accidentally overshared some deep dark secret, but you know what, that's not a problem, you can generally trust Halsin with those for reasons that may or may not be related to content taken out of early access. He nods along, and you can tell he's fully focused on what you're saying now, because, acting unconsciously, he's much better at peeling the orange. He handles it gently, brushing off the dregs of the soft white interior of the skin, so that you end up with a perfect skinned but still totally intact orange, not a drop of juice escaped. He hands it to you while giving you some admittedly not very helpful advice, but you find you do actually feel better anyway to have unburdened yourself a little---and hey, now you have an orange to eat.

Minsc is probably not a good person to ask, but you did ask, and he was enthusiastic about taking on the task. He keeps getting distracted though, he's talking to you and to Boo the whole time, about what, I don't know and it doesn't matter. He's demonstrating more energy than you will have, ever again. He keeps accidentally breaking through the final soft layer of skin and squirting juice everywhere. Parts of the orange are getting mangled, but he's oblivious to it and having a great time, and you know what, so are you. Was this the best way to get your orange? Absolutely not. Was it the most entertaining? YMMV, but it was certainly unique to Minsc.

Shadowheart takes the orange from you and it almost seems as though a moment passes and she's still processing your question. "Could you peel this for me?" that's what you said. She blinks, looks at the orange, then looks back at you, demeanor changing, darkening, just a touch. She's not annoyed, not really, but she's suspicious. Is this a game? She likes games, but she likes to play them her way. "You didn't bring this over here for me? You just want me to peel it? Shall I also feed it to you a slice at a time and stroke your hair and fan the heat from the back of your neck?" she's being facetious, but also yes, yes you would like her to do all that. "No, it's ok," you manage to say, hating yourself. "I just need some help." She is at once relieved and a touch disappointed that this wasn't some game. You can tell she's thinking deeply about something as she wordlessly completes the task, somehow managing to remove the peel in one long spiraled strip without using a knife, just her hands. You want to ask what it is, but she inexplicably seems a little down. You tell her you only want half and then stay with her while the two of you eat the orange together.

Karlach is maybe the best person to peel the orange, but she doesn't know it. She's alarmed you asked. "You know I'm going to cook that thing, right?" She warns you, and you respond, "Yes. It will be delicious. Please scorch it." She thinks that's wild, but says she trusts you to know what you're about. Like Shadowheart, she also uses her nails, but it's much easier to see how efficient she is at spiraling the orange out of its slowly cooking skin, and the whole time she's excitedly reminiscing about some of the best meals she's had at her favorite places in Baldur's Gate. She's sad there's only one orange, and does in fact suggest that you peel some more, this time though, she wants you to do it too. "I'll cook them a little, and when the peel starts to get black, I give it to you to finish off, yeah?" But then she ends up doing all the work, having way too much fun with it, and also finding that yes, a slightly broiled orange is absolutely delicious. "We've got to do something with all of these---what about cake? Or wine! Do we have anything it could ferment inside of?!"

Lae'zel asks a lot of question first, "why?"/"Is this some sort of custom?"/"Am I meant to eat this as well?" and you try to answer rapidly "Hungry"/"Not really"/"You can have some if you like" her final question is "why are you asking me to do this? Is that really the best way to apply my particular skill set?" and the best response to this is to just say, "Please." She's annoyed, but she agrees and peels the orange, somehow without looking at it, and instead glaring at you the entire time. She hands you the freshly peeled fruit and demands, "go and eat." You'd better do as she asks, but definitely take a moment to look back as she tastes a bit of the juice on her fingers, looks furious with herself. Delicious, isn't it Lae'zel?

Minthara takes the orange and inexplicably rips the peel off in one fluid motion. You ask how she did that and she responds with a pitying glance that slides into a glare of disgust. "I imagine a surface dweller that cannot engage in simple hunting and gathering of the tame flora and fauna of topside could not hope to last long in the merciless wilds of the underdark. Do you ever dwell on that? On what fate would do with you, should your conveniences ever fail you? I think it would torment me day and night, to know so assuredly of my own weaknesses." You don't say anything to that, because what could you say? You look at the peeled orange in your hand, juice pooling in your palm and then back up at Minthara. "Do you want some?" and she answers "No" before you're even finished talking, but if you pass an insight check, you know she's lying. You go back to your own tent to eat the orange. It is poisoned.

Jahiera manages to peel the orange without pausing in whatever else she's doing, she also doesn't look up or hardly respond at all besides "here you go, cub," she's so practiced, you immediately recognize that she's done this 10000x. It is in her nature to peel oranges. She does it without thinking and often without remembering if there's something more important on her mind. She hasn't even considered not peeling an orange in centuries. There's always someone who needs an orange peeled, and she's perfect at it. You should leave her to what she was doing and eat your orange on the way back to your tent. An hour later, tell her "thank you for peeling my orange" she will say "you're welcome," but you can tell she has no idea what you're talking about.

[bat-connoisseur]

I turned your Baldurs Gate 3 characters into furries. Sorry. Actually no I'm not I won't pretend anymore.

General notes and specific species under the cut.

Astarion: He is a Ghost Bat! I like to think him being a vampire and being a bat are entirely unrelated, it's just a coincidence and he's honestly pretty mad about it. Ever since I first started playing bg3 I had him assigned as a Ghost Bat or a Spectral Bat in my brain, just arbitrarily, and I went for the former just because the colours work.

Gale: He's a Eurasian Lynx! I had to make him a cat. I just had to. And I trawled through the wikipedia pages for pretty much every type of cat and Lynx was about the only one that fit in my brain. The fluff kinda evokes his beard and hair I think, and I almost didn't have him have proper hair, just the fur, but in the end I wanted to be consistent about it so he got it. Peep the greying muzzle because mans is stressed and dying.

Karlach: She's a Bongo Antelope! I knew I wanted her to be some kind of large hooved mammal, because of the horns but also because their builds and general sturdiness really suit her I think. It was a tough pick, there's so many cool ones, and when sketching I was actually going to have her be a Mountain Nyala, but I changed my mind last minute just because the colours of the Bongo fit SO well. They're also my favourite antelope. Let me have this. She's so cool and she gets to be one of my favourite animals.

Lae'zel: She is a Pterosaur! My specific reference was Dorygnathus, but I was fairly loose on the details and so she doesn't super resemble them beyond the teeth and tail. I wanted her to be something prehistoric since the Gith are aliens or something (i dont know dnd lore that well), and so I wanted her to be in her own sort of category apart from the rest so, prehistoric! I considered making her a dinosaur but the idea of a Pterosaur just really appealed for whatever reason. Kind of parallels their dragon riding if they can fly, I suppose? And their Enhanced 10 Foot Vertical Leap.

Shadowheart: She's a Hare! Very specifically a Hare rather than a rabbit. Hopefully that comes across. I wasn't super sure what to do for her honestly, but in several scenes she has these big scared eyes, and she's generally just kind of having an awful time and being harmed by the gods for the whole game and I was like 'hey I know an animal that looks like it's been personally slighted by the gods' and so Shadowhare was born. There is a part of me that wishes I'd made her a cat for the warrior cats joke though.

Wyll: He's a Pine Marten! I just kind of got it in my head he should be a Mustelid of some kind, I'm not sure why, he just has that kind of vibe to me? Maybe it's the way he moves, maybe it's his skill at killing, maybe I'm just biassed because I love him and I love mustelids, who knows. I looked through em all and I didn't want one of the bigger sturdier ones like a Wolverine because. Strength stat of 8. So I went for one of my smaller favourites, the Pine Marten. The reason he's not an animal with horns naturally like Karlach is because I still wanted them to look out of place on him! I toyed with giving him wings (because they're cool) but ultimately didn't wanna stray toooo far from Pine Marten.

And that's all! Perhaps I'll get around to anthropomorphising the non origin characters, but who even knows. Halsin would almost be too easy. I could make Jaheria a cool ass fox or something though. Much to consider. If I do them then I'm gonna be doing my Tav Deimos and my Durge Lethe though. That's da law.

[thiriann]

If only for tonight

You can also find me on AO3

Rating: Explicit

Words: 5,4k

Pairing: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Vampire Bites, Blood Drinking, Manipulative Astarion, Romance, Dissociation, Trauma, Falling In Love,Tiefling Tav, Vampire Spawn Astarion (Baldur's Gate),one shot

Summary:He tried to weigh the consequences in his mind but his hunger, which had already reawakened at the mere suggestion of drinking her blood, was terribly distracting, gnawing painfully at his belly. He took a reflexive breath and as if on cue her scent invaded his nose, the bouquet of her blood mixed with her arousal. This might be a terrible idea, but most fun ones were. All he had to do was hold back a little, he could do that. Surely.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Gentle music and lively conversation filled the camp, after so many days of uncertainty and danger, this celebration felt like a breath of fresh air. Thiriann, surrounded by her people and basking in their adulation, felt a sense of belonging that had eluded her for far too long.

She flitted from one conversation to the next: creating light displays with Rolan, mulling over song ideas with Alfira, and sharing drinks with Bex until the latter succumbed to slumber. Her companions weren't forgotten either —a toast with Shadowheart, nostalgic stories with Gale, and an unexpectedly flirtatious exchange with Halsin.

She just wanted to know everyone a little better before separating ways but despite her efforts to mingle, Thiriann's gaze often drifted to the one person she yearned to speak with that night.

Perched in front of his tent, drink in hand, he seemed out of place at the festivity, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but at this party. His striking beauty, undiminished by his sullen demeanour, drew her in. The firelight danced across his face, softening his features and igniting a desire to trace her fingers across his lips.

She shook her head and averted her eyes before he noticed her staring, her thoughts tinged with shame. Perhaps the alcohol was to blame, making her foolish.

But that wasn’t really the case, was it?

The reality was that she was developing feelings for her pale companion. His humor, intelligence, and sarcasm, along with their late-night talks, had captivated her.

Things had gotten worse for her after they’d spent the night together.

And it had been…good? Somewhat. Initially eager, he had become distant as the night progressed. Or maybe he’d grown bored?  She tried not to take it as an insult to her skills. This was no time to get focused on insecurities over her performance.

In the morning after, he claimed he was restraining his vampiric urges—a plausible struggle. She could only imagine the difficulty of his condition.

She had chosen to deem it a flop and move on, happens to everyone. Dwelling on it served no purpose, especially since he avoided the topic.

Lost in thought, Thiriann was oblivious to the giant red figure sneaking up behind her until it was too late.

“Hey,Soldier~” sang a voice making her almost jump out of her skin. Astarion really would be the death of her if thinking about him prevented her from noticing this hulking beast of a woman approach.

“Karlach! What are you up to?” she gasped holding a hand over her chest.

“You’ve been holding out on me, soldier. ~ What is this I’ve been hearing about you and Astarion?”

Karlach had a very unsettling devilish gleam in her eye, it was clear she was out on a quest for scandalous tales.

 “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.” She said, trying to keep her face neutral.

“Oh, come off it! I thought we were friends. You know you can tell good ol’ Karlach anything, especially any juicy stories.”

Thiriann searched her mind for a way out of this. There was no way she would talk about anything that had transpired between her and Astarion.  Luckily for her, Karlach relented first.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d ride him to the Feywild and back if I had the chance, but I wouldn’t let my guard down around him. Good to see the two of you getting along, anyway. As for myself, I think I’ll go look for a fire-retardant lover to go lost in ‘til sunrise.” She winked before taking off in the direction of a rather good-looking bard.

“Enjoy yourself tonight, Karlach.”

Unconsciously, Thiriann shifted her gaze to his tent again and to her surprise, he met her eyes. His look conveyed a silent invitation. There was only so much delaying the inevitable, she couldn’t avoid him forever. Taking a deep breath and steadying herself she approached him.

“Here’s my little treat with their cheeks all flushed. You will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?”

She hesitated. This was rather unexpected.

“I’m not sure…” she said with no small level of uncertainty.

“Ah, you need a bit of enticing, let me see.”

He said, hand gripping his chin in thought.

“How about this one: All these accolades from the Tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips.” He said with a flair, arm gesturing for effect.

A ghost of a laugh left her. Did he want to play some pickup game?

“Is that the best you can do?” she teased.

“Hmm, let me give it another go: Every part of your perfect body whispers temptation - it's as if the Gods made you just to ruin me.”

The blush on Thiriann’s cheeks returned with full force.

“You're sweet, and sillier than I thought.”

“I can go on all night with the flattery, but is that really all you want?” he drawled, hand hovering over his chest, drawing her eyes to the little bit of skin visible under his collar.

Maybe.

“How about if I said these little words... Everyone's favorite...” he put on an innocent face, if not a bit sad. “I love you.”

The smile fell off her face, and she stared at him in stunned silence. This playful banter had been a nightly routine, but those words coming from him held a powerful punch.

Finally regaining her composure, she teased him, "Having fun, are you?"

“I am, it's hard not to with you.” He giggled, and she raised an eyebrow. Somehow, hearing him say he enjoyed their time together stirred her emotions more than any of his pickup lines.

“Now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all my favorite lines at you, I'd much rather we got to experience each other’s full portfolio of talents once again.”

She really didn’t think he’d bother with a repeat after last time. But she had heard him complain that the party was boring, and the wine was bad, and, well, if it was entertainment he wanted, she had a few ideas.

“All right, I’ll come see you after everyone’s asleep.”

Once the party had died down and the camp had settled into silence, she sauntered to his tent.

 “I'd hoped you would come. And now you're all mine, and I’m all yours. Until morning at least.”

His eyes drifted to the cup she held in her hand. A flicker of concern crossed his face. Not that it had stopped him in the past but the idea of sleeping with her intoxicated brought a sour feeling to his stomach.

“I see you've been indulging. “ he said, trying to gauge her inebriation.

“Don't worry...”

She was pleasantly surprised to see how he arranged his numerous pillows within his tent, evidently trying to provide some comfort. Moreover, he had an actual bedroll spread out.

“…I've brought you a drink as well.”

She reclined on a pillow and placed her drink down next to her. His gaze travelled over her form. She was only carrying one cup. A thrill of anticipation shot through him as he realized her game.

“Really, now?” His voice purred seductively.

She removed her top in one swift motion, but he was already used to such displays from her. Probably half the camp had seen her topless by now.

“Tonight, you can drink as much as you want from wherever you want.”

With that she slid out of her pants as well, remaining only in her underwear.

His eyes lit in excitement. Now, this sounded like fun. But he wasn’t one to just jump at an offer that sounded too good. Most of the time.

“Darling, as much as I want to accept your generous gift, I believe the others will be less understanding in the morning when Shadowheart is forced to resuscitate you again.”

“It won’t come to that. I’ve taken some precautions.”

“Precautions?”

“There’s a scroll of Revivify in my pants. The others don’t have to know.”

Oh, so she had a deviant side to her after all. This was rather surprising, and so very tempting. For a moment, he considered this had to be a trap of some sort, even if an unusually elaborate one. But that didn’t seem like her. She had too much of a bleeding heart for that.

He tried to weigh the consequences in his mind but his hunger, which had already reawakened at the mere suggestion of drinking her blood, was terribly distracting, gnawing painfully at his belly. He took a reflexive breath and as if on cue her scent invaded his nose, the bouquet of her blood mixed with her arousal.

This might be a terrible idea, but most fun ones were. All he had to do was hold back a little, he could do that. Surely.

“My, my, I had no idea you enjoyed it that much, darling.” He said as he sat between her legs leaning over her. He placed both his hands on her knees spreading them further apart.

“You should have said so earlier. I would love nothing more than to devour you.” He drawled, trying to sound as seductive and sexually charged as possible.

 In reality, he had no idea where to begin. Elation and nervousness surged through him as he took in her form. Her delicate neck was extremely alluring as usual, but shifting his eyes lower he couldn’t help but draw his attention to her supple breasts. They would be so soft against his face, her nipple would fit perfectly in his mouth as he bit around her areola. Moving his gaze even lower he was presented with her thighs. Firm and toned, he’d heard you could draw a rather large amount of blood from them with barely any effort. He wondered if that was true. And then there was her tail. Could you even draw blood from a tail? He had no idea, but it had a large vein on the side of it that seemed to almost challenge him to try.

He realized he’d probably taken longer than he should have contemplating his options. He stole another glance at her face, only to see her patiently observing him. At a first look might have mistaken it for casual relaxation, but he could hear her heartbeat, it was elevated. Even in the dim light, he could almost perceive a shift in her eyes, a dilation of the pupils that sent a jolt through him. This wasn't just idle amusement. Desire flickered beneath the surface, a silent mirror of the hunger gnawing at him. She wanted this, almost as much as he did.

A trail of fire danced across her skin as his lips brushed upwards from her knee. The coolness of his breath against her heated flesh sent shivers rippling down her spine. He paused, hovering just above her thigh, a single raised eyebrow in a silent question.

“Go ahead.” She answered him out loud, her voice trembling but he couldn’t tell if it was fear or arousal.

Either way, he’d at least try to be gentle, he was a gentleman after all.

He bit her swiftly, but her thigh was softer than he had anticipated, and his fangs sank in deep. A gasp, sharp and quick, escaped her lips and her legs trembled, but she remained still.

Blood gushed into his mouth, filling it with rapid speed. He moaned around her leg startled and swallowed everything he could. A few errand droplets ran down his chin. A wave of warmth surged through him, an intoxicating sensation that left him breathless.  He didn’t even have to suck at the wound, her blood was freely running into his mouth, and he swallowed a second time. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this was too much, she would bleed out in no time at all. A third mouthful gathered, and he forced himself to pull away. He licked at the wound hoping to aid congeal the blood and felt a jolt of panic when his senses finally returned to him.

He stared in shock as the holes stopped bleeding almost instantly and even closed. She hadn’t been kidding when she said she’d taken precautions.

When he glanced at her face, her eyes were lidded, and she had a confident smirk on her lips.

It seemed it was his turn now to impress. Of course, there was no such thing as a free lunch.

He kissed her thigh one last time, the smell of her blood making him want to dive back in but he could be patient.

He moved his face to the apex of her thighs, hovering above her sex. He hooked a finger in her underwear and moved them to the side before blowing a cold breath over her. She gasped as goosebumps ran over her skin.

Astarion looked so beautiful between her legs. She was caught between wanting to look away in embarrassment and staring into his eyes forever.

He was the first to break their momentary connection as he lowered his face and took a broad sweep of his tongue over her clit.

She moaned quietly at the contact and spread her legs further. He smirked at her eagerness and ran his tongue over her hole before bringing it back to her clit. There was something in her taste that was uniquely hers and he could swear he tasted it in her blood as well.

Without musing over it too much, he began his usual routine, habits kicking in. She moaned loudly above him, and her hips thrust against his mouth. She seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself and of course she was, he was very good at this. It was after all one of his, admittedly few, talents. Words echoed in his ears as memories began to surface, reminding him exactly what he was good for. So, he drifted away from them, sinking into the quiet abyss of his own mind. How long had he been gone? Had he even left at all? A throbbing beat, insistent and growing, clawed its way through the fog. When his eyes snapped open, reality slammed back. He tried to take in what had happened. It seemed at some point she’d put her legs over his shoulders, or maybe he’d done that, and he now found himself almost squished between her thighs, her pulse loud right by his ear.

He pulled away from her slightly, every instinct in him was screaming to just get on with it like always, get it done, and move on, but he found himself hesitating. His feelings were even worse than usual, maybe that was the problem, he had let them run loose and now his thoughts were a mess as well. Shame twisted his gut in a dull ache, familiar and unwelcome.

He wanted to clear his head, to calm down. Almost by instinct, he grabbed her by the thigh he hadn’t bitten and sank his fangs in. He hadn’t asked this time, a sliver of unease worming its way into his gut before he felt her hand run through his hair.  He stilled expecting a blow or a yank, but it never came. She just carded her fingers through his locks and stroked his head, her light touch a soothing counterpoint to the storm raging within him. He’d bitten her at an awkward angle, and he couldn’t fully see her face but from what he could tell she appeared to be smiling. A strange calm washed over him, a quiet settling in his usually churning stomach. Before he even swallowed the first mouthful, a sense of control, however fleeting, began to return.

As he drank greedily from her again and slowly began to feel more like himself, with every drop he consumed, the world seemed to sharpen, the confusion receding. Feeling his confidence return to him he unlatched his fangs and licked her wound closed.

 He finally looked at her then and what a sight she was. Her face was flushed, almost red, the color reaching all the way to her delicate collarbones. She was panting with a gentle smile on her lips, a sheen of sweat clinging to her flushed skin like morning dew. Both her thighs were smeared in blood, his marks clearly visible despite it. Her cunt was glistening, slick dripping down onto her tail. He felt a twinge of pride that he could reduce their righteous leader to such a wanton state. His dick twitched against the confines of his pants and he stood up to remove them. Her eyes were glued to the motions of his hands before they fell on his cock and she looked away. He’d had his tongue inside her just minutes prior but now she was suddenly feeling shy? Ridiculous woman.

He sank back to the ground, a predatory glint returning to his eyes. Before she even had the time to ask him why, he grabbed her by the thighs and pulled her to him, making her fully prone on the floor with her legs wrapped around his waist. She gasped at the sudden motion and looked up at him with wide eyes. He was finally back on track with the evening. He loomed over her, taking in her form before lowering his hands to her hips. He gripped her underwear and ripped them off with a snap. Thiriann gasped, more at the audacity than the pain.  But her eyes, wide and unblinking, remained fixed on his.

He lowered himself onto her and their lips locked in a passionate kiss. He plunged his tongue in her mouth and slid it against hers. She responded eagerly, and the kiss immediately turned into something filthy. He retreated his tongue, and she followed him, licking into his mouth, just where he wanted her. He bit her tongue gently in a silent request. She shivered under him and he fought the urge to rut against her. He felt her drag her tongue against one of his fangs in permission. He bit down just hard enough to draw a few drops. The taste of her blood mixed with her saliva was intoxicating and he sucked greedily on her tongue. Despite drinking from her twice already, his bloodlust was far from satiated. She felt the heat in her belly intensify as he growled animalistically in her mouth.  

She pulled away trying to regain some composure, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Oh no you don't," he whispered, his voice husky; not when he finally had her where he wanted.

He trailed kisses down her delicious neck, over her delicate collarbones until he reached her breasts and sucked a nipple into his mouth. She keened loudly and arched her back in an attempt to touch as much of him as she could. Her hands were now firmly on his back but he could tell she was trying not to scratch him with her nails. A bittersweet pang shot through Astarion's chest at the thought of her concern. It was a foreign sensation, almost unwelcome. He shoved it down, a familiar darkness settling in its place. Tonight, he wouldn't be swayed by fleeting emotions.

He swirled his tongue around her nipple, and she thrust up, her wet heat pressing against his length. The sudden sensation against his neglected cock sent a shock of pleasure up his spine. He gasped and pushed down more firmly into her, dragging his length along her folds and rubbing against her clit. Giving her a taste of her own medicine before pulling away and pressing her hip down with his free hand, holding her still.

She whined loudly at the loss of contact, and he smirked against her breast.

“Now, now, darling. Wouldn’t want to end our night before I’ve made use of your very generous offer, would we?”

The desire to be filled was making her ache with need but he was right. She wanted him to enjoy himself without holding back, even if that meant slowly driving her to madness with lust.

She forced her muscles to relax under him, giving no resistance to being pinned down. “I’ll be good. “

Gods, he wanted to ruin her.

He felt a strange sense of satisfaction having her submit to him, allowing him to take whatever he wanted at his own pace. And seeing her so eager to follow his lead for once sent a thrill of excitement up his spine.  He'd never had an opportunity like this before, so he was going to make the most of it now. Astarion lowered his head to her breast once more.

“May I?”

Her breath stuttered, but she nodded, closing her eyes anticipating the pain. He took her nipple into his mouth again giving it a firm suck before opening his mouth wider and sinking his fangs into the skin just barely above her areola. Her breath hitched and he rubbed his thumb over her hip in a silent apology.

When he felt her relax against him, he removed his fangs and let the blood seep into his mouth.

He swirled his tongue around her nipple playing expertly with it. Her muscles tensed once more,  fighting fiercely with herself to stay still.

 He could just lower his hand and give her the much-desired relief but a part of him relished having her like this, completely at his mercy. He wanted to push her to see when she'd finally break and start making demands of him. Or maybe start begging.

Light-headedness set in and Astarion began to feel almost tipsy. He wondered if he wasn’t drinking too much of her blood. But there she was releasing chocked little sounds above him, her face beautifully flushed and sweaty.

Releasing the now-swollen bud from his mouth he flinched as a flash of brilliant light erupted in his vision. He snapped his eyes open, searching the room for the source but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

A trail of heated kisses climbed up her body, stopping at the vulnerable curve of her neck. He lingered there, brushing his lips along the sensitive skin. A subtle shift in her breath betrayed a growing anticipation. He dragged his fangs gently across her flesh, teasing himself as fire pooled in his gut from the action. Interesting, that was new.

Finding his favorite spot mirroring almost perfectly where his own scars were, he licked the delicate skin and felt her tremble.

He blew a cold breath over the now wet spot and with a swift movement, he captured her lips in a fierce kiss.

“Mmh-“ a strangled moan escaped her lips, surprise melting into raw desire. She met his kiss with equal fervor, her hand tangling in his curls, pulling him closer.

“I thought you were going to drink.”

“Oh, I will, darling. But I think it’s time I gave you your reward. You’ve earned it.”

Removing his hand from her hip, he grasped his length and lined himself with her entrance. She felt hot and incredibly tight, too tight. Astarion froze, a curse escaping his lips. The unexpected resistance sent a jolt of frustration through him. He couldn’t even push halfway in.

He moved his hand to rub at her clit to get her to relax.

“Astarion, wait, I- “ and with that, he felt her squeeze him even harder before her tight channel started fluttering around him. It felt as if her body was trying to suck him in and he bucked into her instinctively, making her scream. He stared at her in awe as she came undone on his cock.

Having someone finish prematurely wasn’t a novelty to him but it had been always men. He’d never made a woman cum with a single thrust before. Unfortunately for her, it made his already impressive ego swell further.

“Oh, you poor thing. You should have said something sooner, had I known you were this frustrated, I would have helped you out right away.”

She tried, and failed, to glare at him.

“Liar.” She pouted and something like fondness swirled in his chest.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure you’re thoroughly satisfied tonight.” He punctuated his last words with languid thrusts making her eyes glaze over and her mouth open in a gasp.

Astarion angled his hips in just the right way to bring her to bliss again and set a steady pace. He panted quietly against her, she was still so impossibly tight, and his pleasure was building faster than he would have liked. He blamed it on the amount of blood and wine he’d drank.  She tugged gently at his curls and the sensation sent a shiver down his spine.

The closer he got to release the more overwhelmed he felt. He blinked, momentarily disoriented. Time seemed to have blurred. Her arms, once loosely around him, had tightened their hold. A soft brush against his leg startled him, and he realized her tail had also wrapped around his leg. A wave of nausea threatened to rise, a primal reaction he couldn't seem to control. He clenched his jaw, forcing the feeling down, desperate to salvage whatever connection they'd built. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to pull away, to flee from the very touch that had moments ago filled him with pleasure. Shame burned hot in his chest, a bitter cocktail of self-loathing and regret. Why couldn't he allow himself this moment of connection, this flicker of normalcy, without the past rearing its ugly head?

“Bite me.”

He had been so distracted he wasn’t sure he heard her. Pulling back to see her face he felt mesmerized by her eyes. It was a look he hadn't known existed, a look that held not fear or disgust, but acceptance, even admiration. No one had ever looked at him like that.

“You can bite me again.” she repeated, her voice a gentle murmur, devoid of lust or demand. It was a simple statement, spoken with the same trust she offered him every night.

Words failed him so he bent down to her neck and bit. It may have been the fourth time he’d drank from her that evening but the joy of it hadn’t weaned at all. He felt her blood course through both their bodies and every sensation felt charged. He hooked her legs over his shoulders bending her in half, allowing him to pump into her with animalistic need. She cried out, bucking up against him as much as she could. He wasn’t going to last long, the coil inside him ready to snap. He tried to reach for her clit again, but she held him tighter, pressing their bodies even closer.

“Like this-ah- is -aah- good!”

She clenched around him, and he growled in her throat, the sound not quite human. He sucked harder and his release approached with every coming second. He fucked her with reckless abandon, intoxicated by the sensations of her blood filling him and her tight heat wrapped around his length.

 Suddenly, without any warning, the coil snapped. And it was as if a dam had burst, wave after wave of uncontrollable pleasure crashed into him. He finally released her neck to gasp as he unravelled, filling her. The feeling of his hot spend inside her and his delicious moans by her ear finally pushed her over the edge as well. She screamed and dug her nails into his shoulders holding onto him for dear life.

Her cunt was spasming and convulsing around him trying to drain every last drop and he was more than eager to let her.

After a few last desperate thrusts, he collapsed on top of her. Coming down from his high, reality began to sink in once more. He didn’t often reach bliss with his partners let alone reach it first. And he’d drank from her, a lot, definitely more than he should have. Shame set in his gut, and he winced.

Willing his shaking muscles to cooperate he lifted himself off her and moved to crash by her side.

She whispered an incantation by his side and suddenly the room was engulfed in a bright green light. It vanished as soon as it came, and he finally looked at her, a complex mix of emotions swirling within him. Gods, she looked radiant. His bites decorated her body, and blood had been smeared all over her neck down to her chest. He felt an urge to lick it despite it having already gone dry. But the most unexpected sight was the radiant smile on her face. He realized with a pang that he rarely saw her smile at all, except during these intimate moments. It shouldn't be surprising, given their current circumstances, but it still felt like a shame.

“Healing magic?" he rasped, his voice rough. "I didn't know wizards could mend wounds."

A smug grin spread across her face "We can't usually. I learned it from a scroll I bought in the Druid Grove.  Abjuration's my specialty, after all” A hint of pride snuck into her voice.

 Of course, a wizard would use any opportunity to brag about their intelligence. Despite the urge to roll his eyes, there was something rather adorable about her smugness.

"Actually," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "when I saw it, I remembered what you said before… about holding back." her eyes shot open suddenly only to see him staring at her curiously"-"Not that I expected this to happen again or anything!"

A sardonic smile played on his lips. "Of course you didn't." He paused, studying her flushed face.  It seemed like his plan was already working, soon he'd have her wrapped around his finger. Somehow it didn’t feel like a success.

"But if we did," she pressed on, "I thought… well, you might enjoy it more if you didn't have to worry about keeping your hunger in check."

 Her cheeks burned scarlet, and she quickly averted her gaze, focusing on a stray thread on the bedroll.  She cursed herself inwardly.  A lifetime spent studying magic hadn't prepared her for the flustered mess Astarion turned her into.

"Casual relationships aren't exactly my forte," she mumbled, the lack of experience a foreign and unwelcome sensation.

A strange tug pulled at Astarion's chest.  People didn't typically prioritize his pleasure, let alone go to such lengths to ensure his enjoyment. He pushed the thought down. This was about a fair exchange, he gave her as good as he got.

"You sweet generous thing. Aren’t you just full of surprises?” he teased, his voice tinged with amusement. “I can't wait to see what other hidden talents of yours we can explore."

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Really? Well..."  she said half-jokingly as her tail raised, waving through the air " I can think of a few." She said with a wink.

She was more debaucherous than he gave her credit for.

Her tail snaked out and snatched her drink, bringing it to her lips before setting it down beside him.  He caught a whiff of a healing potion, she truly had thought of everything.

"We should probably get dressed before anyone decides to thank us for saving their tails."

A moment of silence passed and when he looked back up at her, she was fast asleep.

Disbelief battled with a flicker of genuine warmth in his chest. How could someone fall asleep so quickly, so trustingly, after their… exertions? A chuckle escaped his lips.  Well, it wasn’t that surprising given how much he tired her out.

It would be downright cruel to wake her now. And the thought of her staying until the morning wasn’t unappealing exactly. 

He rose and put his clothes on hastily, embracing the feeling of safety they brought. Dressed, he lay back down beside her, the warmth of her body a stark contrast to the chill that had settled within him. Here, in the quiet aftermath, the silence pressed in, suffocating.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, her body shifting unconsciously closer to his. He flinched, a primal instinct against the unexpected touch.  But then, as quickly as it flared, the tension dissipated.  He watched her for a moment, there was a vulnerability in her sleep, a stark contrast to the determined woman he knew.

Hesitantly, he reached out a hand, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead.  Her skin was warm under his touch, sending a tremor through him.  He snatched his hand back, a surge of self-loathing rising in his throat.  What was he doing?  He shouldn't…

But the quiet rhythm of her breathing, the steady rise and fall of her chest, had a strange calming effect.  He found himself mimicking her breath, slow and deep, willing himself to succumb to the darkness.

[verai-marcel]

Rough and Tumble (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x GN!Reader / Halsin x GN!Reader, 18+)

Of course. Of course it was bound to happen. Me? Write smut for a new fandom? You knew I couldn't stay away.

Summary: You thought Astarion had rejected you, so you went elsewhere for pleasure. Turns out, you just hadn’t piqued his interest yet.

Author’s Notes: Have I beaten the game? No, when I wrote this fic, I was barely in the middle of Act 2. Am I romancing either Astarion or Halsin in my save file? Nope, I went for Gale. Am I making shit up about these characters just because I want to get railed by both? Fuck yes, absolutely. Buckle in for some wild, made-up characterization, all because I want to write super horny fanfic. (And because certain people have bullied me into writing this…) For the timeline, this takes place during the tiefling party in Act I, but forget the real timeline of character romances and just play along. Also, if you’re not familiar with my writing, I try to be as vague as possible about reader description in my gender neutral fics so that anyone can enjoy them. However, I do have a size kink in this one, so imagine you’re a smaller hero this time around. 

Tags: gender neutral reader, halsin x reader, size kink, rough sex, doggy style, gentle dom, some after care, astarion x reader, humiliation, degradation, name calling, sloppy seconds, cock gagging

Word Count: 4,545

AO3 Link is here, sweetheart.

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“It’s not you, you understand, it’s me.” A pause. “I have standards.”

Having been shut down so brutally, you shrugged and walked away, unwilling to partake in any further conversation with the infuriatingly attractive vampire.

It’s not like you even said anything about sleeping with him. He just kept talking, like he does, as if he didn’t want to listen to you. You wondered why you had let him bite you the first time, and the second, and the third time. You cursed your weakness to his not-so-subtle glances. 

He’d look over at you, his lips twitching as if he was stopping himself from saying something. So you would ask if he was hungry. And he’d give you this look. ‘No no, I’m fine,’ he’d say, looking away and frowning, making it apparent that he was not fine. You, in your infinite dumbassery, would immediately cave in and offer up your neck. Was it your need to take care of anyone you took under your wing? Was it your stupid bleeding heart?

You knew your little motley crew only shared one thing in common: a need to get the tadpole out of your skulls. But if anything brought people together, it was facing a common obstacle.

Except that not everyone shared your need to do the greater good. You had been making a name for yourself as an honorable mercenary, taking only the jobs that aligned with your sense of morality. Not everyone liked that, especially with the number of assassins that had been sent after you. But that was before you were taken captive aboard the mind flayer ship. Wrong place, wrong time.

Nothing you could do about that now. Face forward and carry on, that has always been your way. There was no reason to change that.

You found yourself walking towards Halsin, standing tall on the outskirts of the camp. He was quietly enjoying himself, a mug in his large hand. He called out your name gently as you approached.

“You do not look as cheerful as I expected on a night like this,” he said, his eyes roving over your face. “What is the matter?”

You sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“It must be something if it is making you frown so.” He stepped closer and put a hand on your shoulder. “Come, let us walk for a bit. Nature will bring perspective.”

You followed him quietly away from camp, away from the crowd and into the forest. Soon, only the peaceful sound of the trees rustling in the wind and insects chirping into the night surrounded you, the party far away. Halsin’s hand wandered from your shoulder to your back, his thumb rubbing slow circles. It was a soothing feeling, and you leaned into him, grateful for his warmth, even if you didn’t need it on this balmy summer night.

“I don’t know what goes on in his head,” you blather suddenly. “I thought he was coming onto me, but then he wasn’t, and while I was trying to figure out what he wanted, he said I was below his standards…”

You hadn't realized that you had stopped walking until you felt Halsin’s touch on your temples, gently massaging your headache away.

“Sounds like he didn’t know what to do with a gift like you,” he said casually.

Your eyes darted up to meet his. You were surprised, but pleasantly so, by the veneration in his gaze. A slight shift, and he was closer to you than he had ever come, the heat from his body radiating like a warm campfire. Cozy and safe, you had a sudden urge to lay your head on his chest and cuddle up to the big druid.

His fingers slowly traced the curve of your ears. “If there is anything, anything at all, that I can do for you, I will gladly do so.”

I want you to crush me—

You shook your head. “I’m alright. I just needed… this.” Leaning your head against his chest, you took a deep breath. He smelled of the forest, of the earth, of nature itself. Your nose twitched. There was a hint of something more, something primal in his scent that stirred you.

Halsin called out your name again. You looked up, and he looked at you with concern this time.

“I’m alright,” you repeated. You thought back to what he said. “What do you mean, didn’t know what to do with me?”

He smiled. “Perhaps he is flustered. Internally, of course. Gods forbid he show it. So he pushed you away once he felt conflicted.”

“Conflicted about what?”

“About manipulating you, of course.”

You frowned.

Halsin touched the two most recent little scars on your neck. Astarion had a tendency to bite a different spot every time, to prevent permanent scarring, he had said.

“I’m not…” you trailed off. Yes, you knew he had manipulated you into letting him bite you the first and second time. The third time… part of you had wanted it too. That time, he had snuck into your bedroll, holding you from behind. You could feel his fangs skim across the skin of your shoulder before he bit into the soft flesh behind your clavicle. His hand was wrapped around your mouth, stifling your groan as he fed, and much to your shame, you had felt the beginning of pleasure warming your lower body. You broke away from him before he could finish, turning back to him to apologize. But he was already getting up, walking away without a single word. You had caught him giving you one last look, a regretful frown, and you had assumed that he lamented having his meal cut short.

“Alright, maybe he is a little manipulative," you conceded. "But I know that."

"And yet you keep giving into him," Halsin said, without any judgment. 

You hung your head. "Yes."

Halsin tipped your chin with two fingers until you were looking up at him. His smile was understanding and tender. "It's alright to care for someone and give into their needs, as long as you take care of your own as well."

You blinked. "But I want…" Trailing off, your cheeks warmed with embarrassment. Like it or not, you had been thrust into the role of the unwilling leader of this ragtag band. What you needed didn’t exactly align with what the team needed from you. What the others needed you to be was a commander, controlling the situation ahead of you.

But what you wanted, needed, was someone to command you, just for a little while, so you didn’t have to constantly think three steps ahead. You looked up at Halsin and felt a sense of trust. He was older, wiser, and most importantly, willing.

"Go on," he coaxed. 

Swallowing, you pushed down your fear and spoke your true desires. "I want to let someone else be in control, just for a little while. I want…" You paused, taking a deep breath, drawing in the courage to continue. "I need to be fucked. Not made love to, not a gentle roll in the sack. I need something… more."

Looking up, you saw a desirous glow in Halsin's gaze. He considered your vague request for a moment before giving you a soft smile. "Is this something you'd like me to do for you?" 

You thought of the large druid holding you down, his hands around your wrists beside your head as he fucked you from behind like a wild animal, growling into your ear. His voice rumbled through your body. Take all of me, little one. Give me your pleasure until it overwhelms your luscious body. 

You blinked and the mental image vanished, but not the desire. "Yes," you answered breathlessly. "Please."

Halsin gently stroked your cheek. “Of course.” He leaned in, nuzzling your temple with his nose. He softly whispered, “if I get too rough, say ‘honey wine’, and I’ll stop.” He pulled away to look you in the eyes. “Understand?”

“Yes sir,” you said.

He gave you one last tender smile before he straightened his stance and took a step back. “Good,” he said in his arch druid voice, powerful, commanding. “Now, strip for me.”

You swallowed and began to take off all of your clothes at a languid pace, letting him enjoy the moment as each article of clothing came off your body. He circled around you, a small smile on his lips as his eyes roved up and down your body.

As you finally stepped out of your underwear and kicked it aside, you felt strangely free. Anyone could walk up and find you two. Yet he was fully clothed, while you were naked to the elements.

And it felt good.

Halsin placed his fingers on your belly and walked around you, his touch leaving a warm trail along your skin. When he was behind you, he stopped. His hand splayed across your lower abdomen and pulled you close.

You gasped at the feeling of his bulge against your bare ass. His leather breeches rubbed against your skin. His chest, though covered in his druid clothes, was warm and comforting. And because he towered over you, he could easily kiss the top of your head.

Taking one of your hands with his free one, he brought your fingers to his lips and kissed them. 

“Show me how you pleasure yourself,” he said, letting go of your hand. He kept you tight against his chest.

With your hands, you began to touch yourself how you liked, teasing yourself at first before pleasuring yourself, harder and faster, until you were panting, your head lolling back against his shoulder. Your knees were beginning to wobble, and you grabbed his thigh for support. Gods, he was like a tree trunk, thick and solid. Your moans were growing louder, and you covered your own mouth in shame as you continued to touch yourself. Your hand was slick from your arousal, the wet sounds echoing around you. Just a little more…

“Stop.”

You whined, but did as he bade.

He suddenly let you go, and you nearly fell to your knees if not for him grabbing your arm and keeping you upright. You could hear him undoing the laces of his breeches.

Then you felt him rest his shaft against the curve of your ass. He pulled on your hand and wrapped it around him, smearing the slick from your palm.

“That’s it. Stroke me.” His voice had taken on a deeper timbre. The voice of command.

You did as he said, running your hand up and down his cock. It was hot, hard as iron, yet felt like velvet to the touch. And so girthy as well. You could not wait to take him inside of you.

So focused on pleasuring him, you barely noticed when he began to prepare you, one finger slicked up and sliding in and out of you. He added a second, and a third, all the while caressing your body with his other hand, his lips never far from your skin. You stroked him faster, gripped him harder, but he touched your wrist and slowed you down. 

“Patience, little one,” he murmured. “Don’t end this before we begin.”

You nodded. 

“Good.” He placed a hand on your back and gently bent you over. “Hands behind your back. Grip your forearms.”

You did so, and he grabbed your arms like the reins of a horse. He pulled his fingers from you, and you whimpered, but soon they were replaced by the tip of his cock.

Halsin grunted, and his hips shot forward, filling you full of him in one hard stroke.

Before you could scream, his hand was over your mouth. 

“You don’t want everyone knowing how well you submit, do you?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“Good. I’m going to let go of your mouth now. But stay quiet.” He gripped your arms with both hands now and began to move his hips. The first few strokes were slow and steady as he gauged how well you were opening up to his invasion. Then he sped up, dominating you with his strength, his hips slapping against your ass.

You couldn’t help yourself, you moaned and whimpered with each thrust.

“Can’t stay quiet, can you?” he gritted out, slowing his pistoning. Pulling out of you, he waved his hand and a soft bed of moss appeared on the ground. “On your hands and knees.”

As soon as you fell into position, he climbed over you, his chest against your back, one arm wrapped around your shoulder. He stuffed his cock inside of you once more with a deep growl, almost… bear-like?

You turned your head to look back at him.

His eyes were glowing a fiery yellow, a feral snarl on his face. 

“Halsin,” you whispered in awe, lust, tinged with a bit of fear.

He picked up on it immediately, the caring elf that he was. He took a breath, and the glow in his eyes began to fade.

“No, no!” you panicked, grabbing onto him and clutching at him like he was a life preserver in an icy cold ocean. You didn’t want him to go easy on you, didn’t want him to simmer down just because you were a little bit shocked. You wanted all of him, all that he could give. “Take me, please!”

The glow stopped fading. “Take you, little one?”

“Yes, please,” you begged. “Please.”

His only response was a low growl as his eyes glowed once more and his hips moved in a measured rhythm, his pace steadily increasing until you could barely draw a breath between each stroke.

“Such a good little lover,” he murmured. His lips caressed the shell of your ear as he rutted into you, the dichotomy of his soft moans to his hard thrusts making you lose yourself to this heavenly euphoria. The fevered trance of being fucked without having to think about anything at all was so freeing. You devolved into a mass of writhing and moaning, unable to control your volume any longer. The coil of desire within you was growing tighter, wound up with every thrust, every low, beastly grunt that Halsin gave.

You felt your hands and arms buckle, and you sank your chest into the soft moss beneath you, your ass still up in the air. The cool vegetation against your skin contrasted with the heat from the druid pounding into you from behind.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded. “Finish what you started before.”

Gleefully you reached down and stroked yourself eagerly, your body tensing as the ecstasy built higher and higher. You clenched around Halsin’s thick cock, and he rumbled with satisfaction. He sped up, driving himself into your body with wild abandon.

Your climax ran through you like lightning. One moment, you were at the top of the mountain. The next, you were free falling, pleasure guiding your wings as you soared with rapture. You spasmed below the large man, crying out into his arm. He held you tighter as he fucked you through your orgasm until your knees gave way and you collapsed onto the ground.

You felt like a blissful ooze, boneless and relaxed, but Halsin was speeding up, his breath hitching, his moans becoming deeper, more… animalistic.

“Do you want my seed within you?” he asked in nearly a growl.

“Fuck yes,” you breathed, excited by the prospect. “Give me every last drop.”

He roared and pinned you to the ground, his hips jerking against your backside as he poured his essence into you. With one last push, he stayed inside of you for as long as he could, keeping part of his weight off you with one arm so he didn’t crush you. But the warmth, the comfort of his body felt so very nice. Like he was shielding you from the rest of the world for just this one moment, and you desperately needed it.

Halsin groaned, and he pulled away from you. Turning over, you looked to see him holding his arms, taking a deep breath.

“Halsin?”

“It’s alright. When my blood runs hot, my wildform… is harder to control.” He backed away. “I need to run around for a bit, until I’ve calmed down.” He looked up at you. “But I will wait until you are ready to return.”

You smiled. He was kind, thinking that you, an adventurer in your own right, savior of the grove, needed a guard. But it was sweet of him to be so considerate. “I’ll be alright.” You reached up and touched his arm. “Go, run wild. I’ll see you back in camp.”

You watched as Halsin transformed. No matter how many times you saw his bear form, it always took your breath away. The power, the pure might behind that fur. You had seen him tear goblins limb from limb with that power. But right now, he gently nuzzled your face before bounding away, his mighty roar echoing in the night. He exuded elation as he loped into the forest, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. It was cute.

Walking back to your pile of clothes, you leaned over to pick them up. Just as your hand gripped the fabric, you sensed something, or someone, in the trees. You let go of your clothes and grabbed a pebble nearby. With effortless speed, you flung the pebble into a nearby tree.

“Ouch. What was that for?”

“Get down here, Astarion.”

The pale elf gracefully leapt down from the tree and casually sauntered towards you. The only thing giving away his nonchalant look was the fact that the front of his pants looked a bit stretched.

He gave you a withering look as his gaze wandered up and down your naked body. He paid particular attention to the trail of Halsin’s seed dripping down your thighs.

“I never took you to be so… docile,” he said, a sly smirk on his lips. “Who knew you had it in you.”

You crossed your arms. “Had what in me?”

“Well, another man’s seed, for one.” He chuckled at his own comment. “But I was more impressed by your… willingness… to submit.”

His eyes flashed with a beguiling look and he stepped closer. Standing your ground, you ignored the flush of heat in your nether region as you stared back at him defiantly, until he was face to face with you. Damn his height, forcing you to tilt your head up.

“You should have told me what you needed, darling,” he purred. “I would have indulged you… for a price.”

You glared at him.

“Come now, don’t be offended. You’ve already given yourself to me for free. It would be gauche of me not to return the favor.”

Blood. He wanted to feed. The small puncture marks on your neck pulsed. And so did lower parts of you. But your annoyance with him made its way to your mouth first.

“I thought you had standards, Astarion.”

“Oh, but I do. However, I don’t mind lowering them for a little fun.”

You seethed for a moment. “Did it occur to you that maybe you’re below my standards?”

His eyes widened a bit at your vicious banter. Then he smiled knowingly and your stomach dropped. You knew from his look that he had something on you. He leaned in until his lips were a mere breath away from yours. “You think I didn’t notice the scent of your arousal the last time I bit you?”

You swallowed. Shit, he knew.

His eyes glanced down at his last bite mark. “You’ve already proven yourself to be my little fang slut. Why don’t you become my whore as well? I’ll pay for my meal with your pleasure.”

You should have been offended. Insulted. Outraged.

However, your body, relaxed after having been thoroughly fucked, betrayed you in the worst way. You flushed with carnal heat, your eyes dilated, and your breath hitched. And Astarion picked up on every last iota of your reaction.

“Well, looks like your body is much more honest,” he said in a low voice. His eyes glanced down at your lips for a moment before meeting your gaze. His lips grazed yours, so light that you barely felt it.

“Kneel.” His command, in a voice so low that you felt it as a rumble from his lips to yours.

You obeyed immediately, your eyes remaining locked with his.

He patted your head condescendingly. “Good little pet,” he purred. With one hand, he deftly freed himself from his pants.

As you began to lean forward, he tutted at you. “Stay still.”

You froze.

He smirked, a little bit of fang showing as he placed his hand on your head and tilted it up slightly. “Give me your hand,” he commanded, holding out his.

You put your smaller hand in his, and he placed it at the base of his cock. It grew slightly from your touch.

“Open your mouth,” he said softly. When you did so, he guided your head to him until you had engulfed him.

“Now you may move,” he said magnanimously, and you began to pleasure him as best as you could with your limited knowledge. Your eyes went up to his for a moment before you closed them, savoring the feeling of him growing larger and harder in your mouth.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes shot open again and you looked up at him. He gazed at you fondly, similar to how one would look at a beloved pet.

Then he shoved his cock down your throat.

You gagged and tried to push away, but the hand holding your head in place would not budge. Your eyes watered and you began to choke a bit.

“Relax your throat, darling. Breathe through your nose.”

You did as he said, and began to feel a bit better, but it was still difficult, controlling your gag reflex. Soon he released you, and you coughed, bringing your hand to your throat.

“Not ready for that, I suppose,” he said as he caressed your head and looked down at you, appraising you with one long look. His eyes lingered between your legs and his nostrils flared. You turned your head away, knowing that he could smell how aroused you were, and felt a bit of shame well up in your chest.

He held his hand out to you, as if to help you stand. You didn’t question why he wanted you to do so, you just took his hand and stood, somewhat shakily.

Leisurely, he circled around you until he was behind you. His hand went up to your throat, gently stroking it up and down, slowly, a whisper of a caress punctuated by moments of pressure in your most vulnerable points. He stepped forward, his chest to your back, and took a deep breath at your neck. He let his lips linger on your skin where your blood, sped up by his touch, lay closest to the skin.

“I can feel your pulse against my lips,” he murmured against your neck. “For some reason, I keep coming back to you.” His other hand caressed your bare backside for a moment before you felt him nudging himself between your legs. He pushed slightly, spreading you open. Your body accepted him easily, as if it was waiting for him.

“My filthy little pet,” he teased. “Any normal being would be resting by now.” He slid further inside of you, making you gasp. “But you’re anything but normal, are you?”

You wanted to snap back at him, but then he gripped your hip, anchoring you in place as he pushed himself into you, all the way to the hilt. Your voice cracked, your comeback dying on your lips. You could only let out a wordless cry of surrender.

Astarion’s dark chuckle filled your ears. “Who would have guessed?” He pulled his hips back, leaving only the head inside, just to tease you. “The hero of the grove.”

He slammed back into you, chasing away your breath once more. “You’re just a deviant, aren’t you?” His words were punctuated by his thrusts, reducing you to nothing more than a quivering mess, slave to his touch. 

Your mind began to blank, and though the logical part of you screamed to keep your wits about you, another part of you screamed back: you were tired. You just wanted to be. And the pleasure he was giving you, despite his cruel words, or perhaps, because of them, was overwhelmingly good.

The grip on your throat tightened just a bit. Not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know that he was in command. He could end you with one snap. You were foolish to let him have you in such a compromising position.

The light scrap of his fangs on your skin made you gasp, your heart rate skyrocketing. Instinctively, your body knew he was a predator, and you were his prey. His tongue flicked out to lick your pulse. He trapped your arms behind your back, his arm looped at your elbows, forcing you to arch your back.

“How will your blood taste, tinged with ecstasy, I wonder,” he mused, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard him. He gripped your jaw and forced you to look up at him, His eyes, scarlet like the blood moon and twice as hypnotizing, were dilated with need. 

“Come for me, pet.”

You had no choice. You simply did as he wanted, moving your hips shamelessly, sinking down on his cock over and over until you began to feel your climax spinning towards you.

Just as that blissful tide came rising up within you, a sharp pain came down on your neck. Your brain, addled with so many things, couldn’t handle it. The sting melted into the euphoria until you couldn’t tell one from the other. 

“Astarion!” you cried, whether to beg for mercy or to beg for more, you weren’t sure.

His hips slammed into you harder and you felt him empty himself inside of you, just as he moaned against your neck.

You felt yourself falling, and wondered if it was you, or the afterglow.

Slowly, too slowly, you realized it was your body, and you braced for impact.

But it never came.

With a surprising amount of strength, Astarion held you, carefully letting you sit down on the ground. He knelt down with you, and without thinking, you leaned your head against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He froze for a moment before awkwardly patting your back.

That was… strangely not like him, you thought. Looking up at him, you were met with a curious expression on his face. 

“Astarion?”

He blinked, and the expression was gone, replaced by his usual rakish smirk. You felt a little sad that he had put his mask back on.

“Darling. We’ll have to try that again sometime,” he said, licking the corner of his lips to catch the last drop of your blood.

You cocked your head. “Was… was it that good?”

“I’m not sure,” he said mischievously. “I’ll need another…taste… to find out.”

You closed your eyes and smiled. You knew what he meant.

I’d like to do this again.

“Any time,” you replied.

------------------

End Notes: Throughout my writing this, I ended up doing a tiny bit of research (and by research, I mean I looked up the sex scenes on pornhub), so I hope this was at least somewhat hot for some of you. Thanks for reading!

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 39

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: E Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** This has got to be the longest chapter I have ever written. Proofreading took forever. I think I can hear colors. The art at the end of this chapter is by @sabbathism! ***

Dalah had never held a paring knife before her death.

Back when she still drew breath, she’d never had to prepare her own meals. Her family was relatively minor nobility but that, if anything, was all the more reason for them to keep up appearances. So they had servants for all menial tasks, and she was expected to do few things: learn how to dress and smile, how to bow correctly and to think pretty things. She was taught how to talk and - most importantly - how to keep quiet.

She was taught to sing, to play an instrument, and to dance; she enjoyed playing the lyre more than singing and certainly more than dancing, but she was never particularly good at it. That had been the pattern, from the start. She was a passable musician, but not a talented one; she was pleasant enough to look at, but not beautiful. She could hold a conversation well enough, but few would say she was particularly brilliant in her responses. 

She did not disappoint, but she did not impress either; just about good enough, as her mother had once said. 

Weaving and embroidery had been the only things she’d excelled at, a natural talent. She just let her hands do the work for her, listening to whatever music someone was playing, whatever tales were being told, her mind thousands of miles away. Then she’d be startled out of it, a finished piece in her hands that rarely failed to draw impressed glances.

It was perhaps her one true talent and, when she’d exhaled her last breath to find herself in the Hells, Lady Baalphegor had seen it quickly enough. Over the centuries she’d embroidered more clothing than she could recall, woven more tapestries than anybody else ever did; it was easy work to her, and it kept her confined to the same few rooms, out of harm’s way most of the time.

Most, but not all. Being Baalphegor attendant meant being her eyes and ears in Mephistar, lest one wished to lose her protection entirely. The devils at court hardly looked their way, and let an astounding amount of information slip before indebted souls. So she had to be able to take on other tasks if needed, to blend in, to go unnoticed either cleaning the halls or in a kitchen, cleaning the court’s mess or preparing their food. 

She was not a fast learner, but she did learn. She learned how to butcher all manners of carcasses in minutes, to portion the meat for cooking; she’d learned how to cut through the joints, slice through muscle and sinew. She had never turned the blade to anything living; she had not once thought a knife would serve her against a devil, let alone a duke powerful enough to destroy her with a gesture if he wished.

And Barbas almost had done just that: the only thing keeping his fury in check now was Haarlep’s ruse, and it would not keep him much longer. 

“I saw her flee and followed, of course,” they were saying now, their impression of Bele’s voice just as perfect as the glamor. It could almost distract from the clothing, far simpler than anything the Justiciar of Cania was known to wear… but only almost. “I too saw this mortal summon Zariel, but you should not do anything rash. She might have information. We ought to take her in custody--”

Dalah did not see Barbas scowl, but she heard it in his voice. “I did not see you upstairs. And you look unharmed,” he added. Even his robes were torn, probably by his own hand as he tried to pull some of the cloth over his head and face, to protect himself from the holy light. It left the back of his hooves uncovered, the goat-like arched legs he usually hid with silks.

“I was some distance away, luckily enough, and a column shielded me from the celestial’s light. Terrible business, what has happened. This soul has much to answer for, and I have plenty of questions for her. I shall take her--”

“And I did not see you on the way down,” Barbas cut him off, his voice raspier than usual. He did not notice Dalah shifting slowly, pulling herself up on her elbows. 

Of course not. Devils of his ilk seldom deigned to truly look down - but that served her perfectly well. She ground her teeth, and inched closer. The upper crust of Mephistar loved to watch their servants crawl, so crawl she would. Just a few more inches, just a little more…

If Haarlep saw her moving, they gave no sign of it; their gaze did not shift on her for an instant, and remained trained on the Chamberlain of Mephistar. They shrugged, in a gesture of the utmost elegance. “I watched them go down from a window, and took the stairs.”

“Ah, I see. Is the wing injury still bothering you?” Barbas asked, straightening himself. On the palm of his good hand something began to form - a faint shimmer in the air and then something dark, gathering into the shape of a dagger black as the deepest void. 

A trick question. Bele has no wing injury.

“Only somewhat,” Haarlep replied. “It’s well on its way to heal--”

They were cut off by a scream when Dalah moved, the paring knife slashing through the air in a perfect, precise arc. The knife was a small blade; it was no great weapon, and she was no fighter. She never knew how to wield a dagger or sword, and had never drawn any blood but her own. She did not know how or where to strike to kill someone, let alone a devil such as Barbas - but killing him was not her goal. 

She’d portioned meat before, goat meat as well. She knew exactly where to slice, and then it did not matter how ridiculously small the knife was, how small she was, or how silly her attempt had to seem against Barbas’ power. There was one thing on her mind, a simple truth that no power of the Hells could change: a severed tendon is a severed tendon.

Duke Barbas let out a cry and his leg gave out, causing him to almost collapse; he had to steady himself against a crate with his good arm, and the dagger he’d conjured fell to the ground, disappearing in a burst of swirling darkness. His eyes found Dalah, two pits of pure malevolence, and his burnt features twisted in fury. 

“You--” he seethed, turning, and Dalah scrambled back just as his eyes lit like furnaces, and he began to speak something in Infernal - a spell or a curse, she did not know and in the end it did not matter. A crossbow bolt pierced the back of his neck and stuck out the front, drowning any and all words into the gargling of blood. A swipe of claws sent him stumbling down on the floor not half a pace from her. He fell on his knees, reaching for his throat with his good hand, just as Haarlep - again in the form of a tiefling - held out a hand to help her up. 

“Well, change of plans. We really should get out of here.”

“No argument from me,” Dalah managed, and took that hand, standing on shaky legs. They dashed to the stairs and they were almost, almost out when Barbas lifted a hand, gargling a snarl through the blood. A wall of fire rose up to engulf their only way out. 

“Ah. That is annoying,” Haarlep muttered. 

The heat was so intense it caused Dalah to take a step back, eyes wide, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Trying to go through it would destroy her; she was sure of that. Haarlep, on the other hand, would hardly even feel it. “Go,” she heard herself saying. 

The incubus turned, stared at her a moment, and then laughed. “Ah, don’t be silly now. I cannot leave you here. I promised Raphael I’d--”

“He barely even knows me. He needs you.”

That gave them pause, and they seemed to give it thought, working their jaw for a moment before they shook their head. “No. Get behind me,” they said, and pulled Dalah behind them by the arm without giving her a moment to reply. With a shimmer, they changed form to a familiar one - her son’s. 

Dalah could hear the smile in their voice as they spread their arms, a crossbow in each hand. The wings spread out, too, to shield her. “Hello, Chamberlain,” they sing-sang as Barbas stared, too stunned to move. “I heard you’ve been looking for me.”

***

Raphael held no memory of his first ascension. 

It had been no conscious decision; it was as instinctive, a desperate bid to survive despite all odds, against the hellfire devouring him from the inside. A drowning mortal will reach for the surface and draw in a gasp of air; a dying devil will reach out for souls. He’d done that and he’d awakened in a bed, barely alive, unaware of all that had happened - including his own transformation. 

His second ascension had been on a battlefield; that, too, was a matter of self-preservation. But he held memories at least of what transpired between the moment he’d realized he was about to die and the one when he’d found himself kneeling amidst burning corpses, covered in their gore. Few and confused - screams and blood, fire is his belly and flesh coming apart in his claws - but memories nonetheless. 

To ascend was a terrible thing, but the power it granted could not be denied. So he’d done it again and again; each time it was like exercising an atrophied muscle, gaining more control over it, retaining more memories once back to his own form. Retaining full control for the entire ascension required a will of iron, but that too he’d mastered.

What he never could entirely control was the agony. To ascend was to hurt, something within him screaming and rebelling against it, that thing he forced upon himself. He’d assumed it to be the price to pay for it alongside the souls consumed, until he’d spoken of it with the Hag Countess of Malbolge, not long before she met a gruesome end and Glasya took the layer for herself. She’d given that grating laugh of hers before shaking her head.

“Moloch could ascend, and never once did he say there was pain. Oh, he was a prideful fool, and he may have lied - but I would have known. No, Steward of Avernus, ascension does not hurt a full fiend the way it does you. But what else would you expect? You’re half mortal. Part of you will always flinch away from the rest, and whenever you ascend it attempts to tear itself away. You may hear its shrieks in your very bones, if you listen, but I’d advise you do not. Agony is the price you, and you alone in the Hells, pay for your heritage. Worth paying, if you ask me.”

And pay it he did, time and time again, until that last time in the House of Hope - when even ascension had not saved him.

He did not recall what Mephistopheles had done to him, to his fiendish half, to force him in a state of perpetual ascension. Whatever arcane magic had been used allowed the ascension to continue without consuming a single soul, but it did nothing to take away the agony of it. Even with no humanity in him, the empty nothingness where half his soul had been remained a source of suffering. Every moment, every step, every breath, every instant was pain. 

When he’d faced his human half again, the torture had become excruciating enough that perhaps he’d have attacked it even without Mephisto’s order, anything to make it stop. The agony of it had been unbearable, and he’d remember it to the end of his days. 

But now, it was gone. 

Ever since he’d become whole again ascension had come without pain, as natural as breathing, leaving his mind clear in a way it had rarely ever been while in that form. No shrinking in his bones, no torment to mark his every movement, no part of him trying to shrink away from the rest. There was just him. One. Whole.

And he fully intended to remain whole, thank you kindly, his father’s attempts at tearing him to pieces notwithstanding. So he stepped into the hellfire, ascended, and fought with all the had. 

And it was almost not enough. 

His ascended form had grown taller and more powerful, burned more brightly. Even so Mephistopheles’ own ascension towered over him, his roars shaking the very foundations of the palace, of all of Mephistar, of the entire glacier the citadel stood on. A beat of the wings sent hellfire surging across the throne room, a wall of scorching heat and death; his every cry brought forth a burst of white-hot flames. None of it could harm Raphael - not anymore - but it was beginning to take a toll on his companions, who were not always able to seek refuge behind a wall of infernal ice or beneath one of the globes of invulnerability they had summoned with scrolls. 

Without the resistance Asmodeus had granted them, they’d have all died already. Even with it, they struggled. Halsin was casting healing spell after healing spell, sparing none for himself; only occasionally he’d take a swig from a potion before he went back to the fight. Healing may be his true calling, but he was nonetheless fierce in battle; when he did attack, his spells rarely missed. 

This time was no exception: Mephisto was hit by his blight spell, and then by Raphael’s swipe of claws; he roared, steam rolling off the mouths of both skulls, and slammed against him before Raphael could try to get out of the way. They clashed amidst burning hellfire for what felt like an eternity, all claws and fire and tusks and roars; two beasts out for blood, one another’s blood, the same blood, even though it looked so very different, Mephisto’s own thick and black, rotten through with corrupted arcane magic.

All around them hellfire burned, ice froze over it, the winds howled. The grand window had been shattered when a well-placed blast from Ravengard had thrown Mephistopheles back against it, letting in the howling blizzard. There were more spells, crossbow darts, arrows; in his single-minded focus to destroy his son, Mephistopheles did not attempt to evade any of it. 

Jaws snapped only inches from Raphael’s own skulls, and there was a terrible impact when his back hit a column, cracking it, causing chunks of ice to rain down from the high vaulted ceiling. One struck his shoulder, but Raphael took no notice, straining to keep Mephistopheles’ jaws off him, to push back. 

“I warned you, did I not?” His voice boomed in Raphael’s own mind, yet another roar. “I was never going to hesitate to destroy you, son of mine.” 

Raphael roared, pushing him back. It took all his might, every limb straining; he may have crumpled then if not for something washing over him, a spell of resistance, and he held. With a snarl, he lifted his head to look up - through all four eyes, whole again - at his father’s fangs, at the six dead white eyes.

“You should have killed me the first time you tried,” he replied, his own voice a snarl directly into his sire’s head, and he gave one more mighty shove, the flames that wreathed him burning higher. Mephistopheles slid backward a few paces, then pushed back - but only for a moment. Then they were deadlocked once again, hatred and anger burning hotter than the hellfire they shared. “But perhaps you did not finish me for the same reason why you did not dare use the Crown of Karsus against Asmodeus. You did not have the stones.”

A growl. “Nonsense. The netherstones were always in my--” the thought trailed off, and there was another roar. “YOU INSOLENT LITTLE--”

“RAAAAAGH!”

“Dolor!”

An eldritch blast struck Mephistopheles’ side just one instant before something else entirely was thrown against the side of his head - the Orphic Hammer, seriously? - with enough strength to crack bone, turning at least two eyeballs into so much gore. Mephistopheles roared, his focus faltered a moment, and Raphael shoved him back. This time, he got him exactly where he wanted him - with his legs sunk into a slurry of melted ice. 

Raphael’s rightmost eyes glanced sideways to Durge. They were wounded badly enough that they had to lean on the staff, a hand against their side; but they saw him, understood, and held up the staff . They staggered, only for Astarion to immediately appear by their side, holding them up. The staff shimmered, channeling the Plume, and Mephistopheles let out a cry of fury when the slurry around his legs froze into ice which hellfire would not melt. 

He would break free eventually - that was certain - but not right away, and it was enough. It would buy them just enough time. Raphael dismissed the ascension before Mephistopheles could react, making himself smaller, and was able to slip from his grasp; a swipe of the claws barely grazed him, the armor taking most of the damage.

“The globe, quick!”

The last Globe of Invulnerability left was not far, but Durge was obviously about to collapse and Astarion was not faring much better, staggering under their weight as he tried to help the storm sorcerer walk. He turned to him, wide-eyed and panicked. He did not show fear when he’d let loose an arrow against the flesh of an archdevil but he was terrified now, with Durge’s limp body against him. 

“Raphael--”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Raphael had strength enough to carry Durge to the globe, and so he did; not a moment too soon, because they were unconscious by the time he made it beneath it and lay them on the ground. Halsin immediately set about to heal them while Astarion drank a potion of healing. He offered one to Raphael, who took it with a nod and turned back.

All the while, Mephistopheles had shrieked in fury. Now Raphael could see that his entire form was engulfed in hellfire as he tried - uselessly - to melt the ice trapping him, thrashing to break it. 

Ravengard and Karlach reached the globe next; the warlock turned, breathless, to Durge. He was on his last leg, too, and Astarion promptly shoved a healing potion in his hand. He did not drink, not right away. “Where…?”

“Here.” Durge sat, Halsin’s healing already taking effect, and pulled something out of the bag of holding - the runepowder bomb. They held it up with both hands, and Karlach snatched it. She looked at Raphael, and grinned. She was covered in blood and sweat, and she looked as though she was having the time of her life.

“Mind if I do the honors?”

“By all means. I shall not deny you the pleasure.”

She laughed, and stepped just out of the globe. The bomb was heavy; far from easy to throw a great distance, but she made it look so very easy. She grasped it with both hands, made a half-turn with her entire body, and threw it before leaping back inside the globe and covering her ears. They all did, and closed their eyes for good measure. 

Raphael, on the other hand, did not. He watched the runepowder bomb hurtle through the air in a perfect arc, across the half-demolished throne room, towards the mass of flaming hellfire that was Mephistopheles. And not a moment too soon: Raphael could hear the crack of ice breaking, could see his sire starting to move away from the spot.

But he never got to teleport, or even to take a single step. The runepowder bomb disappeared into the flames and, quite literally, hell broke loose.

***

The explosion shook the entire citadel.

The walls shook, tapestries falling from the walls, furniture tilting over and falling alongside everything they held. Part of the spire above the throne room collapsed, down below onto the denizens who lived in the lower levels of the citadel; no part of it was spared, but that would only become clear later, when someone would actually go survey the damage. 

That someone could not be Duke Hutijin, who found himself quite busy as things were. The explosion caused the ground to tremble and him to fall; he stood quickly, and saw that the mastodon too had fallen, and the celestial had to beat her wings to keep herself upright, looking upwards in clear confusion and concern.

Whatever that was, it came from the throne room. I must get to Mephistopheles. I must.

Of all the pit fiends and guards who’d closed ranks to fight the celestials who’d appeared before them, he alone remained. All others were dead, or as good as dead: those who fled would be dealt with later, he swore it, and painfully. But that would have to wait.

Now, he had one goal and one goal only. 

Duke Hutijin spat out a tooth, lifted his mace, and charged again with a cry before the mastodon could stand. His mace fell and it would have dented the creature’s skull, at least, if not for the sword that came down to meet it. Its steel hummed, painfully bright. “Yield,” Zariel spoke. Some blood marred that angelic face of hers at last, drenching the blindfold. 

Hutijin sneered. “Never.”

“I can respect a warrior. I can respect loyalty. Yield now, and I shall spare you,” she replied, only for Hutijin to laugh. He struck out at her with his tail, forcing her back, and took a step backwards himself. 

“Your kind truly should leave the tempting to us. You’re shit at it,” he replied, and lifted the mace. Flames sprouted from his hand, covering the entire weapon. “You wouldn’t take your own offer, would you? Break your oath to live in shame?”

“... No. Not a second time.”

“Then I have nothing else to say,” Duke Hutijin replied, and let his mace do the talking for him.

***

Barbas had his good hand at Haarlep’s throat when, without warning, the ground shook. 

It was a blessing - a rare thing in the Hells - because Haarlep was truly in trouble, losing blood and with both crossbows on the ground. He’d clawed Barbas’ forearm to ribbons, but the furious chamberlain’s grip did not slacken. 

Burned by radiant light and with an unusable arm, made lame in one leg and with crossbow bolts sticking from his gut and chest, a Duke of the Hells was still a force to be reckoned with; Dalah had known from the start that Haarlep would not be able to hold him back for long, not while also trying to shield her in any way they could.

“How very quaint. An impressive display from a glorified whore,” Barbas had snarled, and tightened his grip around the incubus’ throat. He could have killed them quickly, but of course he relished the act. One could trust a Duke of the Hells with few things but this: they never failed to be cruel if they could. Barbas had laughed at Haarlep’s attempt at kicking away, and held up the injured arm with a hiss. “I’ll take your eyes first, and then--”

The words had turned into a grunt of pain when Dalah had grabbed one of the crossbows and shot, almost blindly in her terror, praying whatever god may still be willing to hear her that she wouldn't hit Haarlep. 

She did not, but she didn’t land much of a blow on Barbas either: the bolt  had grazed his shoulder and buried itself into the side of a crate. Barbas had turned to look at her, eyes aflame, and bared his teeth in a sneer while she fumbled. He turned Haarlep to face her. They were gripping weakly at Barbas’ arm, struggling for breath.

“Ah, yes. Thank you for the reminder,” the chamberlain of Mephistar had laughed. At the fingertips of his wounded hand, sparks began to gather. “Before I take your eyes, you’ll get to watch me crush this insect. You should have ran while you still--”

He never got to finish the sentence. 

There was the sound of an explosion above them, many floors above but still loud enough to dwarf the most powerful thunderstorms she’d witnessed as a child on the Storm Horns. The ground shook, everything did, and it threw all of them off their feet. 

Haarlep took the chance to roll away, back towards her… and not a moment too soon.

There were plenty of things Dalah had never seen coming in her existence, many of which had occurred in the past few months specifically. After summoning and speaking to a celestial that day, she did not think she’d see a more stunning sight for a long time to come. 

But when a pile of precariously stacked crates gave way, spilling their entire contents on Chamberlain Barbas, she had to stand corrected. A resplendent celestial appearing at the court of Mephistopheles alongside a golden mastodon was a sight to behold, but somehow it seemed to pale next to a Duke of Cania disappearing beneath a seemingly endless cascade of potatoes.

If not for the utter confusion as to what had happened, she may even have found it amusing. 

Haarlep stood beside her, or tried to, wounded as they were and trying to walk through a carpet of potatoes. Dalah held down a hand and they took it, letting her pull them up before turning to look at the scene - Barbas groaning on the floor, dazed, surrounded by potatoes.

“... Well. Whatever you did, good job.”

“I didn’t do anything. There was some kind of--” Dalah trailed off when she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that the wall of flames barring the exit had vanished when Barbas’ focus had been broken. She grasped Haarlep’s wrist. "Come, quick!”

“Ah, that’s usually Raphael’s specialt--”

“Stop talking and move!”

They did, thankfully - and they both were through the door just one instant before a fireball hit the spot where they’d been standing moments earlier, with Barbas’ screams of rage following them up the stairs.

***

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank you, Wulbren Bongle.”

“Ugh.”

“Ew.”

“Don’t say that.”

The general dissent caused Astarion to shrug. “It is what it is. That’s his work right there,” he muttered, and turned to hold down a handh, helping Durge up. Now recovered reasonably well, Durge took that hand and stood before they turned to survey the damage. 

Mephistopheles’ palace was made from magic as well as ice - an extension of its ruler indeed - and even the might of runepowder did not level the entire structure as it might have done with others built by mere mortals. It was that, or Wulbren and Barcus had both rather exaggerated its destructive potential - but that seemed unlikely.

Still, there was extensive damage. The explosion had blown out an entire wall of the throne room, opening it up to Cania’s bitter cold, the shrieking winds and snow. There was a crater on the floor, the ice slowly reforming to close it out of sheer magic, and debris everywhere; several columns had been taken down by the blast, chunks of the ceiling had fallen down onto the ground. The pits at either side of the throne were destroyed, too; only the throne and the steps leading to it still stood, surely protected by more arcane magic. 

And most of all, there was no trace of Mephistopheles. Durge stared a moment, and turned to glance at Raphael. He’d summoned his lyre, and was playing a few notes; there were a few sighs of relief as the benefits of the Song of Rest took hold, and Durge nodded their thanks before they spoke, looking at the devastation all around. A scene from which Mephisto was notably missing. “I don’t suppose…?” they began, only for Raphael to shake his head.

“Of course not,” he muttered, something like outrage in his voice, as though personally offended by the suggestion. “Surely you don’t think my sire is this easy to kill.”

“Easy is not precisely the word I’d have chosen,” Halsin muttered, while Wyll lifted his rapier.

“He is right. I don’t believe he’s gone for a sec--”

Before he could finish the word, three things happened in quick succession: the globe of invulnerability petered out and faded, its duration over; Raphael turned suddenly, eyes wide, and opened his mouth to cry out a warning; and a cloud of ash came together in a burst of flames a few steps from them. From those flames a three-pronged ranseur shot forward, swift and lethal, aimed directly at Halsin.

Thinking back later, they would think that it was not a surprising move. It was advice everyone had heard at least once, and for good reason; advice which Mephistopheles had ignored in his fury, but which he clearly intended to follow now - kill the healer first.

Mephistopheles’ ranseur was a formidable thing; it would have pierced easily through Halsin’s armor, had it met its target, but it did not. Karlach was quicker than any of them; quick enough to shove Halsin out of the way. Not, however, quick enough to avoid the blow. 

The favored weapon of the Lord of the Eighth went through her like a knife through butter, running her through from one side to the other. She gargled, her blood steaming hot as it rushed forth, and her knees folded.

“KARLACH! NO!”

Wyll’s scream as he caught her before she fell was covered by Mephisto’s laugh. He now stood before the once again in his habitual form. Of course the runepowder bomb had not killed him… but he was wounded, far more obviously than before, if still a long way from going down. He lifted a hand, and the ranseur piercing Karlach disappeared in a burst of flames to reappear in his closed fist. 

“Your tricks won’t save you,” he seethed. His eyes were blazing fire and icy cold at the same time, but he didn’t ascend again yet. “She was the first to die. Who will be next, I wonder?”

“No. No. She is not dead, she is not--”

But she was; for all of Wyll’s desperate pleas, the wound was such that it had killed her instantly or almost. It had left her no time for a last cry, a last word, a last touch. Her body was limp in his arms, her eyes glassy, jaw slack. Halsin knelt by her, whispering something to Wyll that Durge could not catch but could certainly guess.

Durge and Astarion turned as one back to the Lord of the Eighth, fury burning hot as a furnace, grip tightening on their weapons. As for Raphael, he had never looked away. He said nothing to his sire before he spoke, still sneering. 

“Thus dies Zariel’s old guard dog. But do not worry, you shall join her soon. Unless you decide to hand over my spawn, in which case I shall grant you a quick--”

His next words were covered by a scream of blackest fury, by a blast of cold wind. Not just any cone of cold - Wyll was using the Plume, and fury seemed to give him the edge he needed to wield it with something close to mastery himself. Mephisto’s laugh was cut short. He stepped back, hissing, when the attack found its mark. Had they had half a mind left for it, Durge may have wondered what that felt like to suffer cold for the first time in eons. 

But they did not: all they could think of was Karlach’s blank gaze, Wyll’s cry of anguish when he threw himself, alone, against the Lord of Cania. So they ground their fangs just as Astarion let loose an arrow, and stepped forward. 

Raphael grabbed their wrist. “Don’t let him reel you in,” he hissed. “Protect Halsin. There is hope for Karlach yet - but if he dies, it’s all over.”

“Raise a wall,” Halsin spoke. He was focusing on Karlach’s body, hands held over her and trembling with the effort to cast such a powerful spell. “It will protect me well enough as long as you keep him away. Go help Wyll.”

There was much that could go wrong, but at that point there was hardly a choice. Wyll was going head to head with Mephisto like he’d done against Zariel, both out of fury and to give Halsin enough time to bring Karlach back, and for all his power he could not last long without their help. So the wall of hellish ice was raised with a gesture of Raphael’s hand, and back into the fray they went. 

What followed would forever be a blur in Durge’s memory, and not solely because of the brain damage they’d suffered well over a year past. Everything was ablaze with magic - spells and counterspells, crackling electricity and arrows bringing forth bolts of celestial light, unforgiving ice and burning hellfire; their spells missed more often than they struck, but they had no choice other than to keep going. 

Even so, some moments would remain seared in their mind; Wyll’s scream when he reached the very limit of his powers to open a blade into reality itself was one such moment. He sent the planar rift hurtling against Mephistopheles, and the archdevil’s scream of rage and surprise when the blade-shaped rift cut deep into his side was one Durge would never forget. The Lord of Cania staggered back, stunned and outraged in equal measure, and lifted an arm to cast - only for the planar blade to strike again at Wyll’s gesture, cutting one of his horns clean in two.

For a moment, Mephistopheles stilled to watch the detached horn fall to the ground, as though stunned by the sheer audacity of that mortal, daring to disfigure him in such a way.

“Someone pick that up!” Astarion yelled from his cover behind a fallen chunk of the ceiling. “I bet it’s valuable!”

“Does it seem like the moment--!”

Mephistopheles looked up and snarled, unfolding his wings. Durge cursed under their breath and reached for a scroll as the air around the Lord of Cania began to heat up, ready to unleash the full force of a hellfire blast that Wyll could not possibly survive. They saw Raphael cry out a warning and lift his hands to cast - but he was hurt and he was far, too far--

Something crashed against Mephistopheles’ face, a vial of acid that shattered on impact. A howl of pain and he was clawing at his face, the shimmering heat around him dissipating. Behind Durge, there was a hoarse cry. 

“About fucking time one of those hit!”

“Karlach!” Giving one’s back to any enemy was unwise, let alone an archduke of the Hells; but blinded as Mephistopheles was for at least a moment, Wyll easily ducked under his swipe and ran back to her. “Oh, thank the gods!”

Standing before them, entirely healed and rested as though she’d only now entered battle, Karlach grinned. “Thank Halsin, that took a lot out of him. I don’t think he has enough juice left to do this again, though, so--” she trailed off when Wyll grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her down in a kiss. Karlach hummed, reaching to cup his cheek before breaking the kiss and resting her forehead on his. She grinned. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

A smile, bright as the sun. “I wouldn’t have it any other wa--”

“HEY! How about you get a room once the Archduke of Cania is down?” Astarion called out, and shot another arrow towards Mephistopheles.

It hit him almost the same instant as Raphael’s dagger of Plume, and the archdevil staggered backwards a moment. When he turned, the right side of his face was sizzling and his teeth were bared in a snarl, eyes filled with hatred. Durge didn’t wait to find out what they might do. It was time to find out if the scroll they had found in Sorcerous Sundries was truly as powerful as Gale said it was. They just held it up, and cried out the incantation. 

“Pario!” 

There were six blasts - each of them looking unnervingly like a ghostly skull - as the scroll disintegrated between their fingers. Each of them found its mark, knocking Mephistopheles back several feet with their sheer force - right within Raphael’s striking range… but he never did get to strike. 

A gesture of Mephistopheles’ hand countered the spell he tried to cast, and then the Lord of Cania moved almost too quickly for the eye to follow. He was the archmage of the Lower Planes, a wizard with few rivals in recorded history; magic was where his true might lay, and there were no tales of martial prowess about him. 

Yet, he held a ranseur and he could use it. Three swift strikes were all it took. 

One aimed at Raphael’s head only hit his invisible helm, knocking it off his head; another was blocked by Raphael’s armored forearm. But the hit was powerful enough to stagger him, and Mephistopheles struck again, snake-quick, when Raphael instinctively held out his arms to grab onto anything to avoid falling - burying all three prongs of the ranseur into his son’s throat.

There was a gurgling noise, and nothing else. Raphael crumpled on the ice, uselessly trying to stem the flow of steaming blood that fell down his armor, and Mephistopheles laughed. He stepped back a few paces as though to better admire his handiwork, the blood spreading across the ground. 

“I told you, son of mine, that overreaching would be your end. All this is on your head.”

There were cries, and a barrage of attacks aimed at Mephistopheles - but the archdevil was still sneering at his dying son as though feeling little to none of it. Raphael tried to speak, but he only brought forth more blood, limp on the ground. His head turned to the side, away from the sight of his sneering sire, and his eyes found Durge, wide and terrified. He tried to speak again, and only spat out more blood.

No, Durge thought, desperation cutting through the icy cold that had stilled them for a moment, and which had nothing to do with the winds blowing snow into the throne room. For a moment they thought back to their own blood leaving their body, spreading across the stone floor of his father’s temple. It should have been their end… and then it was not.

No, this is not how it ends.

There was no Withers now, but they were there and it would have to be enough. So they lifted their staff and cast a spell they had only learned in theory, and never got to truly try before. It was time to find out if it worked as intended. 

“Tempus interiectum!” Durge cried out, and just like that, within that throne room, time itself stood still.

***

When it came to most of the upper crust of Mephistar, Haarlep truly had no strong feelings one way or the other.

They’d known many carnally, but that had been about it; a brief interaction, or a business transaction followed by a few minutes or hours or days of bliss, depending on how much they were willing to pay. Some were particularly unpleasant - Bele paid well, but hurt almost more than it was worth when they wore Raphael’s likeness; clearly there was some history there that their little brat had never told them about. Most were just… forgettable. 

Haarlep had never had much reason to be particularly pleased or displeased to see any of them, in any setting. But this time they were very, very happy indeed to see Adonides almost as soon as they burst out of the door leading to the pantry, and ran into the empty kitchen. 

Adonides did not seem equally glad to see them: all Haarlep saw on his face was confusion, then annoyance. “You were supposed to stay in the--”

“Come back here!”

The bellow caused Adonides to blink, and turn towards the pantry. He blinked, quite obviously recognizing the voice.

“... Barbas?”

“He followed us,” Dalah managed, her voice still shaking, and Adonides frowned. He seemed about to say something when Barbas burst into the room, dragging his wounded leg and looking, quite frankly, like he’d just been through the digestive system of one of Maladomini’s giant centipedes. Haarlep supposed they could take some pride in that. 

“You! You cannot escape-- Adonides?” The chamberlain of Mephistar stilled, staring at the steward of Cania with a wild, confused look on his face. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Duke Adonides raised an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same. What are you doing here? What has happened to you?”

“That’s the incubus! The one who belonged to Raphael!” Barbas snapped, and lifted a bloodied arm to point at Dalah. “And that mortal summoned the celestial!”

“An indebted soul, summoning a celestial? Are you out of your mind, chamberlain? Victim of a confusion spell, perha--”

“I KNOW WHAT I SAW! DETAIN THEM!”

Adonides sighed. “Very well,” he said, and snapped his fingers. Something appeared on the ground around Haarlep and Dalah, a circle glowing red with a script Haarlep didn’t bother to read. They felt Dalah tense and they put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze to try to convey the instruction to wait. 

“There,” Adonides was saying. “They are going nowhere.”

That seemed to calm Barbas a great deal, for he breathed out and limped closer. “Good,” he rasped. “Our lord will be very pleased--”

In retrospect he should have seen that coming, he truly should have. Dukes of the Hells made stabbing one another in the back one of the most common pastimes in the Hells. Of course, this time the stab in the back was only figurative. In the more literal sense, Adonides stabbed him in the chest with a blade of ice he conjured by just flicking his wrist. 

Barbas tried to scream, but his wounded throat turned his cry into a rough gargle. His hands gripped Adonides’ robes as he looked up at him, eyes wide, features frozen in pain and dawning horror. Adonides smiled. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for a very, very long time,” he said, and twisted the knife. One last gargle, and that was it - Barbas, Duke of Cania and chamberlain of Mephistar, fell to the ground and never rose again. Adonides made the knife disappear with a flick of the wrist, and snapped his fingers. 

The circle around Haarlep and Dalah disappeared. Adonides turned back to them, and to Dalah specifically. He crossed his arms. “A celestial, really?”

“I had a--”

“You summoned Zariel in Mephistar.”

“You told me to create a diversion. I did.”

“I most certainly did not tell you to summon a celestial and her war mount--”

“You did not tell me not to.”

A groan. “By the Pits, it’s like talking to him. How did you even…?”

“Isra-- Raphael gave Haarlep the means to summon her, and they let me have it.”

“And neither of you thought to mention to me that you had the means to summon Zariel?”

Dalah blinked. “I assumed he did--”

“Raphael wouldn’t tell me if my robes were on fire,” Adonides cut her off with a groan, rubbing his forehead. He breathed out. “Well. It did work to our advantage. Now, we can only wait.”

“That explosion before,” Haarlep asked. “What was it?”

A hum. “I am not certain, but it did come from the throne room. It seems your brat is putting up quite the fight indeed,” Adonides conceded, looking all the world like he’d swallowed a lemon. 

Haarlep grinned. “Of course he is,” they said. They couldn’t hold back some pride - and a hopeful feeling that perhaps Raphael would come out of battle victorious after all.

***

Raphael was dying.

Durge was no healer, but they had seen - and given - death too many times not to recognize the signs of its coming, not to tell at a glance that someone was just barely clinging to life. Once they restarted time, Raphael would die within moments; a simple health potion or the few healing spells still available to Halsin would not be enough. 

Kneeling next to Raphael’s still body, Durge looked away from the horrified expression frozen on his face and glanced across the rest of the room, where everyone else - Mephistopheles still sneering, Wyll with a hand lifted to cast, Karlach mid-throw of a pike, Astarion about to loose an arrow, and Halsin already running towards Raphael - stood motionless. 

Time would restart, whether they willed it or not, the instant they did anything that affected any of them. Still, they knew what they had to do. It was the only thing they could do: create a globe of invulnerability to protect Raphael and give him their potion of Angelic Slumber, giving him a chance to heal completely and have his powers restored before rejoining the battle.

And yet…

He can call down a meteor swarm. We need a globe of invulnerability, Raphael had warned, but the meteor swarm had not been summoned yet and it had taken all their scrolls, he suspected, to even just survive to that point. It was terrifying to think of - they were barely holding up despite a Song of Rest and several globes of invulnerability, while Mephisto had not yet been hurt quite enough to resort to his most powerful spells. 

Durge still had enough magic in them to cast one more globe, and then that would be it. If Mephistopheles used that spell after the globe faded, they’d have no protection from it unless they used Asmodeus’ amulet to counterspell it - which would in turn leave them entirely unprotected against the Wish spell. 

That would mean their doom either way… but without Raphael to fight by their side, Durge suspected they wouldn’t even last long enough for Mephisto to need those spells. 

And, of course, they had no intention to let him die. So Durge lifted a hand, summoned their last globe of invulnerability around them, and reached into their bag for the potion. They lifted Raphael’s head, poured it into his mouth, and the spell was instantly broken - the eerie silence shattered by screams and clashes and the crackle of magic again.

Within the globe, Durge didn’t so much look up; they just made sure Raphael swallowed the potion, even if it had to be alongside his own blood, and leaned his head down. 

“Rest. We need you,” they said, and could have sworn Raphael’s gaze held some understanding for a moment before his eyes slipped shut and he fell into a deep sleep, safe in the midst of chaos, as the potion began to take effect. Durge picked up their staff, stood and, still within the globe - they could not lose concentration now, everything depended on it - they lifted it to call down more lighting on the Lord of the Eighth.

***

By the time Zariel’s summoning came to an end, Hutijin was barely standing. 

The grand hallway they’d fought in was only a field of dead bodies and debris; the mastodon was still alive but exhausted, back to its smaller form to recuperate behind Zariel; and the solar herself too seemed to have tired, her movements less precise and fierce, more sluggish.  

When she brought down her sword after causing him to fall backwards, Hutijin barely had the strength to hold up his mace with both hands. He groaned through his fangs, arms trembling with the effort to keep that blade away from his flesh; above him, Zariel seemed to shine less brightly. “You have fought bravely, and you have fought well. But it was your last fight, Duke Hutijin,” she spoke, gaining herself a glare that would have made most devils of the Hells fall on their knees and beg for forgiveness he would not give. 

“Fuck off,” Hutijin snarled, and tried to kick her back - but his foot never made contact. There was a burst of light - two bursts of light - and both Zariel and her damned pet were gone, back in Celestia or wherever it was they lived those days. 

He did not know, and did not care; all he knew was that the way was clear; he had to reach the throne room, and his master. Duke Hutijin stood, painfully, and began to limp towards the stairs without even waiting for his regeneration to kick in.

***

The battle was still raging when Raphael awoke, fully rested and all his wounds healed. 

It was no slow awakening, with the potion of angelic slumber; one would be asleep one moment and perfectly awake the next, ready to stand and fight. And by the looks of it, his companions desperately needed him to do just that. 

Only Karlach, recently revived to full health, was fighting Mephistopheles at close range; it was clear that what protection against hellfire Asmodeus had granted her had been put to the test, because the burns and damage her armor bore left little doubt on the nature of the attacks she had withstood. 

Still, she did not retreat an inch - and that was the best possible strategy, all things considered. A melee fighter at close range is the bane of any spellcaster.

Inside the globe with him, Durge was casting another Plume-based spell against Mephistopheles, and Astarion was firing arrow after arrow from his bow imbued with celestial light, to nullify his regeneration powers; right by them, Halsin was pushing through his obvious exhaustion to cast one more regeneration spell and restore Ravengard’s left leg; it had been severed above the knee by what must have been a vicious blow. 

Ravengard’s face was ashen, but he ground his teeth and did not make a single pained sound. If anything, he managed a smile through clenched teeth when Raphael stood. “Welcome… back. Hope you don’t mind if we had some fun in your absence.”

Raphael smiled back. “Not at all. But I am keen to make up for the lost time,” he replied, and Durge gave a barking laugh.

“By all means, be my guest. But keep in mind, this is our last globe of invulnerability.”

… Well. That was important information indeed. “Did he call down the--”

“No.”

Raphael pressed his lips together, and turned back to his sire. He watched him parry a blow from Karlach and turn, his lips curling in disgust when he saw Raphael was once again standing on his own two legs. Oh, not just disgust: it was anger. His sire was furious to see he still drew breath, and was in full health to boot 

You make mistakes when you’re angry, Durge had told him once, and Raphael supposed it was time to see if he had indeed fallen that close to the tree. 

“Your tricks won’t save you. This shall be your tomb,” Mephistophele was growling. “None lives who dared to cross me.”

Raphael sneered, and with a few beats of his wings he left the globe to land to the far end of the room - right by his father’s throne, which was somehow unscathed through magic or luck. He leaned against it before he spoke. “Magadon Kest begs to differ, I believe,” he replied, his voice rotten honey. “What did it feel like, holding godhood for a moment before it was ripped from you?”

“Like you are the one to talk, whelp --”

“Oh, I never went as far as to hold the Crown. But you? You had the fraction of Mask’s divinity you sought. It was yours, Lord of the Eighth, and it still was not enough.” He smiled, and slowly, deliberately, sat on the throne. “All that work, all those schemes, such power you boast - and you are no god. You’re not even the Lord of the Nine. How come?”

The entire palace seemed to tremble at Mephisto’s fury. “SILENCE!”

“How come you keep failing, time and time again, where Asmodeus succeeded?”

“ENOUGH!”

He never called down his next blow; with his rage so great and his power so vast, his will alone sufficed. The white skies of Cania, visible through the blown out wall and the holes in the roof, lit up a faint orange, growing more vibrant by the second; every falling snowflake, every hurtling particle of ice, seemed to light aflame. 

Raphael stood, and took flight at once.

“In the Globe! Now!”

Karlach may have not made it on time, if not for the haste spell that Durge cast on her; she immediately dashed to the left and jumped into the protective globe just as Raphael dove down, hitting the ground a little harder than he’d have liked in his rush - but still avoiding annihilation by a mere seconds.

A Meteor Swarm was a massive display of raw power, and it would have without a doubt spelled their end if cast once the globe was gone. In his blind fury, Mephisto had foregone all thought, all strategy. 

Mephisto and yourself are more alike than either of you would perhaps like to admit, Asmodeus had said. How annoying, he mused, to concede both him and Durge had been entirely correct. 

Raphael turned to tell Durge they were forbidden from bringing that up, but the words never left his lips. In the blinding orange glow, in the last few instants before the spell struck, he saw the debris before the broken doors to the throne room were blasted away and someone was stumbling in - limping, bleeding, but holding onto his mace still.

Duke Hutijin had survived the onslaught of a former archdevil, only to die at the hands of his own master. Raphael may have laughed, if he’d had the time to find it amusing. 

Then the swarm struck, and for a time he could see and hear nothing but all the fury in the world crashing down around him.

***

Duke Hutijin did not see his death coming right away. 

For a few moments after he finally, finally made it into what remained of the throne room, all he felt was relief. Lord Mephistopheles was there, wounded but far from beaten; of course not, Hutijin had never truly thought that might happen. He stood against the backdrop of Cania, hair whipping in the freezing winds, eyes alight and arms lifted to cast. The Lord of the Eighth, about to crush his enemies as was his right. 

Good, Hutijin thought, stepping closer. And if any was left standing, he would do his duty and-- 

A distant roar like thunder halted Hutijin’s thoughts, and he finally saw it - the unusual hue lighting up the skies outside, the skies above. His relief turned to concern, to alarm, to realization. He knew what was about to happen, that he had no escape, that it was his end.

“My Lord,” he called, directly into his mind. Not to plead for salvation, there could be none with the spell already cast, but so that the Lord of Cania would look his way first, so that he’d know that he had tried. He’d been loyal to the end. He was there.

And Mephistopheles did turn. With meteors hurtling down, casting their light on his features, he saw his expression turn from fury to surprise, and then stunned realization.

“Hutijin--” he called out, and held out a hand too, as though to try and cast again, to give him protection, to undo what he’d done. He could do none of those things, but he tried. He tried. And sometimes that’s the most even great lords can do.

The meteors fell and Duke Hutijin, Shield of Mephisto, knew now more.

***

For a time, they could not hear nor see a thing. 

Beyond the globe they were huddled in there was nothing but fire, the crashes of meteors destroying what was left of the roof and crashing down around them, tearing holes even in the magically protected floor and hitting the globe of invulnerability with deafening bangs. 

Durge ground their teeth, squeezing their eyes shut and covering their ear holes; it did little, and they suspected that the ringing sound in their ear canals was not going away anytime soon. 

But as long as they were alive to hear it, they’d bear it gladly. 

By the time the swarm passed, everything around them was a ruin - craters several feet across opening up in the floor of blackened ice that even the arcane magic the citadel was imbued in struggled to repair; the roof was entirely gone, columns collapsed, debris everywhere. 

Amidst all that devastation there was Mephistopheles, still shrieking in fury, flames rising around him… but he was not looking at them. Some distance away, amidst the rubble, lay the unmoving corpse of a huge pit fiend. 

“Duke Hutijin. He will truly hold nothing back now,” Durge heard Raphael mutter, and suddenly he was summoning something in his hands - his mother’s lyre. 

“Really? You just have to play a little song, now,” Astarion asked, voice a couple of octaves higher than usual, but Raphael did not listen. It was a rare thing to find a lull in a battle which would allow for a Song of Rest, as long as the globe held it seemed the best thing to do. 

Karlach was holding up well after her resurrection, Raphael was as good as new, but the rest of them desperately needed even what little help a short rest could give them. 

When the notes rang out, there were several sighs of relief - the worst of their wounds healed, some of their power restored. Halsin downed a potion of healing just as Karlach helped Wyll stand on his newly regenerated leg. 

Raphael let the lyre disappear in another burst of flames, and turned to Durge. “Be ready,” was all he said, and he didn’t need to add anything more. 

“YOU!” 

Mephistopheles' cry shook the entire layer; it was all the howling winds of Cania, the roar of hellfire beneath the surface of collapsing glaciers, the arcane magic singing through every stone. He turned back to them just as the globe of invulnerability shimmered once, and faded away. There would be no more protection, from now on. Only one last clash, their last chance to bring the archmage of the Hells low enough to kill. 

The Lord of the Eighth’s features twisted once more; they blurred, letting that truest nature of his show through for only a moment before he opened his mouth to speak - and the amulet around Durge’s neck hummed.

A Wish spell was unlike most other spells; the most terrifying, perhaps, allowing its caster to rewrite reality. The caster could wish them all dead, and die they would; he could undo what had happened, change the outcome of that battle entirely. Durge could feel it, the sheer wave of pure malevolence coming off him in the split instant as he prepared to speak. It was a split instant only, but it felt like so much more; once again time seemed to slow, the air seemed to thicken, a hum of anticipation in the air…

… And the hum of the amulet at their neck, singing in their veins and in every nerve ending as Durge lifted their hands, and spoke the words to counter the spell. The surge of power that followed was their own and yet it was not, something unmistakably infernal to it - the very power of Nessus, the evil of it, the malice, the inexorability. All of it surged within them and then was cast at Mephistopheles in one single beam of dark light. 

And the Wish spell combusted into Mephistopheles’ mouth in a burst of even darker flames. 

The words turned to a scream of outrage as the Lord of the Eighth staggered back, choking on the thick black smoke which rose from his mouth. He seemed to gag on it, hand reaching for his throat, and Raphael brought up a wall of Plume ice only a moment before Mephistopheles howled his wrath. 

A surge of hellfire roared across what remained of the  throne room, forcing them to dive beneath the wall just as Mephistopheles’ voice rang out, again, across all of the Eighth. It was recognition and unbridled fury. It was an outraged accusation, it was hurt beyond comprehension, a threat and a plea. Most of all, it was horror and utter disbelief - disbelief that it was happening, disbelief that he had not seen it coming .

“ASMODEUS!” 

There was no response to that cry which shook the sky itself. The Lord Below had heard; of that Durge was certain. But he did not respond; he was not there. The Lord Below had sent his own blood to kill him, and did not even deign to be present. One’s most powerful servant is, after all, still only a servant. 

And the master needs not be present when a servant is replaced.

The hellfire surrounding Mephistopheles engulfed him, and the scream turned into a roar when he ascended once more; Durge felt the heat of Raphael’s own ascension a few paces away. They turned to see him looking back at them with their leftmost eye; his voice rang in their head, as clear as if he’d been talking. 

“Hold fast. We’re almost there,” he said, and with a deep, guttural roar he charged at the ascended archdevil one more time.

***

Raphael would never quite know how long the battle had lasted, in the end. 

Entirely too much, he’d think, almost beyond the limits of what any of them could endure; and yet entirely too little to be a fitting ending to a reign which had lasted for so many millennia that memory of a time before then was all but lost. Eons upon eons coming down to this: two beasts clashing before a melting throne, up close and personal, all claws and teeth and magic.

Even with his newfound energy and spells restored, even with his sire as gravely wounded as he was, suffering from the drawbacks of a failed Wish spell - even as some of the most powerful mortals he’d ever known rained blows and spells on him - Raphael was almost overwhelmed. Almost.

“The spear alone - the venom in it - will allow you to end your sire for good,” Asmodeus had told him that day on Gelineth. “But only once he’s been brought low enough.”

“How will I know when that will be?”

A quiet, long look. “You will know.”

And he did. In the midst of carnage, locked in a vicious struggle, he felt something within his sire falter. When Wyll Ravengard screamed the power word to inflict pain , his sire cried out rather than brushing it off - and his next spell failed.

It is time.

Raphael may have faltered, if he’d had time to think, but he did not. As Mephistopheles turned to try to counter the barrage of attacks coming at him with renewed vigor thanks to Halsin’s very last mass healing, Raphael dismissed his ascension and held up a hand. Something hurt in his side despite the armor and he could not move his left arm above his shoulder, but it did not matter. When the spear materialized in his grip, the deadly venomous fang at its tip, he could only focus on one thing: striking. So he brought back his arm, and did just that.

He tried, at least. Mephistopheles turned suddenly, snake-quick, and lashed out with a clawed hand. It struck the spear’s shaft, and even the might of infernal iron could not withstand it. The spear snapped, and the tip was thrown amidst flaming debris several paces away; Raphael stumbled back and could swear he’d seen the skeletal jaws of his father’s ascended form curl in a smile before he lifted another claw to strike. 

“DOLOR!”

A well-placed blast hit the side of Mephistopheles’ head first, followed an arrow and a pike that pierced his arm; it caused the ascended archedil to rear back, just as a moonbeam was called down on him, tearing another hoarse cry from his throat. 

Raphael had barely enough time to roll out of striking distance and stand when they felt Durge grasping his shoulder. 

“Come.”

They cast a Dimension Door, and took him through it - right where the tip of the spear had fallen. It was not difficult to find; something about it called to him, and Raphael had it within moments - more shortsword than spear, but it did not matter.

As long as Asmodeus’ fang was on it, it would do what it had to do. 

I don’t wish him dead, he thought, but it’s much too late for that.

What came next was as easy as breathing. Raphael looked up to see Mephistopheles had been backed up towards the throne, which against all odds still stood, and was rearing up to strike down, or to summon yet more hellfire.

Raphael gave him no chance to do either. 

Teleportation took no more than an instant and he was before his sire, beneath him, in a burst of fire. Flames danced between the exposed ribs of bone, but he knew there was flesh there too - and that was where, with a cry, he sank Asmodeus’ fang.

Mephistopheles roared again, a cry that seemed to shake the world, and pulled away - but it was too little, too late. Raphael watched, his mind oddly blank, as the flames around and within his sire petered out; as the ascended fiend took two shaky steps before collapsing against the stars leading up to a throne he’d occupied since time immemorial. He convulsed once before going still, and thick black smoke rose, the venom consuming what power he had left.

Outside, the winds fell and the ice storm stopped; everything became so very still, and so very silent - a layer of the Hells holding its breath as something so unfathomably ancient came to an end. 

The smoke rose up and then it was gone, leaving behind no flames. Only a bloodied, crumpled form in torn robes upon the steps leading to his throne, breathing in gasps and with the fang still buried in his chest, long black hair spilling onto the ice. The veins in his neck bulged, black with venom.

Raphael could barely believe he was truly looking at his sire. He recalled him as he was the first time he’d seen him, atop the throne in whose shadow he lay dying now. It had been so long ago. He had seemed so much more powerful, and so much taller. He had not worn the likeness which resembled him most, then… but he did now, at the end of everything.

Father, Raphael wanted to call, but his mouth was dry and his tongue did not obey him, not right away. So he swallowed and just took a step towards his fallen sire.

Then another.

***

The first thought on Durge’s mind when they saw Mephistophele was that, beneath the blood, the resemblance with Raphael was unnerving. They had begun their fight against the Cold Lord, with the dark blue skin and the pale eyes; now dying before them was the Lord of Hellfire, with the same crimson skin as his son and unnerving, dead white eyes. Those eyes were now struggling to stay open, looking up at the skies through a ceiling that was no more. 

His left hand opened and closed by the broken shaft of the spear still embedded in his flesh, but he made no attempt at pulling it out. The venom was in, and that was it. He knew it as well as they did. Through Raphael’s hand, Asmodeus had dealt a fatal blow.

Standing above him, Raphael seemed to hesitate a moment before he scowled and changed forms, standing at the heart of Cania in his human form for what was perhaps the very first time. He crouched over his sire as though to make sure he’d see that face of his - his mother’s face - before he died.

“Down came the claw,” he rasped. “And what, love, was tha--”

Mephistopheles made a choking noise that could barely be recognized as a laugh and, in a last burst of strength, he reached up - grasping the nape of Raphael’s head and pulling him closer. 

Somehow, that forced Raphael to revert into his cambion form with a sharp gasp. He stared down at the dying archdevil, eyes wide, and Mephistopheles bared his teeth. It almost looked like a smile. 

“It is true,” he whispered. “We do share a face.”

“What…?” Raphael fell silent for a moment, staring as though not quite comprehending the words he’d just heard. Then something terrible twisted his features; his moment of triumph taken, like a rug pulled away to reveal a dark chasm beneath that no corpse could fill - not even one as grand as Mephistopheles’. He shook his head, still in his father’s grip. 

“No,” he choked out. “No, no, no. You can’t--”

He didn’t get to say anything more. Mephistopheles was an archdevil, the second most powerful being in Baator, but his end was not marked by shaking ground, collapsing glaciers, or columns of roaring hellfire. There was only that surreal silence, the winds no longer blowing as he died the way most creatures do: with an exhale, his eyes falling shut even as he kept them fixed on his son. 

His grip slackened, and the hand grasping the nape of Raphael’s head slipped off. It dragged across the side of his face, almost a caress, before it fell limply to the ground - and Mephistopheles, Archduke of Cania, Lord of Hellfire and Archmage of the Lower Planes, did not move anymore. 

Durge swallowed and turned to look at the frigid wasteland outside, waiting for the blizzard to resume. It never did. In the silence,  there was only Raphael’s voice, on the verge of breaking up. “... No,” he choked. Durge turned back to see he was shaking, eyes wide and face wet, still staring at his fallen sire. They swallowed. 

“Raphael--” they began, but never got to say more before Raphael screamed.

“No. NO! You cannot do this! YOU DON’T GET TO SAY THIS NOW!” He fell on his knees and grasped his father’s torn and bloodied robes, as though he could shake him back to life, make him open those eyes and look at him again. “Look at me! Face me, damn you, and tell me-- come back and face me! Come back! Come back, come back, come back --!”

But that was not to be. The body remained limp; the Lord of the Eighth’s eyes remained closed. Raphael shook the corpse one last time before he gave the long, wordless scream of someone who just felt something within them shatter. It caused Durge to instinctively step forward, but they paused when Astarion rested a hand on their forearm. 

“Give him a moment,” he murmured, and Durge nodded, looking away once more.

There would be time to talk. There would be time for many things - for whatever had to happen when someone took over a layer, for official announcements, for Raphael to sit on that throne. There would be time for Archduke Raphael - but later. 

For now, they just let a son scream and cry and curse his father’s name, still holding onto him as one would to an anchor in a world suddenly adrift.

***

[Back to Chapter 38]

[On to Chapter 40]

[Back to Start

[jynxeddraca]

Baldur's Gate 3 Head canons

Hello hyperfixation, old friend. Here are some head canons I have about BG3. Note: I am not super versed on D&D lore, most of these are based on vibes, deeply held wants, and in one case influenced by someone's opinion about a possible goof of dates.

We all know Astarion has red eyes and is blatantly a vampire. But no one really notices in game. In game it is established that vampires have "charms" (I remember hearing it, but I can't remember who said it or if it was more in depth than that). I head canon that vampires have just a really strong passive charm that prevents people from noticing the super incredibly obvious tells that he's undead unless they already know, or are super perceptive. For his eyes: people just think his eyes are brown and any red they think they see is just "a trick of the light".

I think the events of the game take place along the span of like 4-6 months from the characters' perspectives, and the areas of interest are not nearly so close to each other as they are in the game map.

Dammon is the only person in the game who has his shit together. You cannot convince me otherwise.

Shadowheart - after the events of the game - ends up as a plant mom with Lae'zel. I will not hear to the contrary.

The owlbear cub is charmed offscreen - probably by Gale or Halsin - to look like a large dog and that's how they get away with sneaking him into Baldur's Gate which apparently have very strict laws about what animals are allowed in the city. No I have not gotten that far in the game so I have no idea if it's addressed.

The owlbear is actually named by the camp rather than going by 'the owlbear cut'. I'm thinking Thorn - because it's my head canon and I can pick those kinds of things, but also because 'Scratch' and 'Thorn' go together.

After the events of the game most everyone in the party goes back to the blighted village to rebuild and also taking Scratch and the Owlbear cub with them.

Withers doesn't physically travel with the group. When they pack up he just ups and vanishes when no one is looking, when they set up camp he appears and it low-key makes everyone a little uncomfortable.

Volo claims the bag man (D&D lore (?) he lives in the dimension the bag of holdings use and takes an adventurer near a random bag every night) is real, Gale decides that it might actually be real because "our lives are indeed that weird", Wyll tries to convince him it's not real, and Lae'zel is just deeply confused and just sharpens her sword in case.

SPOILER HEAD CANONS:

Karlach's heart is 100% fixable and she comes back from Avernus. I will not hear to the contrary.

When Karlach's heart is fixed, she teams up with Wyll and they travel across the countryside defeating monsters and saving people together and fall in love.

Since Astarion is just shy of 200 years (This one I actually have a reason why I think this) he is eligible to use the Scroll of Total Resurrection to become mortal again.

Gale finds out that he has the Ring of the Sun-Walker and gives it to Astarion so he can live in the sun again post-tadpole.

[the-silly-urge]

Hag-Eyed and Volo's Ersatz Eye cosmetics

Okay making this post because I haven't seen anyone do it and I've wanted it to be a thing so many times I might as well do it myself! This will include images of the cosmetics on all viable companions as well as player races with unique eyes.

Volo's Ersatz Eye:

Player races (Dragonborn, Githyanki, Tiefling) Volo cares not for the color of your sclera.

Origin Characters Karlach's has the slit pupil! As does Lae'zel's!

Hag-Eyed:

Player races (Dragonborn, Githyanki, Tiefling) The eye didn't show up in Magic Mirror for my Tiefling so this is a dialog screenshot- sorry

Origin Characters

Wyll isn't included due to not having a good eye to spare and as such being barred from both eye replacements. Minthara, Halsin, and Jaheira will refuse to obtain Volo's eye, and I'm not sure it's possible to get any of them to the Hag. Minthara maybe... But I don't have a file in which I could test it.

Additional context below + how to obtain both eyes if you need it. -(Will contain a GIF)

Volo's Ersatz Eye: You will first find Volo in the Emerald Grove, and if you talk to him, he will explain that he's going to visit the Goblin Camp. When you find him there, interact with him, and then rescue him. He'll eventually be at your camp, and you can talk to him about your affliction and he'll say he can fix it. Once you've had a Long Rest, talk to him again and he'll propose to do surgery on you. From what I understand, the scene is very graphic both visually and in narration, and is also pretty long. If you have issues with eye trauma like I do, I recommend covering your screen with a sheet or enlisting a more confident friend to tell you when it's done... (You do need to pick dialog options though) Anyways, once you've had that impromptu surgery, Volo will offer to replace your eye with a relic as payback. This eye gives you a permanent See Invisibility condition, as well as the cosmetic change, which makes it a net positive. Though I believe companions do disapprove of the surgery.

Little bit of a closer look at the Ersatz eye on a Dragonborn... It doesn't glow and it's not animated, but doesn't have a visible sclera. You can get this effect normally by selecting "human" eye colors. It doesn't really match with classic DB eyes though. EDIT - The Ersatz Eye seems to always have a slightly green-tinted sclera when the sclera is visible. You can only really tell up close, but it's worth noting I guess.

Hag's Eye: The Hag's Eye can be obtained in the Sunlit Wetlands after talking to Auntie Ethel in the Emerald Grove. Just go to the quest marker there. Going through with this will give you the Hag-Eyed tag and the "Paid the Price" condition. Unlike with Volo's Ersatz Eye, you get to pick which of your eyes is replaced. The condition will give you a +1 to Intimidation, Disadvantage on perception checks, and Disadvantage on attacks against Hags. In Early Access, it made it impossible to land Critical Hits, but as far as I can tell this is no longer a thing! (Also fun fact- After giving the Hag their eye, all the companions have custom overworld dialog. I'll leave you to look at that yourself though!)

For Dragonborns, the eye has a very visible black sclera, and is unanimated, as you can see here. It's up to you whether you think that matches well with classic DB eyes or not.

If you want the effects but not the cosmetics, there are mods on Nexus which remove the visual component in both cases. I may add links to those mods down here later, but Nexus is down right now so it'll have to wait.

[not-so-lost-after-all]

This was a catastrophy...

It started as a joke, though. She told Astarion about Halsin's proposal with a good-natured shake of her head. He started laughing, his usual thetrical self. “He just can't shut up about the freedoms of nature. Darling, you can have as much Halsin as you want.”

There was cold wave all across her body. She stopped her steps, inclining her head and met his eyes. “Is that so?” she said, casually for now.

“Well, if you'd like me to join in, that would indeed cross the line,” he frowned a little. “But I must ask, is that because... you know... we haven't in a while.”

“Gods, give me strenght,” she gritted her teeth.

(Shadowheart chuckled. “I just wonder what exactly you try to achieve here. You want to turn him into someone who can understand how people actually care about each other sometimes? Someone who won't get stabbed within a week on his own? He won't change. Most likely even can't anymore.")

Suddenly the bile inside was on her tongue, overflowing. Esipre was so tired and even viciously glad she didn't care if the words are cutting anymore. “Of course it is, what other reason could I possibly have to go with him? And I don't ask for any permission.”

His eyes widened. Oh, that hurt. It was easy to be mean to him. Cruel, even. “Then have fun, I suppose, my dear.” There was tremor in his voice he didn't bother to hide. No mockery followed, now that was something. But she was not in the mood to coddle him, hug him or kiss him.

“It was never my intention to sleep with him. I told him no because I know it would sting you no matter what you say. I understand why I gave you the impression but you should have known me better by now. You never listen or ask, you only want.”

She never saw her own reflection in his eyes, she only seemed reborn in them in a twisted form. She hardly recognized herself whenever he depicted her character. And yet, wasn't there a grain of beastly truth in his words?

He whispered her name and she knew if she stops for a moment, it would pierce through her heart again.

“I'm not done here. I thought that in recent weeks, I gave you enough to earn if not love, then at least your trust. My blood, protection, warm body during the night, the truth about your scars, the way back to our city - why wasn't it enough? Gods above, anyone else in our merry band would be less demanding and more giving.”

(“That's wonderful lets get married and have kids look, Gale. But I'm afraid you're looking in the wrong direction.”)

And then, the ace from her pocket. “If you think so low of me, then perhaps you also think that if it was Cazador with us instead of you and told me about his sad story, I would spread my legs and offer my neck to him too?”

Astarion took a step back with a jerk. “Don't say that, don't you ever joke about that,” he hissed with both anger and frustrated hurt.

She went way too far, she knew. Esipre closed her eyes for a few beats of her racing heart. It helped. She was a leader, not someone's bitter neglected wife, dammit.

“I'm sorry, that was a low blow. But I'm scared and tired too, you know,” she finished with hollow voice. With a wave of her hand, she left. Mercifully, he didn't follow her.

---

This was a catastrophy...

He simply tried to not stand in her way, to please her, to make her stick around. Now he wondered whether she returned to Halsin or not. It was already dark, everybody already resting at the inn, only Esipre was missing. He found her outside, hunched by the fire, cross-legged and with a bottle of wine. She was so small and perhaps for the first time he noticed the toll this little adventure was taking on her.

“May I?” he started.

“I'm afraid I would be no fun tonight. Perhaps go talk with Lae'zel about our glorious slaughter today? Flirt with Wyll maybe? Whatever. I already told you...”

“That you're going to help me. Yes, you repeated it several times already. I'd rather be sulking in your company if I may.”

He didn't wait for the answer. He quickly found himself with his head in her lap. Like some tamed wolf, he thought. Perhaps that's fitting and strangely he doesn't even mind. Esipre looked at him in displeasure and pressed her lips together but didn't stop him or yell at him.

“Please be patient, you know I'm still learning. If you want me to ask something, I wouldn't even know where to start.”

She laid one hand on his chest but barely met his eyes. “Fine,” he sighed. “Why are you here and not inside with the others?”

“It was wonderful here, without any words. Inside... Everyone wants a piece.”

“And I want the biggest piece of you, of course, until there's nothing left. Why?”

She took a sharp breath and then the words came like a flood. She never was lady enough for her noble mother, savvy enough for her noble father, a piece of furniture for her step mother. Even on the streets she got herself almost killed several times and the few times she sold her body she was so miserable she made the others miserable too. Not good enough of a wizard, never had the time and money before. Not good enough of a friend to not sell her companions to the law or lowlives several times to save her own skin. Never enough. She wanted to not fail everyone just for once. “See, you're not the only one wearing a mask.”

“You're doing great job, darling. Barely any of us died so far. Some of us are even better off now. You've grown so much and maybe you should trust our companions that they know what they're doing when they decided to follow you.” He grinned widely. “Am I doing it correctly?”

She laughed and nodded. There was that light in her eyes again.

“Anyway, whatever happens, I want to thank you for that look. You always brighten up when you stare at me. Nobody ever looked at me like this. I... just wanted you to know that,” he kissed her wrist reverently

Perhaps, just for once, gods actually sent him a blessing.

[writingsbymish]

Blood in the Water

Chapter 1

Gortash warned the group of Orin's plan- that there would be an imposter among the group, that one of their own would be captured and replaced. No one expected that it would be their leader, the one who got them this far

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: M Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood and gore, small mention of sexual content Pairings: Halsin x Original Character (Nolee, female human monk)

All it was meant to be was a search and rescue in the Sewers for Jaheira’s friend Minsc. Not an additional search and rescue for Nolee.

She had accompanied them until they confronted Minsc, who at the time was under the Absolute’s influence. The battle made the group lose track of her, for by the time it was over, she was gone. Karlach had to communicate with the Emperor to have his protection be extended to the hero, and only then did the group realise their companion was gone.

“Soldier?” Karlach’s voice echoed throughout the sewer. “Come on out, wherever you are! We won’t bite. We promise!”

“Is it usual for your friend to disappear during battle?” Minsc asked. “Not very virtuous if you ask Minsc.”

“She’d never,” Halsin protested. “The only time I recall her parting from the group was for her daily prayers.”

“And the last thing one would worry about in battle is a prayer,” Jaheira added. “I haven’t known her for long, but that woman fights until she can’t fight anymore.”

“In that case, it would be wise that we find your friend soon,” Minsc concluded.

The group continued wandering through the muck and grime, bearing through the stench of waste. Having a more sensitive sense of smell, the stench was much harsher on Halsin, but he had endured worse smells, and was willing to bear with it and more if it meant finding his beloved safe.

Halsin was worried he might have had something to do with Nolee suddenly vanishing. She seemed to be distracted all the time, talking to herself, almost as if she was having some form of conversation with herself. She also seemed more… disengaged with him.

He thought about that night he spent with her. How he longed to feel her, for them to share their bodies with each other. The night was nothing but pure bliss. At least, that was what he believed. Did she regret it?

He’d never forgive himself if she did.

The sound of fast paced footsteps echoing alerted the group. A nearby door, bursted open and Nolee stumbled out of it, falling to her knees. She was out of breath, panting, and she was covered in blood and much. Halsin would’ve been relieved to have found her, if it wasn’t for the panicked look on her face.

“Thank the Gods I found before she did!” She got back up on her feet and ran to the group, almost falling into Halsin’s arms. “You need to go. It’s not safe here! Go!”

“Easy now, love,” Halsin picked up Nolee and straightened her up. He bent down so that he could look her in the eye, hands on her arms to hold her steady. “Just tell us what happened. Why were you here alone in the sewers?”

“There were assassins,” Nolee said in between breaths. “They grabbed me, and brought me Orin. Said she was looking to make a sacrifice to Bhaal. Wanted someone whose blood was sweet. I managed to break free before she could slice my stomach open.”

A sudden sound echoed behind them. Nolee gasped as she looked back, before looking at Halsin.

“If she catches all of us here, none of us will survive.” She backs away from the group. “I will buy you as much time as possible, but you cannot stay here.”

Halsin grabbed his staff, moving ahead of Nolee and positioning himself in a battle stance. “We can fight her together, love. You don’t have to face her alone.”

“You’ll die if you try. Just run!”

“And miss out on virtuous buttkicking?” Minsc said in an almost excited voice, before a squeak interrupted him, coming from Minsc’s furry companion. He bent down to the rodent to listen. “Boo? Could it really be?” His eyes widened, and he grabbed his sword. “This woman is an imposter!”

Nolee’s face warped from fear into a smile. Not the sweet and gentle smile she normally had, but a much sinister one. “Oh, how embarrassing to be sniffed out by a rat!” Her voice sounded deranged. It made Halsin feel uneasy. “Not as embarrassing as your friend being so easy to pick off.”

Suddenly, Nolee’s head turned, a sickening crack echoing throughout the room. Halsin could only stare in horror as her limbs began to turn and bend in unnatural ways. Her head turned back further away than it should without breaking, but her body began to dissolve as she turned it back, revealing a completely different person.

Orin. Bhaal’s Chosen.

Sadistic and cold her face was, as she walked over to Halsin with slow steps. “Look at it, crawling and sniffing and rooting around in the dirt.” Orin’s face pouted condescendingly. “Is it my Netherstone you seek, little piggies?” She looked at the group, each one with a horrified expression on their face.

Halsin felt something drop into his stomach. Gortash warned them that Orin was planning to pose as an imposter. That one of their own would fall victim. He never thought that Nolee would have been the one to fall victim. A foolish thought, he now admitted.

“Hush hush. Orin will take care of you.” Her face cracked into a sinister smile. “And your little pet.”

Halsin’s grip on his staff tightened, ready to attack. “What have you done with Nolee?”

Orin gasped. “Nothing! No, not a thing” She let out a laugh. “Still gasping and gagging on the foul air of Bhaal’s temple.”

Everyone else also readied themselves to attack, but it seemed all hopeless. They could not take on Orin. Not while Nolee’s life was in danger.

Orin's dead eyes widened. “I will not slice yet, but I shan’t keep the Murder Lord waiting. He demands an offering. Something new, sticky sweet and delicious. He wants her."

This time it was Karlach that spoke, the flames inside her beginning to roar as she stepped forward. "You bitch! Why her?!”

“Kethric Thorm’s Killer. Turned the corpse-lover into carrion when she took his stone." Orin looked reminiscent. "But he was a dull kill. No blood to spill, no guts to rip." She made a quick gesture with her hand, as if ripping out a pile of guts from a body. "A desiccated husk, all dull and hollow. She will make a much finer offering, wouldn't you agree?"

Red. Hot red.

It was all Halsin could see. The thought this wretched woman put Nolee in danger. Ready to be sacrificed to some unholy God. His teeth gritted, his quick breaths coming out in hisses. He tried to resist. He couldn’t afford to lose himself now.

“Poor thing is praying to her Goddess that you won’t come and rescue her. She’d rather die than have you risk your life for hers?” Orin giggled, gleefully sadistic. “Oh, what a sweet sacrifice she shall be!”

The beast began to awake, and Halsin couldn’t resist it anymore.

"You will not have her!"

His entire body glowed as he felt the urge take over, the line between man and beast all but blurred. He welcomed the new shape, as he swiftly transformed into the familiar bear shape. But it did nothing to quell the rage inside him. He roared, readying himself to lunge at Orin but was immediately stopped by a commanding voice.

“Calm yourself, Halsin!” Jaheira commanded. “Now is not the time to attack. She already has the monk captured. If we attack now, she may be in even more danger.”

"You're friend is right," Orin smirked. "And to think I was going to sharpen you before you set the edge against my skin."

Halsin let out another growl, resisting the urge to ignore Jaheira and attack her then and there. But he relented. With a deep breath he unsheathed his bear form, back into elf form.

"If you have something to say, then say it," Karlach demanded. “Or I swear I will fucking gut you!”

"You'd prefer my whispers in the tyrant's tongue?"

Orin twisted her head once again, resulting in a crack. Her current form dissolved and revealed the form of Lord Gortash.

"You're heard Gortash's whispers. He whinges and wails over the Crown of Karsus, wanting to command it without me. Oh, how I long to slit his proxy smile from ear to ear. But I can’t touch him. He bound my blade when we first conspired. Gortash didn’t want me at first. Didn’t trust me. Got me to wag my tongue, swear an oath never to hang him from the hooks, drip drain him into Father’s open jaws…”

Had it not been for the violent tendencies that still oozed out of Orin, she would have passed almost perfectly as the Lord Gortash himself.

“You must kill the tyrant. Take the Netherstone from his corpse, and bring it to my temple.”

With the crack of her neck, Orin changed back into her original form, a devious smile on her face. “There we slice and shred each other. The survivor claims the stones. What’s left of the other is Bhaal’s. Agree, and I will bring my Assassin’s to heel. They watch you always, longing to spray the crimson from your veins.” Her face then twists into anger. “Refuse me, and you’ll learn what happens to those who defy Bhaal’s doctrine. Including your beloved.”

It was clear what Orin was demanding. A battle to the death. Should Halsin agree, and go after Gortash and bring it to Orin, she would spare Nolee, but have complete control over the Netherstones. Should he refuse, Orin’s assassins will be on them lack a pack of wolves closing in on a herd of sheep. And worse, his love’s fate may be sealed.

“If I agree, do you promise you won’t hurt her,” Halsin asked warily.

“Oh, I will,” Orin affirmed. “I keep my promises.”

An almost ironic statement.

Halsin did not have much of a choice in the matter. But he figured if he agreed now, he and the rest of the group would think of a way to rescue Nolee while they still had time.

Halsin nodded. “Gortash’s head in exchange for Nolee’s life.”

Orin giggled with glee. “Oh yes, kill the Banite, and the blade remains untouched.”

It wasn’t a decision but Halsin felt there was no other choice. Until he can find a way, have Nolee safe in his arms, he had to at least live with the knowledge that she will not be harmed.

“Do not underestimate his Steel Watch,” Orin warned. “Seek their cradle in the Lower City and skewer their skull meat. Make them rust and blood. Then you can gore the lordling again and again and again.” she spoke in between maniacal laughter. “But listen closely. Step in my domain while the tyrant still sucks air, and I will carve your failure into your pretty plaything’s skull.”

She took out her red blade and stabbed the air as if stabbing someone’s skull. To think that if Halsin failed this would be Nolee’s fate… he’d rather not think about it.

“Bring his stone, and I will set the bait free. Only then, she and I can make exquisite butchery.” Orin’s voice was laced with bliss. “The victor will set the world to slaughter. That is Bhaal’s offer. He will not make another.”

And with that, Bhaal’s Chosen vanished into thin air, particles falling from where she stood.

Halsin turned back to the group, feeling almost defeated. “We need to get back to the tavern. A plan must be made.”

[bluejay-writes]

The Raccoon Problem

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Characters: Halsin/Saoirse (Mimi's Druid Tav!) Wordcount: 3630

Notes: This is a secret santa gift for @lavellvn!

You can also read/collect this over on AO3!

“Hey! Get out of that garbage! Don’t make me call The Watch.”

Regin froze mid-rummage, and looked up at the man silhouetted there against the back door of the tavern in the lantern light, but didn’t say anything in response. Having The Watch looking for him was the most terrifying thing he’d experienced in all of his seven years and he wasn’t interested in having it happen again, thanks. He backed away from the garbage, into the darkness of the alleyway, tying the cloth around the spoils of his trash adventure.

“Damn urchin.” the man muttered, unaware how his voice carried in the silence of the night. “If it were a girl, they’d at least take it off my hands for some coin.”

When he returned to the literal hole in a wall he was currently sleeping in, Regin looked over the food he’d managed to gather. A very burned bread roll, a few bones that hadn’t been picked quite clean though he didn’t know what the meat was, and some rinds from cheese that only had a little mold on them. It would get him through to tomorrow night, at least. But that tavern was the last place that he’d been able to visit, everywhere else had chased him away, and now they were on the lookout for him as well. He might have to brave one of the older places again. Or figure out how to hide better so they didn’t shoo him away. If only he was a girl, like the tavern keep had said. He didn’t know why girls were better, or who they were that would want a girl, but at least he wouldn’t be cold and hungry. 

Maybe he could try foraging as a dog, not just sleeping. But dogs tended to draw attention, that’s why he was only a dog when he was in his hiding place, to stay warm for sleeping. Maybe he could try being one of those stripey-whatsits that he saw in the trash sometimes. They had good hands for digging through the trash, and people tended to avoid them. Yeah. That’s what he’d do.

“So, tell me again why you’re looking for help from Druids?” Halsin asked the bartender. His tavern was well-kept, and as far as Halsin could tell, it didn’t even have the usual vermin problem, thanks most likely to the two cats laying in the last rays of sunlight coming through the front window. The tavernkeep’s eyes often strayed to his partner, Saoirse, who was entertaining herself chatting with said cats. Her usual attire tended to draw attention wherever they went, not that he would ever find fault with her choices. She looked stunning no matter what form or coverings she chose.

“We’ve got a raccoon problem. Thing’s a real menace. It’s in our trash every night and it’s gotten smart enough to avoid the traps and even the dogs we’ve tried to set on it. Only thing else I can think of to do to get rid of it at this point is a bigger predator, but I’ll be damned before I bring in a wild bear or wolf just to get rid of a clever raccoon. Figured a druid would be able to talk to the thing or scare it away by sleeping in the yard as something bigger.”

Halsin nodded, and turned to consult with Saoirse.

“My heart, what do you think about this? Any insight from your feline friends?”

Saoirse hummed in thought. “They say the raccoon smells wrong. Not like other raccoons.”

“Cursed, perhaps?” Halsin thought, and Saoirse shrugged. “Well, would you like to spend some time here, dearest? Solve a little raccoon puzzle before we head on?”

Saoirse chuckled. “Who would I be if I passed up both the chance to understand a creature of Faerûn and a chance to have a bear nap with my beloved?”

Halsin turned and addressed the man behind the bar once again. “We’ll handle your raccoon problem.”

“Good, you have two days, as we’ve a wedding here in four and if you can’t do it we gotta have a day to try… something else.”

“What something else?” Halsin asked, half-growled as though he knew already what the man was going to say.

“Poison, obviously. I don’t want to do it, else I never would have put a call out for druid adventurers, but if I want to keep the noble wedding contract, I gotta get rid of the raccoon.”

Halsin sighed. “Don’t even consider the poison. Children rummage through the trash and anything that can hurt a raccoon can kill a child in no time flat, let alone the harm it could do to local pets.” Or the destitute in the area. He didn’t add that last bit. Most people saw the poor as a blight anyway and would happily be rid of them just as much as they would pests. “We’ll handle your raccoon, one way or another.”

The tavernkeeper nodded, and Halsin was calmed to notice the relief in their face. They weren’t lying about being reluctant to use fatal methods, at least.

“You gonna be warm enough out there or should I get you some firewood? It can get a mite chilly now that it’s started snowing.”

“We’ll be fine.” Saiorse purred, pulling Halsin out through the kitchen into the Tavern’s yard. She’d had enough of this conversation, and wanted to get started, thanks.

Regin sniffed the air as he approached his usual tavern hunting ground. Okay, okay, it was the trash, but he was hunting for dinner so it counted. He paused for a moment when he smelled something unusual. He crept slower and more carefully towards the tavern only to see large furry lumps in the yard. Was that… bears?! Regin had only ever seen a bear from a distance before. These two looked cozy, all curled up together in the snow. Regin was jealous. He wished he had someone to curl up with on the snowy nights. It was too cold these days, even when he was a dog. Maybe if he was one of those fluffy dogs? He hadn’t gotten a good enough look at one of those to be one before, and even though he could see the bears real close, he knew being a bear would get him in way more trouble than a small dog would, even if it were warmer.

The bears didn’t seem to react to him arriving, so Regin decided to risk digging through the trash even though there were bears. They didn’t look like they wanted to attack him when he appeared, so maybe they would just let him dig through the trash. Besides, he knew the way up to the rooftops between here and his hole, so he was sure he could outrun a bear no problem, even if they were angry. 

As he dug through the trash, setting aside the most edible looking pieces of refuse, he could feel the eyes of the larger bear following his movements. The smaller bear seemed to be asleep, right up until the point where it stood and lunged at the trash bins, all in a matter of seconds.

Regin didn’t know why the bear was coming after him but he did know that he definitely didn’t want to die. He especially didn’t want to get eaten by a bear! Abandoning his haul, little cloth bag and all, he skittered away down the alley and up to the rooftops, dropping his stripey-whatsit form just as soon as he was clear of the bear so that it wouldn’t be able to follow him by scent. Sure, getting back off of the roofs as a little boy was dangerous, but a whole lot less dangerous than being eaten by a bear!

Saoirse cursed as she lost track of the raccoon across the rooftops. Little thing was wicked fast, and the cats were right. It didn’t smell like a raccoon at all. She shifted into a shrew and skittered her way up to the rooftop, sniffing as she went. Unfortunately, the trail stopped dead just two roofs away, and the roof itself was awash in so much scent that her little nose got confused, and she was forced to head back to Halsin empty-handed.

“Nothing.” She said, as she stopped next to where Halsin was staring into the trash bin. “It got away.”

“It’s definitely more than just a normal raccoon.” Halsin rumbled quietly, and showed Saoirse the cloth bag that the raccoon had been carrying, sewn together with rough but intentional stitches. “I don’t think it’s a curse, unless that curse burdens it with a humanoid level of intelligence.”

“Were-Raccoon?” Saoirse suggested, though even she was hesitant to believe it.

“Possible. Or a Doppleganger trying to stay under the radar while it gathers intelligence. There are any number of things it could be, up to and including a fellow druid. Though, a fellow druid should have recognized our nature and spoken to us rather than running.”

“What if it’s a child, Halsin?” Saoirse said, leaning against his shoulder. “Would a child know druidic norms and expectations? If they aren’t yet part of a circle, they may not even be able to tell the difference between one of us and a standard bear.”

“It would explain the level of moxie this one had, to rummage in the garbage even with us both laying there. A normal raccoon wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near that close the moment it smelled us.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’ll be back for this bag. it’s a clearly well loved and cared for object, after all.” Saoirse said, running her finger along the rough seam. “Shall we adjourn once more to rest?”

“Aye, we shall. I would have you take a flighted form though, my heart. If it comes back, i do not want to lose sight of it again.”

Saoirse nodded, and as Halsin settled back to rest as a bear, she shifted to nighthawk and settled on his flank to keep watch for the raccoon’s return.

Regin shivered in his hole. Even his dog form wasn’t keeping him warm in this weather, and with no food in his belly he was feeling especially bad. With winter setting in, fewer people were traveling so there was less edible waste at the inn, so he was even thinner than usual. Eventually, he knew he had to go back and try again, at least to retrieve his bag. The bears couldn’t be there forever, and if he could at least grab his bag he’d be able to scrounge food from somewhere else tonight. Something, anything to keep him going one more day.

Without changing form, Regin loped out of his hole and back down the alleys towards the inn. He could at least see if the bears were still there before spending the energy to shift into his striped trash-dweller self.

Sure enough, the larger of the two bears was there, eyes closed in apparent rest. The small bear had yet to return, and Regin wondered if it was still trying to get up the building to chase after the stripey-whatsit he used to be. He walked around the inn’s area a few times, and then turned to go back to his home. One bear was there, but it was sleeping. That would probably give him the time to grab his bag and get out if he was lucky. He didn’t really have a choice, though. He needed his bag if he was going to carry enough food to keep himself alive.

“You seeing this?” Halsin rumbled, and Saoirse chuckled.

“That scrawny pup? It’s circled three times, each time checking you out, and the trash, and the building the raccoon disappeared on. If it comes again, I’m going to wing up and follow it and see if I can’t find its home.” Saoirse moved from his flank to the rooftop, to make it easier to tail the dog that did in fact reappear moments later, before turning and leaving.

She followed it, until it tucked itself into a literal hole in one of the town’s outer walls, before curling up. She started to reach out to Halsin to tell him what she’d learned, only to interrupt herself mid sentence.

Well, the dog seems to be holed up in— Nature’s Bounty, Halsin!! You were right! It is a little druid boy. He’s heading back your way as a raccoon, I can only assume to retrieve his bag.

Heard. was the only response Halsin gave, and Saoirse waited until the boy was well and truly gone before she shifted back to herself and investigated the den to try and understand him better. There was nothing here to identify the owner as anything more than a scraggly little dog. Bones, the inedible parts of cheese rinds (though these too were gnawed on) and some tattered bits of blanket were all that were here. The den smelled of dog, and of raccoon, and of boy, all of them seeming slightly off somehow. This boy had been doing nothing more than surviving, and that just barely. Saoirse felt herself flare with protective anger, but before she could say a word, Halsin reached her with another message.

I have him. Come back to me, my heart, we have much to discuss with this young one.

Regin shivered in fear, the large bear’s paw pinning him to the ground.

“Promise me you won’t run, child, and I will let you up.” The bear spoke.

Bears can talk?! Regin thought, confused and very very afraid. He just nodded. He didn’t know if stripey-whatsits normally nodded, but he knew that bears probably couldn’t normally speak common, so maybe it was okay if he nodded.

The bear paw lifted off of him, and Regin felt blessed to be alive. He wasn’t even hurt, the bear had been very scary, but careful, which was weird because the bear definitely should have wanted to eat him because bears totally ate things like him in the wild, and… 

Regin’s eyes blew wide as the bear in front of him turned into a man. Still big. Still scary. Still very bear-like. But definitely a person now. Did that mean the littler bear was also a person!? Where was it now? Oh no, was it okay? Had it gotten hurt chasing him? That would be the worst, he never wanted anyone to get hurt because of him. Not like mama. Not again.

“You’re safe here, little one.” He rumbled, and Regin shook his head. How could he be safe, there was a big scary bear that was also a man and somewhere there was a smaller bear that was probably also a person that had gotten hurt because of him, and now he was going to be in trouble and…

“You’re scaring him, dear.” a voice said, as a bird landed on the fence near him and then… became a lady? Oh. They were… like him, then. People that could be animals. The lady wasn’t wearing much, just vines, it looked like, even in the snow. She crouched down next to him and reached out slowly, tentatively, before touching his nose, and saying ‘boop.’

Regin couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound awkward and stilted coming from a stripey-whatsit. He let go then, and went back to being a little boy. Hopefully it was okay with them, then, that he was a little boy who could also be a stripy-whatsit, and not a little girl like the tavernkeep said.

“There you are, little one.” the bear-man said, crouching down next to him. “I am Halsin, and she is Saoirse. Do you have a name?”

Regin nodded. “Mama called me Regin. Nobody else calls me anything though, so I must be Regin.”

Bear-man, no Halsin, seemed to be smiling. “I will call you Regin, then. Are you hungry?” He pulled some trail bread from a pouch and held it out towards Regin, who shook his head. He didn’t dare take anything from someone, that was the last thing he could possibly do.

“Mister Halsin, am I in trouble?” He looked between the two adults in front of him, still tense. He was still sure that he was going to be in real trouble, like with The Watch and everything. The Watch… he… really didn’t want to be handed over to The Watch.

“That depends.” Halsin said, not mincing words despite the youth in front of him. “Have you done something bad?”

“I stole from the trash.” Regin said. They knew he’d done it, there was no reason to pretend he was innocent. “I… I know stealing is wrong, always. But I was hungry, and it was the trash so that meant they didn’t want it anymore, and…”

“Shh.” Saoirse said, and Regin stopped talking immediately. “It’s not stealing if they threw it away, little one.”

“B-but I was also there when they didn’t want me there, I just didn’t have nowhere else to go so I kept using their trash even after they told me to leave, even though I had to learn to be a stripey-whatsit to do it.”

“A raccoon.” Halsin said, and Regin nodded.

“Yeah, a stripey-whatsit.”

“Who taught you how to be a raccoon?” Saoirse asked, now sitting casually in the snow next to him.

“Nobody. I just saw them and thought it was good that they had little hands and no one seemed to mind them being in or around trash.” Regin shrugged. “Dogs don’t have hands, so.”

“Did anyone teach you to be a dog?” Saoirse asked, then, and he shook his head.

“No, but lots of people called mama a dog so I thought maybe if I was a dog…” Regin didn’t want to finish that sentence, so he didn’t.

“Can you tell me anything more about your mother?” Saoirse asked, sharing a look with the man that Regin didn’t understand.

“She dressed a lot like you, well, kindof. Yours looks like plants, but mama mostly wore soft cloth, just… about as much as you wear I guess? It was red, always red. She was real pretty, her hair was real long, it went all the way to her hips! I want to have hair that long someday, but mine keeps breaking.” Regin reached up and played idly with the ends of his brown-black hair, shrugging.

“Where’s your mama now, Regin?” Halsin asked, softly.

“Oh. She’s dead.” Regin said, the relative nonchalance of his tone startling the adults. “I’ve been on my own for three winters now.”

Halsin eyed him carefully. “How old are you, child?”

“Seven, as of last summer.”

“And how did your mother die, if you can tell me?”

Regin shivered, but it wasn’t just from the cold. “The Watch killed her, Mister Halsin. She told me if The Watch ever took her that I had to run away and never go back home, and she’d find me, but… I couldn’t stay away. I knew I could get her back away from The Watch. They were looking for something she was hiding, like a pet, but she just swore she wasn’t hiding anything. She didn’t have a pet or nothin, just me. We couldn’t really take care of a pet, there was really only enough food for the two of us. But they kept saying they knew she was carrying it, and she told them she lost it, so it must have been something real important, cause the head of The Watch himself was there and he was so so mad. When she refused to tell him anything, he… he…” Regin’s eyes welled up with tears. He hadn’t cried over his mother since the day it had happened, why was he crying now? He almost didn’t flinch when the lady pulled him into her lap and hugged him. No one had hugged him like this since Mama.

“What happened to her?” Halsin asked, quietly.

“He shot her. With a crossbow. She fell down and never got up. I think she was gone right away. I.. I just ran and ran, like she told me to.”

Regin’s tears picked up then, and he sobbed into Saoirse’s chest until he was so exhausted he simply fell asleep.

Halsin and Saoirse took the boy into the room they had at the inn - they weren’t planning on solely sleeping outside, after all.

Once Saoirse had tucked the boy in, she sat down at the table with Halsin and sighed.

“So, the raccoon problem is a talented child druid.” She said, and Halsin nodded.

“Whose mother was likely a sex worker of some variety, hiding the fact that she’d had a child.”

“A child of some import, if The Watch was willing to go so far as to kill her over it.”

“Said child has spent three years fending for himself on the streets and not a single soul cared enough to take him in.” Halsin tried to tamp down the growl in his tone, but was generally unsuccessful. “I will not leave him to weather a fourth.”

“He wouldn’t be likely to survive it.” Saoirse said, sighing. “I have always wanted a son. Do you think… he would be willing to travel with us? Leave this place?”

“If he is willing, I will take him, lineage be damned.” Halsin said, reaching out to wrap Saoirse’s hands in his. “And I will teach him the proper names for animals. No more stripey-whatsits.”

“I want to feed him until he’s plump and happy like a young boy should be. I do not want to be able to count his ribs at a glance.”

“And make sure he can grow his hair long, like his mother.” Halsin said, the smile evident in his tone.

[bleedingheart-s]

🎫 gush pass because I'm curious about your BG3 ocs 🔍👀

BWEHDHFLAKFHFJDU HIIIII KUROH 🩵 THANK YOU FOR THE ASK AND THE EXCUSE TO GUSH ABOUT MY BABIES I WAS LITERALLY ROTATING TJEM EARLIER

some of them are with characters other than gale who i don't self ship with (yet- i'm tempted to self ship with pretty much every other companion too bless my polyamorous heart)

this ended up being so long i'm putting it under a read more

nox- fighter. dumbass (affectionate). Tries their best. Very reluctant leader. Absolutely no sense of direction (Astarion regularly asks why they all let Nox hold the map... it's currently upside down in their hands). Tiefs don't usually come in a green flavor so Nox is sort of shunned even within tief circles. They're also big so they inevitably attract attention- that's why they hate leading. Their biological parents abandoned them, and they were raised by humans (who loved them dearly). Misses the farm they grew up on. Just wants a quiet life and a couple of kids. Favorite color: blue, specifically the sort of soft light glowing blue of the Weave because its usually coming from Gale. They're SOOO protective. Them and Karlach are besties. Has more tattoos than shown.

ledi- paladin. She's smaller than your average aasimar and she has a bit of a complex over it. She WILL puff up her wings to appear bigger (it barely works.) She's sort of cold at the beginning, but she opens up as the story goes on. Her eyes are haloed by wings because she was rendered permanently blind in a fight (kind of like Kanan in Star Wars Rebels) (details pending). This changed her, she ended up switching her paladin oath from Devotion to Vengeance. She has a bit of a rage streak at the start of the game. Looks up to Aylin like a big sister. Hates Shadowheart. (I haven't gotten to act 2 with her yet but I think Ledi would want to kill her for what happens at the end.) Falls in love with Wyll and learns a lot from him. Won't touch alcohol. Likes having her hair played with. Preens when she's bored. Has a very... interesting dynamic with Raphael.

freya- ranger. Left her family behind as a teenager. Used to spending a lot of time alone in nature. mean lesbian. Hits it off with Lae'zel almost immediately, and they admire each other greatly (and in a very gay way). Takes no shit. If looks could kill, she'd have murdered a continent. Just wants to go back to her neck of forest and 'live in fucking peace'. Has a 'oh no he's hot' moment when she first meets Halsin after rescuing him. Completely self sufficient, she doesn't like relying on others (trust issues much? /j). Ends up making good friends with Jaheira and Minsc. Can drink half of Faerûn under a table. If you can make her do it, she snorts when she laughs. Only Karlach has so far. Minsc has gotten close.

livia- my s/i. Lore bard. Uhhh idk what to say about her 😭

i also have two new ocs i haven't managed to talk about yet!

sethe- resisting durge. tiefling, wildshaping druid. Has difficulty controlling their wildshape, so they're liable to turn into a pure white direwolf with eyes so blue they glow at any given point. Honestly prefers being in wildshape. She bonds with Halsin over this. They struggle greatly with allowing anyone to get close to them due to their urge, so Halsin is the only person in their memory to do so. Won't admit it, but she likes being scratched behind the ears while in wildshape. Better at showing positive emotions in wildshape as well (tail wagging, playful behavior.) doesn't like being hot (ironic for a tiefling)- and she will pant even in her bipedal form if she is. Admires Karlach and wishes they could be more like her. Likes rain.

anne- regular tav. sort of an s/i but not quite. human, storm sorcerer. Naive, a bleeding heart, refuses to think the worst in any situation- which causes contention with Lae'zel, Astarion and Shadowheart in the beginning. Fiercely loyal and will back up her friends to the bitter end. She was raised a noble, so she's poised and very charismatic. Knew Wyll before he took his contract with Mizora and honestly missed him after he disappeared. Her positive and supportive attitude wears on Astarion, and eventually he falls for her. Becomes great friends with Gale. She's braver than she looks but she'll be crying about it. Very homesick. Worries about her family constantly. Has a little brother. Likes spicy food. Smells vaguely of ozone due to her proficiency with lightning magic. Kinda looks like Anne Hathaway, hence the name.

[kemendin]

Atmospheres

One of my favourite things in writing is setting the scene - the environment, the atmosphere, the vibes. And this becomes a fun little challenge I give myself when I’m trying to bring to life a canon setting in a game.

I look at screenshots and game footage, and I study the environment there - the colours and sounds and textures, the physicality of it, but also the mood. How it makes me feel when I look at it, and also how it makes the POV character feel, because those two reactions may be quite different. And then I figure out just the right words and cadence to really bring what I perceive to life in my writing.

For instance, I love the unsettling feeling of the Rakata vaults in SWTOR, and the whole vibe of Belsavis in particular, so I really tried to convey that in this fic:

Even in the depths of the cell blocks, Belsavis was never quiet. A low hum of energy was nearly constant as it carved its way through the ancient structures, and power gleamed in cold colours from the sockets set high in the walls. In the vast dimness of the corridors, the lights flickered like dying stars, and like eyes they seemed to follow the path of the intruders. Watchful. Waiting.

It was cold in the hollow passages beneath the snow. Some of the vaults were oddly temperate, warmed by the thermal energies of the planet where magma welled up through the crust. But here, Caspian’s breath shivered from him as he trotted along the sloping floor towards the surface. Scourge padded along behind him, an ever-present crimson shadow. Even though the angle of the floor put him below Cas, it did little to diminish the sense of his looming stature.

BG3 also has such rich, immersive environments, so even my so-far limited experience in describing them has been a blast. I’m very proud of my description of the Shadow-Cursed Lands from my first fic:

Here, though, it is different. The shadows that stifle this once-fertile landscape are thick, and coiling, and hungry. They do not merely lurk, waiting to consume the follies of the ill-fated; they are predators seeking prey, and they gnaw on the bones of the dead even as they stalk the steps of the living.

Dhamari can hear their hunger scraping around the edges of the campsite, where torches - plucked from rotting corpses on the roadside - now flutter and fight to keep the menacing fog at bay. The party has hunkered down for the night in as secure a space as they could find - a wide lip of stone sheltered by jutting crags on two sides and facing out into empty air on a third, exposed save for a few scraggly trees that still cling, quivering, to the precipice. More ash-grey branches hang overhead, twisting out from cracks in the uneven stone, their red leaves rattling in an erratic wind.

There is a foul tang on the air, the metal scent of dark magic wrapped around decades of decay. Even the fruits of Gale’s excellent cooking had borne the taste of it at dinner, but on the whole, the group had been too subdued by the atmosphere around them to offer much complaint. The meal was taken in taut silence, and then the weary adventurers had dispersed to their bedrolls, most drawing their tent flaps tight against the unsettling sounds emanating from beyond the boundaries of the campsite. Now, only Halsin keeps watch - minding the central fire, or else softly pacing the perimeter to check that the smaller wards of flame still burn.

I’m working on my next one now, which takes place in the Underdark/Grymforge. This is likely not the final version, but I’m already very pleased with the atmosphere I’m evoking:

The shoreline that greets them after their shrouded sail across the Ebonlake is not a welcoming one. There is torchlight to part the shadows, but it is harsh and brazen, and it glares in bronze reflections off broken stonework that climbs up and up into the cavernous darkness.

Long ago, this was perhaps a proud and impenetrable fortress. But now the structure is cracked and desecrated, seared by time and fire and caged by makeshift scaffolds that allow the duergar interlopers a means of clambering across the ruins. Yet shadows remain, uneven and treacherous, caught in the crevices formed by history’s slow forgetting of this place.

There is no beach to slide beneath their spiny craft, only a narrow wharf of straight-hewed stone jutting out into the unfathomable waters. Several other boats similar to their own are already moored there, looking unnaturally still until the silent ripples of the two new arrivals set the lake to lapping at their hulls.

So yeah! I find it’s important to establish the scenic backdrop of the story, because my brain is playing it like a movie in my head and I gotta know what it looks like and what the vibes are. (Can you tell I like describing eerie, abandoned places? xD)

[forcedhesitation]

I finally got to recruit minthy....and wow. in just mere minutes, she's already infinitely more interesting to me than both halsin and SH. her dialogue is so beautifully written, and it's so interesting to learn about the cult's activities from someone who was forced to act under their control! I am genuinely eager to keep playing the game with her in my party, just to hear everything she has to say.

and I haven't gone very far with her yet, but god, wow, it's really shocking to see the contrast between my first impression of her, and how halsin is handled as a companion throughout the whole game. to be clear, I do like halsin, but that's because I spent a whole campaign trying to learn about him and grew attached to the version of him I rewrote in my head as I played. I find his actual, in-game character to be terribly inconsistent, disappointing, and incredibly bland. I mean, when you first recruit him, you learn things about him that do genuinely sound fascinating. when he tells you that it seems to him that most people do not think his feelings can be hurt, that he feels he was a poor leader, that he was unhappy and felt trapped in the grove...that had my attention! I was hoping the game would expand upon that and we'd learn about how this position of well-respected leadership and near reverence led halsin to feel dehumanised. instead...most of his in-game material is, well, just about sex, to be blunt about it.

after you finish any quest material in which he could have remained a full NPC, there's just...nothing, really. his position in the story is demoted to "eye candy" for the player, and the only scenes he gets are about sex. while I did not have my tav sleep with the drow twins, I know of the information about halsin you learn after this happens. it is WILD to me that the only other way you can even get a HINT about halsin's traumatic experiences in the underdark seems to be by taking him to the house of hope and having him interact with the portal to menzoberranzan, which will prompt him to make a comment about his "misspent youth." why you would lock information like this behind something many players would not want to do, when this character already has SUCH limited material, is completely beyond me. not only this, but it is utter madness to me that the only instances in which halsin can acknowledge the player's relationship to astarion seem to exclusively exist in discussions relating to sex/the act of sex itself. you know, astarion, the guy who wants to be seen as more than just a pretty face? whose story is about reclaiming his bodily autonomy after being abused in every way imaginable for 200 years?? whose romance explicitly requires you, as the player, to respect that he doesn't want to be expected to have sex? like, wow! it is completely bananas to me, that halsin, as he is in game, just. exists alongside a character like astarion. I know they are written by different people, but I have to ask if halsin's writer even thought some of his writing through.... did he think that this wouldn't look bad? because it does look bad!

again, I like the halsin I envision in my head, the story that I would have written for him...but the way he is in game...the weakness of his entire character in comparison to just minutes of minthara's....he just would have been so much better as an NPC because he clearly wasn't added as a companion for the purpose of story. or, I don't know, he should have been written by someone other than the person who wrote the most bland origin, because the writer being the common denominator between the two least interesting companions suggests to me that it's partially an issue on his part. they also could have chosen a different NPC, that would have better suited the role of extra companion, instead of using halsin. like, if there was any NPC that should have been made a possible extra companion, like how minthara is, it's barcus. barcus has a clear, consistent, and well-written story that spans all three acts of the game. he has an important tie to the central narrative of the game by virtue of his association with the ironhand gnomes. just as minthy can be recruited after rescuing her from moonrise, barcus could have been recruited after you rescue wulbren from the moonrise towers' prison and wulbren is a huge asshole bastard to barcus when you get back to the last light. it would have made so, so much more sense than last minute shoehorning halsin into the companion role, just because EA players wanted to fuck him.

[ashacadence]

Baldur’s Gate 3

This is just my impression so far and why I’ve been not so active. Yes I like the game and having fun with it. Or at least to a degree. I can see the replay ability with it but I’ll get to that in a second.

The game in on itself is addicting. I get the itch and I just fall into that hypnotic grind of wanting to explore, look through stuff and bring the maps to life the more pockets and paths I find. It’s nice and there’s neat fights or really cool places to see. All very beautiful scenery. The environment stuff and the interactions of discovering hidden treasures or characters noticing something as filler info. Super cool. I’ll find myself just trying to look for hidden paths to navigate or spot something that catches my eye to go and look.

The fucking camera is annoying. Also the movement/pathing tracking or whatever can sometimes be it’s own worst enemy. I dunno if it’s better to play on the controller or not but I doubt it with how complex and easier it is to simply stick with mouse and keyboard. I just wish the camera pan and zoom was better instead of fighting it.

The characters in on themselves are entertaining and each are unique in their own special ways. Now, I’ve only been limited to the main three with mine but I’ll get to that in a sec. Lae’zel I’m still ehhhhhh on. I get why she’s prickly but oh boy she tests my patience some times. Also she hit on me at some point that had me sputtering and cackling.

I didn’t choose option 3. I chose 2. The screenshot had my mouse at that third one.

But y’all should have heard me laughing. Even if she was turned down she took it well but still with that confidence of “pssh you’re missing out.”

Girl…I’m trying to bang the vampire man okay. Maybe Halsin. Dunno yet. Haven’t gotten that far.

Shadowheart and I are good friends. She’s a little cinnamon roll but oh so blinded by her religion. Shadow babe hun you are so much more if you let yourself be more.

Astarion, I love his sass. We will either be best buds or friends with benefits or more. Don’t care. Happy to chat with him and have him around. His sass is great.

I would love to talk about more but here’s the thing. This is all the active people I have besides wyll who just doesn’t have enough for me to engage all that much with and I blame the writing for the game. He’s a very nice guy who’s in a bad situation but just doesn’t have that oomf for me personally just yet. Halsin I’m just now starting on his quest so I can get him in my party.

I missed my chance to get gale and karlach. This is where the start of my frustrations go where the game is unforgivable in making it obvious or segues on hey you should find this person like gale for one. Didn’t realize he was a random thing that’s seemingly dangerous and my instinct was oh let’s avoid this. Like come on. Karlach apparently was timed and I couldn’t get her after wyll gets his first punishment. Very unfair I thought. I been hearing karlach is an amazing character but nope. Won’t get that chance unless I restart back to wherever and/or replay the game entirely. BS

I’m trying to be vague as possible from spoiling and not giving too much big story info away so forgive me on the wyll part but that made me irritated. Because I wanted the whole deck of characters and be in on the know.

Also I think it’s BS of the game to only be four members when traveling. Should be 5-6 at least. Dunno if it’s just game coding and all that where that can be potentially be harder to process the different character AI and whatnot but man.

Extra members would be super helpful especially in big fights that are literally meant to beat the shit out of you. Some fights I had to redo two-four times. Some I had to weasel around and not just go in. Don’t care as this may be a subjective debate on how you play the game or how the game is but honestly it’s a bit counter intuitive. One of the big boss fights I won’t say I spent nearly three hours on. I was thinking omg am I even going to be able to continue because the game is that big of a jerk to players. I’m playing on balanced. Medium essentially or normal. Not that it matters but I also heard story teller or previous difficulty is not that much different either. There have been moments of progress I would make only to get knocked back an hour’s worth some times that makes me head desk. I try to save as often as I can.

But ya some of the fighting I just dread knowing it’s somehow going to be ass in some way because there’s hardly much of a means to prepare for everything unless you do. Then of course you retry with a different set up and the game may still be a absolute dick. It’s a matter of luck in a fight.

Like common sense at least to me hits with up close combat. Lot of the times my characters will miss on some swings that’s completely dumb in my book. You have this giant monster three feet in front of you and you miss a arc swing?? How?? I get that’s just how the spirit of dnd is but this is where computer vs tabletop comes into play on this scenario. It’s just how it’s coded and gotta live with it. Save a lot. Retry.

But ya some of the scenarios in or out of combat and just even the dice rolls will sometimes be absolute garbage on occasion. That’s just how it is on that too.

It’s a love hate with this game and there’s just some cases and things above like I wish the game was a bit more straightforward on like gathering more members and where and how to find them and time frames. Hell even one part in act one to do a certain something was on a time frame that I didn’t know about. So I’m just always anxious that everything is pretty much timed.

I do enjoy the game but I just have criticisms on it. I’m not hating on the game don’t raise pitchforks at me. It’s very entertaining and taking up my time because I’m fixated on it.