#crumbs for wyll so…

[jzargo]

i'm not totally familiar with sending in bug and feedback patches to larian but i am almost tempted to be like "encountered a bug where my tav who romanced wyll can't hug or kiss him in the epilogue :)" bcs. honestly. what the fuck is up with that. wyll is arguably the most huggable companion. man would love giving out hugs. why is larian denying wyll his hugs.

[godslittlesadge]

playing warlock got me having a toxic codependent relationship with eldricht blast

[swordmaid]

spoilers if you haven't gotten to durge's letters or journals yet (oh don't read past this if you haven't i really don't wanna spoil it for you) but aldjfjakkdjdkaka durge having a crisis of faith because they found gortash, their father's sworn enemy's chosen, so intriguing and alluring fucking GETS ME right in my star-crossed-lovers-but-evil heart

i saw that!!!! i played shri'iia as a dark urge run (bc im obsessed with her lmfao) but only up to act 2 so when i came across that letter i was like HOLD ON... orin's sibling is durge... this is durge's letter.... talking about gortash ........ asking for forgiveness because they LIKE him..... ??? insane. so fucking insane. these two are diabolical.

[friendly-wizard-bibliothecary]

In Regards to Wyll's Content Disparity

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

I don't think some people realize how it feels to be a black gamer in the context of Wyll's content disparity. Intentionally racist or not, the fact that he continues to be overlooked and disregarded by the Devs is really disheartening. As a black gamer (and please note I am speaking for myself and do not represent the wider black gaming community, don't read this as that) I feel just as overlooked and disregarded as Wyll currently is.

Wyll is a great character. I absolutely adore Wyll. But he feels under baked. And this sucks because you see a pattern in media where black characters (especially black female characters, but that's a conversation for a different day) aren't as fleshed out as white characters. They aren't given the same love and care as white or white coded characters and, therefore, the fandom doesn't reciprocate with love and care towards the black or black coded characters. So of course, this reads as people not caring about them, so the writers don't bother to fix them or give them more.

It is a vicious cycle that we see often where they make Wyll, butdon't put as much work into him, so the fandom doesn't like him as much, so they don't think they need to put more work into him. They put more love and care into the white/white-coded characters because that is what the predominantly white fandom wants.

But as they do that, the black fans and the fans that enjoy Wyll as a character are ignored. Their voices are drowned out by the majority and I cannot tell y'all how shitty of a feeling that is. As a black woman, I have constantly been talked over, ignored, had my ideas repeated by a white person and have them take the credit, etc. So seeing Wyll and Wyll fans being ignored, talked over, white counterparts getting the attention sucks.

I get enough of that shit in real life, I don't want to have to deal with that in all my fucking hobbies.

As a black gamer, this makes me feel as if I don't belong in this fandom. It makes me feel like the devs and the writers don't want me in this fandom. It makes me feel like I'm not welcome to play this game, that I'm not welcome to like this character over others, that I'm not able to bring my experiences as a black woman and a black gamer to this game because the main black character is treated like they don't matter. It makes me feel like the writers didn't want to put in the work for this black man and felt like no one would notice or care. That no one but black folks would mind and who cares what black folks are saying?

Again, this is all my opinion and its a bit rambly. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this that really is a culmination of various things involving being a blerd and black geek in predominantly white fandoms.

But I think it's important to recognize that people are impacted by this and it sucks for a lot of black folks in white dominant spaces to continue to have to fight for crumbs at the table during Black History Month in 2024. We should have good, fleshed out characters, that are respected and cared for by their creators and by the fandom at large. I really hope Larian puts in the work for Wyll and a lot more people can see how cool a character he really is. He deserves the same amount of love and care as the other origin companions.

[moonselune]

Bg3 companions and a reader who is ridiculously into them? like can't be around them without blushing, stuttering over words, etc.

Love your writing ♥️♥️♥️

ahhhhh thank you so much, this was a pleasure to write !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Breakfast in camp had become a small but daily ordeal. Sitting across from Karlach was as thrilling as it was nerve-wracking. She always looked so effortlessly radiant—her wide smile lighting up her face, her hair messy from sleep, and that laugh that came from deep within her chest. You, meanwhile, were a nervous mess, barely able to lift a spoon without fumbling it in her presence.

This morning, you were attempting to slice an apple while also trying to sneak glances at her, as usual. But, distracted as you were, you barely noticed when she caught you looking. She grinned, that flash of teeth making your heart skip about five beats.

“Hey, you want some?” she asked, holding out a plate piled high with a variety of fresh fruits. You stammered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“Uh—y-yes! I mean, no! I mean—” You fumbled for the right words, your voice a bit too loud in your panic. Karlach looked at you, mildly confused but amused.

“Alright then, you let me know if you change your mind,” she said, winking, before going back to her breakfast. The little wink nearly killed you on the spot, and you dropped your apple, which rolled dramatically across the table and plopped off the other side.

Wyll, sitting beside you, tried to hide a snicker behind his hand. He’d been noticing your flustered behavior around Karlach for days and had clearly reached his breaking point. As Karlach turned away, Wyll leaned in close to you, smirking.

“Oh, this is painful to watch,” he muttered, barely containing his laughter. “When are you going to do something about it?”

You gave him a quick, desperate glare, feeling the blood drain from your face.

“Do something?” you whispered, panic lacing your voice. “Wyll, I can’t even string a proper sentence together around her without sounding like a fool!”

Wyll rolled his eyes, still grinning.

“Trust me, I can see that,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “But if you keep this up, it’s going to get unbearable for both of us. You’re absolutely lovesick, and she’s completely oblivious.”

“Lovesick?” you whispered, trying to keep your voice low but also scandalized by the word. “That’s… that’s not…”

Wyll arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look that read, Really?

You sighed, knowing he was right. Every time Karlach entered the room, you either found an excuse to leave or wound up a blushing, stumbling mess. Just this morning, she’d brushed a crumb off your shoulder, and you had nearly collapsed on the spot.

Wyll laughed, patting you on the back a little harder than you would have liked. “Look, if you don’t do something soon, I will. Maybe I’ll tell her for you—‘oh, by the way, did you know you’ve got someone so smitten with you, they can’t even eat breakfast right?’”

Your eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow with challenge.

“Fine,” you whispered, heart racing at the thought of actually doing something about it. “What do I… say?”

Wyll shrugged, his expression softening a bit. “Just talk to her. Be honest. If there’s one thing Karlach respects, it’s bravery. And if there’s one thing she loves, it’s someone who cares as much as she does.”

But as you mulled it over, you looked across the table and saw Karlach laughing at something Astarion was saying, her eyes bright with amusement, her entire face aglow with the life and warmth she carried effortlessly. You swallowed, trying to imagine how you’d ever muster up the courage to tell her anything.

The rest of breakfast went by with your heart hammering and Wyll occasionally sending you smirking looks. You felt like you were on fire, thoughts racing as you considered his words.

Finally, as camp was beginning to break up and everyone was scattering to their daily tasks, you decided to follow Wyll’s advice. Taking a deep breath, you gathered every bit of courage you could find and made your way over to Karlach, who was busy folding up her bedroll. She looked up, surprised, as you approached.

“Oh, hey! Need something?” she asked, her grin warm as always.

You cleared your throat, feeling the words get caught. “I… um…”

Karlach tilted her head, watching you patiently. “Everything okay?”

And there it was, the opening. The chance to say something. Be brave, you reminded yourself. You took a deep breath and tried again.

“I just… wanted to say…” you stumbled, unable to look her in the eye. “I really… enjoy spending time with you.”

The corners of her mouth turned up in a soft smile, her eyes studying your face, but still, she seemed blissfully unaware. “Well, good! Same here! You’re a lot of fun, you know. Brave in your own way, even if a bit shy,” she teased lightly, giving your arm a light squeeze.

You couldn’t help but laugh nervously, feeling your cheeks burn. Maybe Wyll had a point—Karlach appreciated bravery, and here you were, looking like a fool again. But as her hand lingered just a moment longer on your arm, you felt a surge of determination. This was only the beginning.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

You’d found Minthara’s sword on the outskirts of camp that morning, half-buried beneath some tangled roots. It was unmistakably hers—dark metal with a wicked curve, and elegant engravings tracing the hilt. You’d only seen her use it from afar, but even then, there was something mesmerizing about the way she wielded it, about the way her gaze sharpened whenever she held a blade. You were already a bundle of nerves at the thought of returning it to her, and that only got worse the closer you got to her tent.

She was sharpening a dagger when you approached, her expression focused, so much so that for a moment, you thought about turning back. But then she noticed you, her eyes snapping up to meet yours with a glint of curiosity.

“You’re looking rather… tense.” Her eyebrow arched slightly as she took you in.

Your heart thudded painfully, and you swallowed, forcing yourself to hold up the sword without dropping it. “Uh, I… found this for you. Your sword, I mean. It was… um, outside camp, and I thought you might want it back?”

Her gaze softened, a small smirk playing on her lips as she reached for the sword, her fingers brushing against yours. You nearly jumped at the contact, face burning, feeling like you might explode from embarrassment. You tried to say something else, but the words came out as a strangled squeak, and you practically forced yourself to look at the ground to avoid those piercing eyes of hers.

“Hmm,” she murmured, glancing over the sword, and then back at you. “Thank you. It's… refreshing to see someone with a sense of respect.” She held your gaze for a moment longer, and then, with an amused nod, she went back to her sharpening.

You quickly walked away, all but stumbling as you escaped, only to find yourself practically nose-to-nose with Shadowheart, who looked far too amused.

"Gods above," she snorted, crossing her arms. "I've never seen someone turn so red while returning a weapon."

You stammered, looking anywhere but at her. "I was just… trying to be polite!"

"Polite? If that's your version of polite, then I’d hate to see you actually try flirting," she teased, unable to hide her grin.

“Oh, please,” you huffed, looking away and trying to calm the blush still heating your face. “It's just… I don’t know. I like her, alright? Even if she’s… well, she could probably kill me without a second thought.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. "Good to know you’re aware. And yet you still act like a lovesick fool around her, it's almost like you want her to kill you."

“I would die happy!” you blurted out, throwing your hands up. “Minthara could do anything she wants to me—absolutely anything at all—and I’d thank her. She could stomp me into the dirt, call me a fool, hex me, curse me, make my life a living hell, and I'd still probably thank her with my last breath!”

Shadowheart laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "You’re hopeless."

But you were too caught up in your rant. "I’d let her do anything—anything at all! She could make me fetch her supplies every morning, have me clean her sword every night, stand guard for her at dawn and dusk, and I’d still think it was the best thing to ever happen to me!”

"Ahem."

You froze, mid-rant, and turned slowly to find Minthara standing directly behind you. She looked deeply amused, one eyebrow raised, her eyes glittering with dark humor. Her smirk was even more wicked than usual, and her gaze held you captive as she stepped closer.

“Good to know,” she said, her voice smooth and cool, her smirk only growing. “I may have to test that loyalty sometime.”

She winked at you, and then, just as easily as she’d come, she turned and sauntered away, leaving you standing there completely speechless, your face redder than ever.

Shadowheart burst out laughing, clutching her side as she watched you sway in shock. “You really have a gift for making a fool of yourself, you know that?”

You sank to your knees, stunned, still processing that Minthara had heard every single word. Shadowheart’s laughter rang in your ears, but you were simply too dazed to care. Perhaps that death would come quicker than expected - if your own heart didn't give out first.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Every time Lae’zel looked your way, you felt like a live wire, a rush of heat filling your face. She seemed to command every space she entered, her presence sharp, unapologetic, and utterly captivating. But whenever you were around her, every sentence became a tangle of stammered nonsense, and all you could do was blush helplessly. Today was no different.

You were fumbling with your supplies near the fire when Lae’zel walked over, her gaze scrutinizing as always.

"You’ve been acting strange,” she declared, crossing her arms and eyeing you critically. “Weakness of any sort is unacceptable. Are you unwell?"

Her bluntness only made you more flustered, words tripping over each other as you tried to respond. "No, I… I mean, yes, but not in that way. I mean, I'm fine. Completely fine.”

Lae’zel’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced. “You are not fine. You stammer, you lose color and gain it again. See Halsin or Shadowheart—this weakness needs mending.”

Desperate to reassure her, you tried to explain further, but each attempt seemed to make it worse. “I’m not… it’s not that kind of weakness, I just—well, around you, I—uh…”

She fixed you with a glare, her frown deepening. "Enough. Your words make less sense with every second. Perhaps you’re more ill than you realize.”

Your cheeks burned as she turned sharply to fetch Halsin, all but barking his name across camp. He arrived quickly, taking in the scene with a look of amused understanding.

“She is in poor health,” she said, gesturing at you. “They are losing control over their words and show clear signs of a fever. You will attend to them.”

Halsin’s brows lifted slightly, and with a knowing look, he glanced from you to Lae’zel. He gave a slow, considering nod. “Yes, I believe I see the trouble. An ailment, certainly… though it appears to be more of the heart than of the body.”

Lae’zel scowled, gripping her weapon as if ready for battle. “Explain this ‘heart ailment.’ What creature has inflicted it upon them?”

Halsin chuckled softly. “They’ve been bitten by a lovebug, Lae’zel. That’s all.”

Lae'zel let out a string of sharp Gith curses, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "A lovebug. Where does it lurk, this creature? If it is preying upon our camp, I’ll hunt it down myself and crush it beneath my blade."

Her fierce determination, though absurd, only made your heart race more. Halsin stifled a laugh, giving you a sidelong look of utter amusement.

“I think you’ll find that hunting it will be… difficult,” he said, barely hiding his grin. “The lovebug often prefers stealth, hiding within feelings rather than form.”

“Feelings, a psychic offender,” she repeated, her brow creasing in thought. After a moment, she nodded decisively. “It is trickier prey, then. But I will find it nonetheless.”

And with that, she strode off, muttering to herself about unknown threats to the camp. As soon as she was out of earshot, Halsin let out a laugh, clapping you on the shoulder. “You know, I think you may have just made a miraculous recovery.”

You let out a groan, pressing a hand to your flushed face. “Do you think she’ll ever realize?”

“Not any time soon, I’d wager,” he chuckled. “But watching her hunt for a creature that doesn’t exist… that’s something we’ll all enjoy.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart’s approach had been so unassuming, yet it immediately set your heart racing. You’d been minding your own business by the campfire, trying not to glance her way too much, when she’d walked over, looking perfectly calm and utterly oblivious to the effect she had on you. She needed help with a spell—one that apparently you could explain better than anyone else at camp. You tried to play it cool, managing a quick, slightly-too-high “Sure!” and hoping your pulse wasn’t visibly hammering in your throat.

Standing beside her, you began explaining the spell, hands trembling ever so slightly as you demonstrated the incantation.

“So…uh…you’ll want to focus your energy here, at the core…” you muttered, gesturing to the focus stone. You held it out for her to see, only to have her fingers brush yours, sending a jolt through you that nearly made you drop the thing.

“Like this?” Shadowheart asked, her gaze flicking up to meet yours. Her dark eyes held that same thoughtful curiosity, and your voice caught in your throat. It was hard enough trying to form sentences with her this close, let alone explain a complex spell.

“Y-yes. Like that,” you managed, each word coming out slightly unsteady. “And, uh, then you just…channel it gently, but with intention.” She tilted her head, leaning closer, following along with perfect focus.

Meanwhile, just behind her, Karlach was all but dying, barely containing her laughter as she watched you fumble. Her amusement was clearly at your expense, and it took every ounce of willpower not to glare at her. Your attention drifted back to Shadowheart just as she turned her attention to the final gesture of the spell.

Her hand rested over yours for a second too long, her voice soft as she asked, “Does this look right?”

You nodded dumbly, your brain too overloaded to form a coherent reply, and somehow muttered, “It’s, uh…very…graceful.” Internally, you cringed. Graceful?

Shadowheart, apparently too engrossed in the spell to notice your red cheeks, gave a small, content nod. She released your hand, oblivious to the way you quickly hid your trembling fingers.

“Thank you,” she said with a rare smile, her voice calm and warm. “I think I understand it now.”

She turned to leave, casting one last glance over her shoulder, which made you feel simultaneously light-headed and weak in the knees. You stared after her, still processing, trying to shake off the ridiculous butterflies. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until she was already out of earshot.

The second she was gone, Karlach burst out laughing, dropping her head back in utter delight.

“Gods! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were spellbound yourself,” she teased, unable to wipe the grin off her face. “That was one of the best things I’ve ever seen. Hopeless,” she declared, shaking her head at you with a mischievous gleam.

Heat flooded your face all over again as you groaned, rubbing the back of your neck.

“I know, okay? It’s…utterly hopeless,” you admitted, voice thick with defeat. Before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed her mug of beer straight from her hand and downed it in a few quick gulps, hoping it would somehow wash away the mortification you felt. Setting the empty mug down, you sighed deeply. “She didn’t even notice anything.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re very, very wrong,” Karlach countered, her smile twisting into something sly and secretive. She crossed her arms, leaning in as if sharing a precious secret. “Because she was definitely checking you out while you were showing her that spell.”

You froze, turning slowly to look at her, heart skipping a beat.

“You’re joking,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper. There was a spark of hope, ridiculous but undeniable, blooming somewhere deep in your chest.

Karlach grinned wider, shaking her head. “Oh, no. She was stealing glances at you the entire time,” she said, sounding far too pleased with herself. “She’d peek up at you just when you weren’t looking, trying to act all serious, but she couldn’t quite pull it off. You might be as oblivious, but I’ve got eyes.” She winked, patting your shoulder in encouragement.

Your mind raced, playing the whole interaction back. You remembered how Shadowheart’s gaze had lingered, her voice soft, her questions coming slower, almost careful… Could Karlach really be right? Was it possible that Shadowheart had actually been…interested?

“Maybe there’s hope after all…” you mumbled, feeling that glimmer of excitement grow.

Karlach clapped you on the back with a laugh, nearly knocking the air out of you. “There you go! Just keep stuttering and blushing—seems to be working like a charm.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess I’ll just have to keep embarrassing myself, then,” you said, grinning despite yourself.

Karlach’s laughter echoed across the camp, but her eyes held a genuine warmth as she said, “Well at least it’s a start. You’ll get there.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira's gaze was focused, unrelenting as she adjusted your grip on the scimitar. Her hands, warm and confident, guided yours over the hilt, showing you the correct angle, the precise strength you should use. Every time her hand brushed yours, you felt your heart stammer. You hoped she didn’t notice your flushed cheeks or the way your breath caught every time she leaned closer.

“Here,” she said, her voice calm but commanding. She moved to your side, adjusting the angle of your stance with the barest brush of her hand along your back. “It’s not about brute force,” she murmured, her voice so close it felt like a whisper. “It’s about control, understanding where the balance lies in every movement.”

You nodded, barely able to find your voice, managing only a stuttered, “Y-yes, of course.” But you were far more focused on her proximity than any of her advice.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Astarion lounging a few paces away, arms crossed and a devilish grin spreading across his face. He had noticed, of course—there was no hiding it from his all-too-keen gaze. Before you could silently beg him to go easy on you, he stepped closer, feigning a helpful tone.

“Stick your rear out more,” he suggested, his voice laced with amusement. “Helps with balance. And I’m sure Jaheira would agree.” He flashed you a wicked grin, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Your face flamed, and you shot him a withering look.

“Thanks, Astarion,” you muttered under your breath, attempting to ignore him. But his smirk only widened, and he continued to watch, pleased with himself.

Jaheira, still adjusting your stance, gave you a quick nod, oblivious to your flustered state and Astarion’s antics.

“There you go,” she said, stepping back just enough to observe your form. “Much better.” She gave a satisfied nod and went on to demonstrate a quick series of strikes, her movements fluid and sure, each slash a picture of precision and elegance.

You could barely pay attention, completely distracted by the grace with which she wielded her weapon, the easy strength in her every move. As she looked back at you, catching you gawking, you fumbled to regain focus.

“Uh—yes! Right, like that!” you stammered, hurriedly attempting to mimic her motions.

Jaheira gave a small, amused smile before nodding approvingly. “Keep practicing that sequence. It’ll help build your control.”

As she left the clearing, giving you one last nod of encouragement, you could hardly breathe. You waited until she was out of sight before collapsing against Astarion, running a hand through your hair with a groan.

“I’m hopeless,” you muttered, shaking your head. “She probably thinks I’m a complete mess.”

“Oh, she definitely does,” Astarion said, his grin impossibly smug as he gave you a playful shove. “But she won’t have to wonder about it for long.”

You shot him a look, eyebrow raised in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

Astarion’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I may have left your journal in her tent. You know, the one with the little poems in the margins?” He waggled his eyebrows, feigning innocence.

Your eyes went wide, horror settling over you as you gaped at him.

“You didn’t,” you whispered, dread turning your stomach. The journal held every embarrassing thought, every scribbled confession, every starry-eyed rant about Jaheira that you hadn’t dared speak aloud.

“Oh, but I did.” Astarion’s voice was light, mocking even, but his eyes held a teasing warmth. “Look on the bright side. At least now she’ll know how much you ‘admire her scimitar technique.’ among other things..”

You shrieked in exasperation, though a traitorous part of you couldn’t help but feel the faintest spark of excitement at the idea. You shoved Astarion, who merely laughed, delighted with himself, as you stood there in helpless anticipation, wondering how you’d ever face Jaheira again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

Trying to stay composed around Gale was becoming increasingly impossible. You could barely string together a coherent sentence whenever he was nearby, your cheeks burning and your heart racing so loudly you were sure he could hear it. It had gotten to the point that, during one of his magic lessons, you’d accidentally projected a very vivid thought about kissing him far into the Weave—and while he hadn’t directly addressed it, you had felt your face go scarlet the moment it happened.

Yet, despite that blunder and all your clumsy attempts to communicate the depths of your affection, Gale remained completely oblivious. And this state of suspended longing, this fruitless crush, was starting to drive you mad.

After another awkward lesson with Gale where you stumbled over your words and blushed at the mere brush of his hand over yours, you found yourself venting to Minthara, though you knew her to be an unlikely confidante. Her eyes held little sympathy, her arms crossed as she gave you a hard, skeptical look.

“Just grab the wizard and use him for your pleasure,” she suggested bluntly, as if it were the obvious solution. Her gaze was sharp and impatient. “You’re a warrior, not a blubbering fool.”

You shook your head quickly, horrified. “No, no, it’s not like that! I don’t just want him in some shallow way.” You sighed, your heart feeling tight. “I want to… to adore him. To look after him. To treasure everything about him, every small thing, every story he tells and every spell he casts. I want to worship him like he deserves.” You leaned into your words, almost forgetting who you were talking to in the rapture of your lovesick confession. “I want to make him feel like he’s the most cherished person in the world.”

Minthara recoiled as if you’d offended her sensibilities with such sentimentality, looking visibly revolted by your romantic ramblings. Her lips curled in distaste.

“By the darkness, are you even listening to yourself?” She gave an exasperated huff, then, with a roll of her eyes, she called across the camp, her voice clear as a bell. “Wizard!” she yelled, her tone commanding and fierce. “They want to go on their knees for you—are you going to do something about it, or will I have to rip out their tongue to stop their endless lovesick whining?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and before you could process the horror, Gale turned, an expression of curiosity mixed with surprise crossing his face as he started to walk over. You immediately whacked Minthara on the arm, panic rising as you whispered, “What are you doing?!”

Minthara looked at you with a smug indifference, ignoring your frantic scolding as if she’d done you the greatest favor.

“A strange way to show your gratitude,” she remarked drily, “given how much assistance I just rendered.”

By then, Gale had reached you both, his brows lifted in confusion, a hint of pink on his cheeks.

“What’s all this about… someone going on their knees?” he asked, looking between you and Minthara, though his gaze lingered on you. His voice was gentle, though you could see the glimmer of curiosity—and something else—in his eyes.

You shot Minthara a glare, your face flaming, then took a steadying breath, turning to Gale.

“I—um,” you stammered, realizing there was no dignified way to explain this away. “I think… what Minthara was so eloquently trying to say is that I… might, uh, harbor feelings for you.” You paused, swallowing. “Quite a few of them, actually.”

Gale’s face softened, and a warm smile played at his lips, his hand reaching to touch yours with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice dipping low, “it’s wonderful to know I’m not the only one who’s felt that spark.”

Minthara turned away, clearly satisfied, muttering something about lesser beings and their foolish emotions, but you hardly noticed her departure as your heart beat out of your touch, your greatest fantasies finally coming true.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Dinner had been an ordeal. Astarion sat beside you, closer than usual, his presence a tangible, almost overwhelming warmth. Every time he reached for something or murmured a comment, you felt yourself freeze, stumbling over your responses, blushing so furiously you’d started to worry it was noticeable. You could barely bring yourself to eat, much less speak, and by the end of the meal, you were sure you’d only embarrassed yourself.

That might have been manageable if it ended there. But just hours later, as the party approached a fortress with heavy guards stationed at the gates, Astarion took the lead, slipping into his charming, roguish element. He approached the security with a smooth, confident swagger, flashing that insouciant smile of his, every word a practiced melody of flattery and wit. He left them captivated, helpless to deny him as he led the party in with ease, his charm so intoxicating it almost felt like magic.

And while the others chuckled at his skillful maneuvering, you felt an unexpected ache in your chest. Watching him sway them so effortlessly stirred a pang of jealousy you hadn’t expected. Did he even notice the way you pined for him? The way every stray touch or knowing look from him seemed to linger long after he’d moved on?

Caught in your thoughts, you didn’t realize Gale was watching you with a raised brow. He leaned over, studying your expression with mild amusement and maybe a bit of pity.

“You look,” he began in a soft murmur, “like someone just killed a displacer kitten right in front of you.”

Startled, you forced a tight smile, trying to wave him off. “It’s nothing, Gale.”

“Nothing?” He crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Please, you’ve been fawning over Astarion for ages now, your heart practically on display.”

There was a pause as you grappled with the admission, your face heating up, but at last, the dam broke, and you began to pour out your feelings in a quiet, hushed ramble.

“It’s just… my heart beats for him, Gale. Every time he speaks, I hang on his every word. I want nothing more than to just reach over, brush his hair back, and listen to him talk about all his little grievances—his so-called ‘inconveniences,’ his charms, all of it.”

Gale nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment. And then his lips curled into a wry smile as he leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, I suppose your dilemma is solved, then.”

Confused, you blinked, feeling a twist of dread. “What do you mean?”

“Oh,” he said, chuckling, “just that you happened to be projecting that over the tadpole connection. Quite eloquently, I might add. The entire party heard every word by my predictions.”

You froze, horror dawning as you processed what Gale had just said. Every word, you realized, echoing faintly through the magical thread you shared. You dared a glance at the others, only to see Karlach giving you an encouraging thumbs-up and Shadowheart hiding a smirk behind her hand.

Then, to your ultimate mortification, Astarion strolled past, pausing just long enough to catch your eye. A sly grin played on his lips as he gave you a long, lingering look, his gaze glinting with amusement.

“Not to worry, darling,” he murmured, a teasing warmth in his voice, “I have plenty of inconveniences—and a few conveniences—to tell you all about. Shall we start tonight?”

His words sent a rush of heat up your spine, leaving you speechless as he gave a little wave, disappearing down the hallway. Gale patted your shoulder with a grin.

“See?” he said cheerfully. “All handled.”

You were left rooted to the spot, barely able to breathe, knowing that somehow you’d been caught, exposed—and that Astarion was, indeed, fully aware of the fact that your heart belonged to him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll’s presence seemed to have a gravitational pull all its own. Every time he smiled at you, every chivalrous gesture—offering his hand to help you up a steep path, or casually brushing a stray lock of hair out of your face—felt like a dream. A warmth filled your chest, so intense you could hardly look him in the eye, your words dissolving into stammered half-thoughts that trailed into silence. Each interaction left you breathless, embarrassed, and wondering if maybe, just maybe, he noticed how flustered he made you.

Training, however, was another story. Lae’zel was as intense as ever, barely giving you time to catch your breath between strikes. She was quick, sharp, and relentless, and it would have been more manageable—if you could actually focus. But each time she demanded your attention, your eyes kept wandering back to Wyll, who was a few feet away, talking to Shadowheart as he polished his sword. The way he moved, the way he spoke, that disarmingly warm smile…

It was only a matter of time before Lae'zel had enough.

She stepped back, arms crossed, leveling you with a look that could freeze lava.

“You’re distracted. Useless,” she declared, throwing down her sword with an exasperated sigh. “You pine like a hatchling, and it disrupts our sparring.”

You flushed, scrambling to come up with an excuse, but Lae’zel was already stomping off toward Wyll. You moved to intercept her, knowing she was the absolute last person who should reveal any of this. “Wait—Lae’zel, don’t!”

Lae’zel ignored you, her voice booming as she closed in on a bewildered Wyll.

“You,” she pointed at him, “this one wants to share their body with you.”

Wyll blinked, his eyes widening as he looked between you and Lae’zel, clearly trying to make sense of what she’d just said.

“I—what?” He looked at you, a blush rising to his cheeks as he fumbled for words. “I mean, I didn’t—wasn’t aware—”

Mortified, you didn’t think, you just acted, flinging yourself at Lae’zel with a force you hadn’t known you possessed. You tackled her to the ground, landing with a clumsy thud, and slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Not…what I meant!” you stammered, trying to laugh it off to Wyll, who was still looking down at the both of you in complete bafflement. “What she means is—uh, we’re just, um, sparring partners! She’s…dramatic.”

Lae’zel raised an eyebrow, and with her typical stoicism, she bit down—hard—on the hand you’d used to cover her mouth. You yelped, jerking your hand back, and Lae’zel smirked, a silent satisfaction in her gaze as she sat up, looking entirely unapologetic.

Wyll was still staring, one eyebrow raised, lips quirking slightly in what looked like a restrained grin.

“I’m… not entirely sure I understand what’s going on here,” he said, his eyes bright with amusement. “But whatever it is, I’m flattered.”

You scrambled to your feet, rubbing your bitten hand, and tried to put together a coherent explanation, but every time you met his gaze, words seemed to fail you.

“Well… right,” you mumbled, feeling heat rise to your face as you threw a quick glare at Lae’zel, who simply shrugged, as if completely innocent of any wrongdoing.

Wyll’s expression softened as he watched you struggle to speak, and he smiled gently.

“It’s alright,” he said, stepping closer. “I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you and Lae'zel.”

That simple gesture—his kindness, the warmth in his voice—made you feel as if you’d forgotten how to breathe. You managed a nod, barely holding onto your composure, while he looked at you with that disarming sincerity that always left you reeling.

Lae’zel, watching the exchange with an air of smug victory, dusted herself off. “There. See? Problem solved. Now maybe you’ll stop sparring like a weakling.”

You shot her a glare, but Wyll chuckled softly, meeting your eyes with a spark of curiosity.

“If you ever want to train together,” he said, his voice low and warm, “you need only ask.”

And with that, he gave you a wink, leaving you in a breathless, heart-pounding daze as he walked back to his gear.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Every time you were around Halsin, it was like the ground slipped out from beneath you. His voice, that low, warm rumble, made your heart pound, and every casual touch seemed to ignite sparks across your skin. He was utterly unaware, of course; his gentle smiles and steady hands never betrayed a hint of understanding that he sent you reeling. You were sure that was the only reason you hadn’t completely given yourself away.

So when you returned to camp with an injury—a jagged cut on your arm from a goblin's arrow—you hoped it might go unnoticed. Shadowheart was busy, deep in her meditation as she restored her energy, and you thought you could handle the wound alone. But Jaheira spotted the blood trailing down your arm almost immediately. She arched a brow, her eyes flashing with a mix of annoyance and amusement as she approached.

“Let’s have a look,” she said, but as she examined your arm, she shook her head with a soft sigh. “This needs a proper healer. Come on.”

Before you could protest, she’d already begun steering you toward Halsin’s corner of camp. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and a familiar warmth crept up your face. “Jaheira, no, really, I’m fine. It’s not even that deep. You could probably just—”

“Are you afraid of a little attention from the First Druid?” she teased, smirking as you stammered. “If you’re so sure you can handle it alone, why is your face turning as red as a blood hawk?”

You barely managed a protest before she’d called out to Halsin, who looked up from his work, his eyes sharpening with concern the moment he saw the blood seeping through your sleeve.

“Come here,” he said, his voice a blend of calm authority and quiet worry. He rose to meet you, his eyes never leaving the wound as he reached out, guiding you to sit down on a low stool beside him. His hands were warm, gentle but firm, and you felt heat flush up your neck and into your cheeks as he examined the wound.

Jaheira, leaning against a tent post with her arms crossed, watched the scene unfold with an amused glint in her eyes, a smile curving her lips as you struggled to steady your breathing. But Halsin didn’t notice; his focus was fully on your arm, his brow furrowed with concentration as his fingers brushed softly along the edges of the wound, checking its depth.

“It isn’t too deep,” he murmured in his gentle, rumbling voice. “But we don’t want to risk infection. I’ll clean it and make a poultice to help it heal.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the feeling of his hands—steady, reassuring, and just a little too close—sent your mind reeling. “Y-yes, of course. Whatever you think is best.”

Halsin gave you a soft smile, the kind that seemed to reach into your chest and make your heart skip.

“Are you feeling alright otherwise? You look a bit flushed.” His eyes studied your face, brow creased in genuine concern. “Are you feverish?”

You blinked, thrown off by the question, and felt your face grow impossibly hotter. “No! No, not at all. I’m… I’m perfectly fine. Really. Just, um… It’s just… the wound.”

Jaheira couldn’t contain her amusement any longer; she snorted softly and rolled her eyes, muttering, “It’s certainly not the wound that has you blushing.”

You shot her a quick, desperate glare, but she only smirked, clearly enjoying your struggle.

“A shame that our healer here clearly can’t see that particular ailment,” she added, just loud enough for you to hear.

Halsin looked between you and Jaheira, a slight confusion flickering in his eyes before he turned back to you with a gentle, almost affectionate smile. “Well, you should rest nonetheless. Even a small wound can bring on a fever if not treated with care.”

He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his thumb tracing light circles just above your collarbone as if to soothe you. It was a simple, instinctive gesture, but it sent a wave of warmth through you, and you fought the urge to lean into his touch, to linger in the quiet strength he offered.

“Let me just…” His voice was soft, his attention focused on preparing the poultice as he worked with deft hands. But every so often, he’d glance up, catching your gaze with that calm, reassuring smile that made your heart race all over again.

Beside you, Jaheira leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He truly has no idea, does he?”

You felt a flicker of panic, but there was no use hiding it now. You muttered, barely audible, “Not the faintest clue.”

She chuckled, shaking her head with a mix of sympathy and sarcasm. “To be fair, you’re not making it particularly obvious.”

Before you could retort, Halsin returned with the poultice, carefully applying it to your wound with practiced gentleness. The sensation of his fingers brushing against your skin, his hands steady and warm, sent another wave of nervous energy through you. He worked in silence for a moment, his gaze focused, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

“There,” he said softly, finishing the bandage. “That should hold for now. And I’ll make more of the poultice tonight to ensure it heals properly.”

You managed a shaky nod, trying to form words but only managing a faint, “Th-thank you.”

Halsin’s smile deepened, and he placed a final, reassuring hand on your arm. “It’s my pleasure to help. But if you do start feeling feverish, promise you’ll come to me immediately.”

“Yes. Of course,” you stammered, hardly able to meet his gaze. Jaheira watched you, her smile widening as she shook her head in mock exasperation.

“I think it’s safe to say you’re sick with something,” she muttered, just loud enough for Halsin to hear.

Halsin’s brow furrowed in mild concern, and he tilted his head toward her, curious. “Sick with what, precisely?”

You shot Jaheira a desperate look, but she only shrugged, that teasing glint in her eye.

“Nothing a nice cold dip in the river can't fix.,” she said, her voice laced with amusement as she turned to walk away, leaving you to face Halsin’s warm, questioning gaze.

“If you’re certain you’re well…” he said, his thumb brushing lightly along your hand in a final gesture of reassurance before he let go. “But do take it easy tonight. I’ll check in on you later, just to be sure.”

As he stood and walked away, you sat there, still reeling, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin. You wanted to stay in that moment forever. Perhaps during his check in later, you would actually do something about it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was actually so cute to write aha, I hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

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

Check out my redbubble shop here !

[avocado-writing]

May I ask for a companions x Tav headcanons list were Tav loves to cook and see's it as a way to people's hearts?

Astarion

Obviously is sad he cannot partake more, as he sees how much effort and love you put into your cooking.

You make an effort to make richly-flavoured blood dishes he might enjoy, just for him! But everyone thinks it’s just a tad bit morbid (and he agrees) so won’t ask you to go out of your way for him.

“Besides darling, I prefer to sample straight from the source…”

One night you’ve just pressed some parsley leaves to your neck for flavouring for him. He laughs so hard he cries. This is the first time he realises he loves you.

Gale

Oh, the camp’s resident cook is delighted to have a sous-chef!

And then he realises oops, no, he is the sous-chef. At which point he’s just happy to sit and watch you work your magic.

Happy to make dinner in order to pull his weight in the group, but he’s entranced watching you do it, too. You’re a wizard with some knives and a saucepan.

He can feel the love you put into every bite. Always makes sure to go out of his way to compliment you, and loves the way you smile in return ❤️

Wyll

After spending so much time on the road, he’s so happy to be in the presence of a good cook.

With every bite will discuss the flavour palate of your dish, talking about what herbs he can taste, letting you know he appreciates your effort.

He’s not a brilliant chef himself but would love for you to teach him!

In return he saves up to buy you fancy chocolates from the best chocolatier in Baldur’s Gate. It’s the least you deserve, and the way you light up makes his heart beat fast.

Karlach

Whatever you make, she loves.

“Pasta? My favourite! Oh my god, we’re having steak? I love it! Rice tonight? Right on!!”

She doesn’t have a favourite food. Dishes in Avernus were not wide in range, so she’s just happy to eat some different meals for once.

You give her seconds and thirds and she eats them up, going on and on about what a good cook you are.

“You’re so amazing at this! I love you!”

Good thing she’s too engrossed in her food to notice how flustered you are…

Lae’zel

Reluctant to eat anything at first.

“I do not want your istik food. I shall provide for myself.”

But after a few days of smelling how good the food is that you cook, she gives in… still trying to pretend it’s beneath her.

You serve her a small portion to start with, then watch her eyes widen as she realises how delicious it tastes.

She is too proud to ask for more - and you’d not have her any other way - but you make sure to serve her big portions from then on. Her bowl is always scraped clean.

Shadowheart

Isn’t too sure on your cooking at first - she’s used to bland, tasteless meals at the temple - but quickly comes around.

The longer you’re together and the closer you become, the more she opens up about her favourite flavours. Eventually she starts making requests.

“There’s this sort of cake I vaguely remember… if I can get you the honey, could you make it for me?”

Of course you can. You sit down and share it, watching her eyes roll back in delight, the way she licks the crumbs off of her fingers. The two of you are enamoured with each other, but you still fight over the last slice.

[fllagellant]

Sometimes I cannot tell if you guys want villains who do not want to be redeemed or not bc we get gortash and everyone trips over themselves to make this version of him that is absolved from his actions and he’ s changed … Anyways another day another time Wyll gets put to the back burner with crumbs of content yet everyone huddles around like “ OMG THANK YOU LARIAN … oh yeah sorry about Wyll : ((( “

You guys get you are a part of the problem right . You are letting Larian know they can get away with being racist as long as they feed fandom and whatever . Instead of actual quality of life updates and patching in content that would Actually help the game run better and feel finished , they just bloat the game and let companions go untouched with minimal content while playing into whatever the loudest voices in fandom demand the most .

The studio account should not be interacting with fandom so often . This blur between creators and fans is bad ! This leads to fans blindly defending and protecting a Game Studio that they have no connection to because haha larian mad a funny reply . And this also causes a feeling of ownership that should not be there ! You do not own a piece of bg3 and you should not be dictating it ! This is different from criticism btw . Just so we are Clear . Larian deserves and needs criticism .

It is super telling that they voices they are choosing to listen to are not voices that actually care about the game at its story . If they were , we would not have Zero Story for the Son of the Duke of Baldur’ s Gate and yet we have so much for a character that isn’ t actually tied into any major story beat ! We have no more for the character directly tied to Gortash with a prototype of the Steel Watch in her chest , but we can take a side character a few people wanted to bang and speed to have him included ad a full companion ! Instead of Dark Urge getting more content with Orin , Savrok and anyone else that had a tie to Bhaal , they get their relationship with a guy unrelated to all that be made to be read more and more explicitly romantic when that is just ruining the character !

Wyll should have a proper sex scene . He should have a romanced greeting that changes after the proposal . He should have more personal story content . He should have scenes of him in Baldur’ s Gate . The Emperor reveal as Balduran should not have been the main focus of HIS FINAL STORY QUEST . He should have hug and kiss options in the epilogue . People should comment on the engagement ! He should have all of this !! AND MORE FRANKLY .

But because everyone is so quick to forgive Larian , they’ ll never feel pressured to add any of this . They’ ll never feel like they’ ll loose players if they don’ t . Because you guys don’ t actually care . No , I am not saying thank you to larian for not giving me anything I have been asking for and sending feedback on for months . I am not thanking larian for choosing to bend over backwards to random big name fandom people who are racist and just want to fuck the pale guys again and again .

Larian Studio is not your fucking friend, stop acting like they are .

[demigoddessqueens]

Can I request rose quartz (love) - "i have so much love for you.” from crystal prompts ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🐚 ꒱ list with Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Astarion, Raphael, Rolan, and Zevlor reacting to his gn s/o telling him this please?

-CV-Non

Awww this is so sweet!!

a/n - if anyone else wants to send in prompt asks, the list is here

Masterlist 12

Rolan

He’s speechless to what you have to say. The tiefling always thought himself useful as long as he protected Cal and Lia, so for such a selfless love from you is wholly unfamiliar but freshly cherished from you

Gale

It’s ridiculous that you think your heart outmatches him. Even if you were to say so a thousand times, he always shows you how deep his love runs

Wyll

Young and carelessly in love, Wyll parrots back your words as he pulls you into him with a tight hug and passionate kiss. Just holding you a little longer makes the day better

Raphael

It seems nearly impossible to find a crumb of love in the Hells but this Devil struck a rare deal when he found you. Anything good or loving is not in his best nature but he learns it all with you. Asking you to repeat it again to know his worth.

Astarion

Love is not a familiar feeling to the vampire. Self loathing, paranoia, pain and everything bad WEARS him as a skin when he wandered through life. To hear you say such a thing makes him think you’re pulling a trick before you say it again while kissing him

Halsin

You don’t have to tell him twice as he pulls you in for a kiss just as you finish.

“And I feel twice as much for you.”

Zevlor

He has those warmed cheeks, shy smile, and bashfully averts his eyes as you tell him. Hides his face the curve of your shoulders as you say it again, closer to him this time.

[scielson]

i’m so tired of the argument "well, larian isn’t fixing wyll or adding content for him because he’s boring and not a fan favorite anyway." like, let’s actually use our brains for a second. why isn’t he a fan favorite? because he’s "boring"? and why’s he boring? because he’s missing a ton of content. i had him in my party the entire playthrough of my karlach romance (in my head they became besties, which is literally the only reason why him going to avernus with her even makes sense), and he’s from baldur’s gate, he’s the son of the duke. he’s directly tied to the main story more than any other companion and STILL he barely has anything to say about anything. on top of that, the game forces us as the player to make the most improbable, personal decisions for him. and before anyone comes for me with "well, it’s the same for other companions" — no, it’s not. with others, you can support their choices, but you don’t straight up decide their fate for them. why the hell are we the ones choosing whether wyll saves his own father or not? it makes no sense. that’s such a deeply personal decision that he should be making.

anyway, point is, he’s not a fan favorite because larian made him "boring". he has the least dialogue of anyone, and it’s 100% their fault. and the second we ask for even the tiniest wyll crumbs, hell, even just bug fixes, they act like he doesn’t exist. it’s honestly so frustrating.

[raisetc]

a lot of bg3 fans say "wyll doesn't need more content, he's boring!" as if that isn't the exact reason he needs more content 😭 i don't think larian needs to rewrite the whole game around him but is it so much to ask that he gets more than crumbs from both the creators and the fandom? :(

[sorcerous-caress]

Heyyy!! Could I request the companions taking care of a new baby + a toddler while their partner recovers?

Taking care of the kids while you recover

[Fluff, marriage, raising kids, nb!reader]

[Astarion, Wyll, Gale]

I'm not feeling the best rn so I did just three, i hope you enjoy anon.

Astarion

Seeing that this is your second baby together, he feels less out of his element now. He is more confident in his ability to care for this little bundle of joy with pointy ears cradled in his arms.

He almost doesn't recognise his own self these days. When did his sharp edges grow so soft? When did he become so tender, and when did his eyes become so round and happy?

When you proposed to him that day in the underdark, when you presented him with a modest ring that made him go speechless. He has seen many more glamorous ones, much more expensive ones, but somehow, this simple band with the most precious gem completely took his breath away.

That's how he ended here on this cozy couch with a silver haired toddler running around enthusiastically. Astarion calls them over to gently wipe some crumbs from their face, looking at their innocent adoring eyes.

They had your eyes, he couldn't help but squeeze their adorable cheeks and give them a kiss on the forehead like any dotting father would.

Him, a doting parent? That idea would've made him choke with laughter some years ago.

The ring glimers on his finger as he holds the newborn baby closer to his chest, humming a soothing melody in elvish for his second child. The first stared at him from the side with a pout.

His child was so obvious with their emotions that Astarion couldn't help but chuckle, "Jealously isn't a good look darling, come here." With that, he had another kid cuddling up to him and demanding a lullaby too.

Astarion obliged, relieved that his presence seemed enough for his children at the moment while you were recovering. Part of him was anxious about what if they only wanted you? What if they weren't as attached to him as he thought?

He was never happier to be proven wrong in his life.

Wyll

The sun shines brightly through the thin white curtains in the kitchen. Wyll is mixing together a baby formula on the counter, measuring the right amount on the spoon as he scoops away the extra powder from the top.

Adding the powder into the baby bottle, he gently shakes the warm bottle. The sound of light footsteps approach him in a failed attempt of stealth as a toy wooden sword is pressed against the back of his legs.

"Surrender!" A high voice calls from behind him, his very own kid with determination in their eyes as they press the dull edge of the sword more against Wyll's pants.

"Oh noble hero, may I know what crime am i being accused of before I surrender?" Wyll plays along, a smile painting his lips.

"The crime of!!" His child starts with confidence, "of...." trailing into uncertainty as their grip on the sword falters.

Wyll is patient as he lets them have the time to gather their thought. cleaning and wiping the counter down.

"Of not giving me food!"

"Didn't you just eat your breakfast after stealing my breakfast?" Wyll scooped up his child up in his arm, holding him with one hand while carrying the bottle with the other. His kid kicked their feet in the air as they dropped the wooden sword.

"But dad!! That was hours ago, I'm hungry."

"I clearly recall it being minutes ago."

Moving to the living room where his youngest laid peacefully sleeping in their small rocking bed, Wyll let go of his hold just as he sat on the couch.

Climbing into his lap, the most adorable brown puppy eyes looked up at him. "I want pancakes please" stretching on the end of the word, his kid whined.

With a defeated smile, Wyll agreed to it. Knowing you'd scold him for spoiling the kids too much if you were here right now, still he was weak against them. Somehow, his own kids were more persuasive than any devil this warlock has ever encountered before.

Gale

"There you go, all dry and clean" he said as he started to put on the baby bear onesie back on the giggling infant in front of him, their small hands gripping on Gale's beard with surprising strength as he zipped them up.

Yet the discomfort barely mattered to the wizard, he happily let them play with his face as he admired how adorable they looked in the fluffy animal custom. Smiling and giving their belly a soft kiss to make them laugh even louder.

The loud crash from outside the room barely phased him either as he kept coddling the infant, calling them endearing names and cradling them in his arms. "Papa's here, no need to fret."

"MR.DEKARIOS!" Tara's screech followed shortly after, "your presence is required immediately!"

Still too busy entranced by how adorable his child was, Gale took slow steps out of the room, contouring harmless light tricks to impress his youngest.

The sight that met him was one that would've probably given his younger self a heart attack no doubt, the countless torn pages of books thrown around the floor, the spilled ink and the crumbled magical scrolls.

But as the years went by, he found himself mellowing out much more. Very few things phased him by now, especially with how ironic life tended to be. The fates must be snickering right now. to give him a kid with wild magic in their veins, brimming with sorcery from such a young age.

You usually kept them in line, Gale was too guilty of being an enbaler as you've put it. It's not his fault he thought his kid was the coolest person in all the realms.

"Books are for losers!" Ah, there they stood, his own flesh and blood. Amidst the chaos of papers and magic, a potted plant.

A talking potted plant.

"Did your magic surge again?" Gale could only feel amusement as he leaned down to pick up his child, making sure to hold it far away from his other child so they don't nibble on the leaves of their sibling.

It seemed like both his cat and his child prefered to continue their argument. "Why, I have never heard such nonsense before! Mr.Dekarios, would you please get your spawn in line." Tara, his beloved elegant tressym, was flying around him in an attempt to smack the plant with her soft paws.

With a giggling wobbling infant on his right arm and a potted plant polymorphed kid on his left, Gale effortlessly casted the necessary incantations to reverse the polymorph while avoiding Tara's claws.

A poof of sparkling light filled the room as a full toddler replaced the potted plant, Tara blinded by the light, crashed into them and they all stumbled down onto stacks of torn papers.

The three of them buried under the pile, only the fluffy bear onsie wearing emerged unharmed on top.

[ansburg]

not to soapbox but like. diasporic asians growing up the in the west were constantly told we were uncool, ugly, unfit for leading roles, and just so generally other that many of us still struggle with that self-hatred and deal with the material discrimination that comes with looking "different" from the default. so many diasporic asians have stories about how our creative accomplishments or potential were discounted because we were told we didn’t have enough “personality” – a judgment call that can’t be divorced from how racial triangulation has worked to alienate asian people from dominant cultures in the diaspora.

you know how asian people have been treated by western fantasy? we’re either

ugly and monstrous

exotified beyond recognition

or we don’t exist.

(thanks david. it’s not like thedas is the only continent the player can explore or anything. or that boats exist. where does solas get his tea btw? where do the silks in orlais originate from? why are there always asian aesthetics present without asian faces?)

when a game like bg3 comes along and the studio makes a decision to make an asian companion, it’s huge for us. that’s our crumb of representation. karlach is very obviously not “eurocentric” in her features – if anything, westernized beauty standards would have her face redone to comply with market demands.

she has monolids. she has a flat nose bridge. her cheeks are full and round, buccal fat very much in attendance. whatever she may have arguably been in previous patches, that is not what she is now. and pretending like her face – a face that, newsflash, asian people can relate to – is just a toy you can pop features out of because they don’t have enough “personality” to you, or because they’re too “soft," or because you don’t think a face like hers is “warrior-like” (whatever the fuck that means), is insensitive at best and willfully ignorant at worst. her asianness isn’t a setting to opt out of any more than wyll’s blackness is.

lastly, i’m exhausted that it even needs to be said, but being a person of color does not absolve somebody of intercommunity harm. minority status isn’t an excuse to get out of self-reflecting. it’s okay to step back and say, “wow, i didn’t think about how i’d affect members of this community,” without digging your heels in like one mistake on the internet is an extinction-level event.

studies:

[xxnashiraxx]

Snippet Sunday

Hi! It's almost 2 am for me, so it's Sunday enough! Considering your post yesterday a tag, @khywren 🫶 (and my, what a lovely, sad, incredible crumb that was)

I have been working all day, and I'm pleased to say that the first draft of Chapter 17 is complete. Phew. 10.6k. That's the longest any chapter has been so far, but I figure after the last chapter and the hiatus, you all deserve a lengthy one. Now, I'm not sure it'll be the most enjoyable ride, but it'll be a ride nonetheless!

Dregs of consciousness stir her pain-addled mind- light seeping through spidering blood vessels. Her ears ring until a voice, once sweet, pierces through the haze and slowly drags her back into glaring wakefulness. “Honestly, a goddamn liability is what she is. Always having to jump in at the knick of time and save her- she’s lucky we all made it out of that alive.” “Oh, like you can talk? Who just had to use the rest of her magic to heal you back up? Me,” “Least I didn’t lie there through the entire battle, napping away in the afternoon sun while poor Wyll shielded her from attack.” “Don’t pretend like you suddenly care about my well-being just to make a point, Astarion,” “Oh, but you admit there is a point! We should have left her back in camp for all the good she’s done today. A pack mule would have accomplished the same, and talked just as much.” “You are out of line-” The pounding in Ofelia’s head rushes in to cut off her hearing as she finally remembers what happened, flying to her feet with her hands out in front of her. Her eyes are watering and leaking at the corners, blood in her mouth and coating all of her in a heavy, sticky fluid that coagulates beneath the heat of the sun. It takes a second for her surroundings to come back into focus, all of them blinking at her in surprise. She gets one ragged breath in before the world tilts and she’s rushing to the side of the path that overlooks a ravine to spill the contents of her stomach off the side.

No pressure tagging- feel free to ignore since this is close to the other one I posted!

@pinkberrytea @caffeinatedmunchkin @verbenaa @inkymoonbunny @badbloodwitch @justabiteofspite @ladyduellist @elinorbard @preciouslittlebhaalbae @lanafofana @roguishcat @busy-baker @bardic-inspo @kalmiaphlox @bludazey @bloodinwine @coyote-mint @nerdalmighty @andromedaancunin @nyx-knox

Ty for coming!

[invinciblerodent]

Breakfast in Bed Headcanons

(because why not)

Karlach-

Everything is burnt. To absolute cinders. You cannot reliably tell the difference between the toast and the eggs- not by appearance, taste, or level of crunch. (Well. From the shape, you're fairly sure the leftmost lump of charcoal was once a piece of bread. But you can't really be certain.) But, seeing how she's squirming- or better said, all but bouncing in her seat beside you in nervous excitement, her face split in two by the broadest grin and lit up with love and the sheer joy of finally being able to perform this little act of simple domesticity with you, it's still the best damn meal you've had in your entire life, and you dutifully eat every last crumb.

You don't know how she even achieved this smokey taste in your coffee. But it does taste like her kiss, and you're very happy and eager to compare the two. At length.

Gale-

For him, it's as much an act of love as it is a presentation, a showcase of not only his boundless affection, but also just one of his many skills, and it is -fittingly- flawless. Presented to you on a gorgeous platter is an aesthetically stunning, and downright sinfully indulgent comfort meal, incorporating every single one of your favorite things.

There is also not one vegetable in sight. You can't not eat every last crumb, all but moaning in pleasure at every bite, but it's so heavy and so much that you legitimately want to go straight back to bed afterwards. Good thing that he's beyond happy to join you- both in feeding each other little morsels between kisses, and in spending the next few hours entangled as much in each other as in the blissful languor.

Astarion-

The very thought that it even occurred to him to do this for you is enough to have you all but overcome with emotion. His results are middling at best (oversalted yet underseasoned, somehow slightly burnt and undercooked at the same time- of course, he can't bloody well taste what he's doing), but... not only has he not done this before, but hadn't needed to even think about feeding someone, or actual food in general in over two centuries. The mere fact that everything is at least edible shows that cooking for you is something for which he prepared, something he put infinite care into, and you find yourself having to stop every couple of bites to cradle his face in your hands and pull him in for a kiss, just so you don't start crying straight into your eggs.

He's not pleased with himself (it's a skill at which he's not only not immediately excellent, but also not naturally talented, of course he's unsatisfied) and grumbles a bit about how your reaction is exaggerated, but his big, fanged grin (and playful, teeth-clicking request for his own breakfast) is sweet enough to make up even for the salty dessert.

Lae'zel-

She's... a bit confused on the spirit of a Faerunian breakfast. Which is understandable, Githyanki cuisine is remarkably different from almost everything you can get here- but like in everything she does, she has got the capital letter Spirit and does her absolute best, so she sternly presents you with.... quite a spread. Her skill with the blade -the skill in which she's most confident- is taking center stage in a beautiful display of fruit and veggies with the (nosehair-singingly spicy) Githyanki spread she made, and it's delicious, refreshing, and yeah, she's right, sure to wake you up faster than even caffeine spurted straight into your veins would. But the best part is that from her tired eyes and barely perceptible fidgeting, you can tell she's been up at least an hour, fretting and preparing for this moment.

The pride blooming in her chest at your grateful praise also colors her cheeks a pretty coral pink. That too is the best part. As is waking up to her touch. Really, all parts of the this slow, soft, sweet day with her are the best part.

Wyll-

Wyll is prone to downplaying his skill in the kitchen, but despite what he'd tell anyone who asked, he is fairly competent at a very specific style of cooking. His absolute wheelhouse is comforting, homely meals, prepared from cheap and widely available ingredients that hark back both to his childhood in the lower echelons of Bladur's Gate, and feeding himself however he could in his years in exile. So naturally, the honey-sweet porrige and fresh fruit that he sets down in front of you may be simple, but it is dripping with his love, and presented with a bashfully charming smile, a theatrical bow, and artful poesy comparing you in sweetness to both the honey and the ripe berries.

He also makes a cheeky note (that nets him a playful swat on the arm) about the old adage of the path to the heart leading through one's stomach, and how he'll have to do this much more often as you take his hand, and gently lead him back to bed afterwards. It's much, much too early, and you're much too cozy to think about anything but him.

Shadowheart-

She's fairly competent at cooking, but it's undeniable that her skills are more based on trial and error and built around just getting something warm into your belly than anything more lavish than that. But what she does know how to do, and what she does take some amount of pride in, is how she makes a mean plate of scrambled eggs. After calling her on that particular bluff the previous evening, thinking nothing of it (and with your tongue lodged firmly in your cheek), you didn't expect her to sneak out of bed, and surprise you with a plate while still in her soft nightclothes the next morning. But frankly, even though you don't quite know how these eggs are supposed to be the best ones ever (is it the butter? it's probably the butter), what you are sure of is that she's never looked more beautiful than she does with yesterday's makeup flaked onto her face, a playfully embarrassed, yet devilish half-grin, and the sweet blush across her cheeks as she instructs you to quite literally eat your words.

Her smug preening in your dramatic praise of her unrivalled skill as a domestic goddess is well worth the tiny piece of shell that had escaped her notice and stabs you in the gums. (You choose not to mention it, even teasingly. You're fairly sure you'll take that secret to your grave.)

[meanbossart]

Spicy Asks: The Sequel is here. I'm so, so sorry.

Oh he's a very passive guy, he likes being manhandled around and not having to do much of the work (a bit of a pillow princess one might say). As far as fetishes go, he does have fantasies about group sex and of being roughed up, but I think if put in a situation where he could practice it in a controlled environment he'd be like "EHHHH nevermind actually" and go home very quickly LOL

DU drow would have 100% banged Lae'zel if he hadn't killed her. He couldn't stand her personality but they would have gotten on like two peas in a pod in the sack.

He does find Shadowheart very pretty, but they struck up a friendship so quickly that I don't think he could see her in that way 🤷 but that's still a smash, technically speaking.

Jaheira. Ohhhh Jaheira. As far as general dynamics go she would have been the best choice after Astarion, probably - though there is no way in hell or high heavens that she would have ever let him touch her LOL regardless, DU drow finds her looks and personality to be very attractive.

He's pretty much utterly indifferent to anyone else. Wyll is too idealistic, Gale is Gale, Karlach isn't his type, Halsin gets on his nerves - oh, he WOULD have banged Mizora if he hadn't been heads over heels for Astarion by that point.

The man just likes his femmes I guess LOL

HMMMMMMM yes, but since it's not really a porn fic expect any scenes like that to be in line with what we've had so far, where there's more of a focus on developing character dynamics rather than gratuitousness (I hope I've gotten that across, at least LOL).

LOL, It's ok, it's a ridiculous not-name and I'm so sorry for all the people I have made confused and will continue to confuse because of it.

As for your question, definitely not! I personally like big-bottom/smaller-top scenarios so that's why I focus on it, and I do think character-wise those are the roles they fall into most naturally - but they switch around every so often when the mood strikes and it isn't really a big deal.

Oh are you kidding me? The guy LOVES being cared after in an intimate setting. Being doted on, groomed, checked up on, having his hair played with and clothes fixed up - he doesn't express it outwardly much, but these are all things that make his murderous little heart skip a beat. He was the same way pre-tadpole but it was mostly servants and Sceleritas doing it, so he didn't get much out of the exchange; and Orin didn't entertain this at all, or, if she ever did, it was very, very, very rarely and really just a crumb of intimate affection that he most likely misread anyways.

I'm not sure what to say to this one LOL the penis is full of blood already man I don't think a vampire needs to make it any more tempting to themselves to chomp down.

I wrote a thing about that not too long ago :D ! The answer is complicated but, mostly yes.

Alright you joke, but, if you don't think DU drow hasn't spent a little too long lingering over Astarion's feet and ankles then I got amazing news for you.

I touched on what they generally like on the previous edition of Wine Fuelled Spicy Asks, but as for what they like to do as a couple, it's probably a lot of body worship and some playful denial on both ends. Du drow thinks Astarion is the most elegant and limber thing he's ever seen (and he loves how he smells), and Astarion thinks DU drow's body is an expertly put together murder machine. They have a great time being mutually enamored with each other's (and their own) appearances.

I think they also venture into some blood-play and vapid threats of violence in the future, as a treat, but takes a while for them to trust themselves and each other enough to indulge in that kind of thing.

Needs a little direction, plus you gotta learn to enjoy a bit of teeth and a very slobbery time - also I think he distracts easily, It's nice to have a man who's willing to venture the whole perimeter with his mouth but sometimes you do just want him to stay on the prick. But generally speaking - yes, DU drow gives good head. Fun head, even!

What do you people want from me? Do you want schematics? Diagrams? Do you want me to compare their holes to famous people holes? Do you want me to take out my measuring tape and give you numbers, tell you which kind of produce each of them can fit in there???

One is pink, the other one is brown. One of them just looks normal and the other looks and feels a little like it been around the block a few times. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW.

[pixel7777]

The First Worshipper: Ch. 11

The naughty version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

If you want to read from the beginning, searching my blog for #myfic will bring up all my fanfic posts. Link for Chapter 1. Link for art discussion post.

Read this chapter below the break here or on AO3!

132 years AB

My dearest Shadowheart,

You'll never believe where I found myself last week—a tiny fishing village on the Chultan coast with barely enough hovels to warrant a name, yet there it stood: a shrine to our insufferable friend. Nothing grand like my cathedral, mind you, just a humble altar with that ridiculous crown carved in driftwood. I couldn't help but laugh. The local priestess nearly fainted when I introduced myself.

(Don't tell Gale, but I may have embellished a few of our adventures for dramatic effect. The villagers were particularly fond of the tale where he tripped over his robes and fell face-first into the Chionthar. Some stories simply improve with creative retelling.)

Speaking of improvement, I maintain that Selune's following would triple if she would just let me revise her doctrine. "Let the moon be your guide" is desperately lacking in panache. I've drafted several alternatives that are far more engaging. Perhaps "Dance beneath the moon's silver gaze while plotting delightful mischief"?

No? 

Your loss.

I crossed paths with Wyll in Amn last month. We cleared out a nasty devil cult—and by "we," I mean I did most of the work while he posed heroically. If he tells you otherwise, he's lying through those perfect teeth of his. Though I must admit, it felt good to put these fangs to proper use again. There's only so much diplomatic schmoozing one can endure before craving a proper fight.

The road suits me better than I expected. Each new city, each strange face—they show me different reflections of myself. Sometimes I barely recognize the vampire spawn I used to be. (Though I still drink only the finest vintage, naturally. Standards must be maintained.)

I do miss our conversations in the Vale, and Halsin's inexhaustible patience with my... everything. Perhaps I'll make my way back. Eventually. Possibly. When I run out of new places to scandalize with tales of our resident god's embarrassing moments.

Until then, keep the moonlight warm for me.

Yours truly,

Astarion

P.S. - If anyone asks, I had nothing to do with that statue of Gale in Waterdeep. The pose was entirely mostly the artist's choice.

* * *

Gale surveyed his latest addition to his divine domain - a grand amphitheater carved from celestial marble, its seats ascending in perfect spirals toward infinity. Countless identical columns stretched into the distance, their shadows falling in precise geometric patterns across the pristine floor.

He'd spent what felt like centuries crafting every detail. The architecture defied mortal physics, each structure more impressive than the last. Floating observatories tracked the movements of stars yet undiscovered. Libraries contained knowledge from countless worlds. Fountains flowed with liquid ambition itself, their waters reflecting every dream ever dreamed.

And yet.

The emptiness of it all pressed against him like a physical weight. His footsteps echoed through vacant halls designed to hold multitudes. No matter how many wonders he created, the spaces between them only grew larger.

He paused at a window overlooking an endless sea of possibilities - each wave containing a different potential future. The view should have inspired awe. Instead, it reminded him of watching Astarion tell stories at the Loot Tavern, how his friend's theatrical gestures had brought more life to that humble space than all these grand halls combined.

A prayer tickled at the edge of his consciousness - something about a shrine in Chult.

He reached for the prayer like a starving man grasping at crumbs, desperate for any connection to the mortal realm. In his mind's eye, he could see Astarion perfectly - that theatrical arch of his brow, the way he'd sprawl across three chairs while holding court at the tavern, one leg dangling as he gestured with his wine glass. The vampire would be doing it right now, no doubt, spinning some outrageous tale about his latest escapade with just enough truth woven in to make his audience lean forward, hanging on every calculated pause...

Gale caught himself smiling, then forced his thoughts away from the scene with a sharp shake of his head. This wouldn't do at all. Astarion was clearly managing his own journey of self-discovery, following through on his promises to figure out who he was beyond trauma and past relationships. Meanwhile, here sat Gale, supposedly a god of ambition, woolgathering like a lovesick apprentice instead of attending to his divine responsibilities. He straightened his shoulders, trying to recapture some semblance of godly dignity. There were more pressing matters at hand than reminiscing about tavern tales.

Gale traced his fingers along a perfectly smooth wall. He'd designed every inch of this realm to celebrate achievement and aspiration. But what good was ambition without someone to share it with? Even the Netherbrain had its collective consciousness. Here, there was only him and the echo of his own thoughts bouncing off immaculate surfaces.

He'd built a monument to solitude disguised as a tribute to greatness. The realization sat heavy in his chest, more suffocating than any mortal weight had ever been.

Gale straightened, energy surging through his divine form as inspiration struck. Of course - he didn't need to wait for Ao's permission to welcome souls in his domain to fill it with more than grand buildings and books. He could create "helpers" of his own. They would make the place ready for when the gates could finally open… and keep him company in the meantime.

Drawing on his newfound powers, Gale wove streams of divine energy into humanoid shapes. The first attempts emerged stiff and statue-like, but he refined the process, adding subtle movements and expressions. Soon, a dozen glowing figures populated his grand hall, drifting between columns with ethereal grace.

"Much better," he muttered, watching them float past. But their movements felt mechanical, lacking the spark of true life. He concentrated harder, pouring more power into their forms, willing them toward something closer to consciousness.

The figures flickered, their golden light intensifying. One turned its head toward him with an almost-natural gesture. Encouraged, Gale pushed further, trying to infuse them with fragments of memory - echoes of laughter from the Copper Crown, snippets of conversation from their adventuring days.

The nearest figure convulsed, its form destabilizing. Others began to twist and stretch, their carefully crafted features melting like wax. One emitted a sound that might have been meant as speech but emerged as discordant tones that set Gale's teeth on edge.

"No, wait—" He reached out to stabilize them, but his touch only accelerated their deterioration. The figures collapsed in on themselves, their light growing painful to look at. Their movements became erratic, bouncing off walls and leaving scorch marks on his perfect marble.

The first figure exploded in a burst of divine energy that cracked one of his meticulously designed columns. The others followed in rapid succession, each detonation more violent than the last. Gale threw up a barrier just as the final construct detonated, sending fragments of celestial architecture raining across his pristine floor.

When the dust settled, Gale stood amid the wreckage. The hall's perfect symmetry lay in ruins, scorch marks marring the walls in chaotic patterns. He picked up a chunk of marble, still warm from the explosions, and turned it over in his hands.

"Gosh," he said to the empty hall, "that could have gone better."

A presence materialized behind Gale, vast and ancient as the multiverse itself. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was - the weight of Ao's attention pressed against his consciousness like an ocean against a paper boat.

"That was quite the light show." Ao's voice resonated through both the physical space and Gale's mind simultaneously.

"I wasn't trying to—" Gale gestured at the scorched walls. "They were meant to be simple constructs. Decorative."

"If that were true, they wouldn't have destabilized so spectacularly." Ao moved into view, his form both present and absent in ways that made Gale's divine senses ache. "You are not yet permitted to create sentient life, young one. That privilege must be earned."

"But surely basic companionship—"

"Is exactly what you were attempting to manufacture." Ao's tone held neither anger nor judgment, just absolute certainty. "Your connection to the material plane remains too strong. These mortal attachments cloud your judgment, prevent you from developing the objectivity and dispassion required of your station."

I'd rather keep my passion than become some detached observer, Gale thought before remembering exactly who he was… thinking loudly around.

Ao's expression shifted minutely - was that amusement? "And that reaction precisely demonstrates why we insist on this probationary period. Your mortal impatience nearly destroyed you once before. Or have you forgotten the orb?"

The memory of that desperate hunger, that driving ambition that had led him to accidentally capture a piece of the weave of Karsus inside his very flesh, flickered through Gale's mind. He'd almost unmade himself - and Mystra's Weave along with him.

"The consequences of such impulsiveness now would be far graver," Ao continued. "Divine power requires divine perspective. You must learn patience."

"Yes, Lord Ao," Gale managed, mortification burning through him like a star going nova.

"Try harder," Ao said simply, and was gone.

* * *

151 years AB

I drummed my fingers on the lanceboard, watching Halsin contemplate his next move with all the urgency of a tree growing roots. The Vale's afternoon light filtered through leaves overhead, casting dappled shadows across the wooden pieces.

"Any day now, dear friend. I do have eternity, but let's not test its limits."

Halsin's lips twitched. "Patience was never your strong suit." He finally moved his piece—directly into my trap. Again.

I sighed, capturing his defender with an elegant sweep. "And strategy was never yours. That's the third time you've fallen for that gambit."

"Perhaps I enjoy watching you win." His eyes crinkled with amusement. "You're less acerbic when you're feeling superior."

"I'm always feeling superior." I reset the board, more out of habit than hope for an actual challenge. "Though I must say, after thirty years of wandering, it's... not unpleasant to sit still for a moment."

"Even here?" Halsin gestured to the Vale around us, where druids tended their gardens and children chased each other through the grass. "I'd have thought you'd find it provincial after your grand adventures."

I caught sight of Shadowheart in her garden, her silver hair gleaming in the sun as she pruned her roses. The years sat well on her—though I'd never tell her that. She'd probably think I was being condescending.

"Provincial has its charms." I moved my first piece. "Besides, I've seen enough of the world's wonders to content me for several mortal lifetimes. Did you know there's a city in Chult where they worship Gale as a god of rain? Absolute nonsense—he can barely manage being a god of ambition."

Halsin chuckled, making another predictably poor move. "And yet you still pray to him."

"Someone has to keep him humble." I captured another of his pieces. "Though I doubt that's possible anymore. Last time I heard from him, he was contemplating adding another wing to his divine domain. Something about needing more space for his ego."

The afternoon stretched on, peaceful and mundane. No monsters to slay, no conspiracies to unravel. Just an old druid losing badly at lanceboard, the sound of children's laughter, and the scent of Shadowheart's roses on the breeze.

I moved another piece without thought, watching Halsin's predictable counter-move with only half my attention. My gaze kept drifting to Shadowheart, noting how her once-ramrod straight back was now slightly bowed, how time had etched lines around her eyes and mouth. When had that happened?

The years I'd spent wandering seemed to collapse in on themselves. One moment she'd been helping me select curtains for the cathedral, and now... now she moved more slowly, took more breaks while tending her beloved roses.

"Your move," Halsin prompted.

"Mm." I captured another of his pieces mechanically. "Tell me, do you think those new roses will survive the winter? The red ones she planted last week?"

"Since when do you care about gardening?"

I didn't answer. How could I explain that I'd cut my grand tour short, abandoned the thrill of discovery and adventure, because I'd realized with sudden, stark clarity that I might never see Shadowheart again? That after watching Karlach and Jaheira and Lae'zel slip away, I couldn't bear to miss these final precious years with one of the few people who truly knew me?

How utterly shocking—the great selfish bastard Astarion, rushing back to the Vale like some sentimental fool.

I'd spent centuries convinced that caring for others was a weakness, that true power lay in standing apart. Yet here I was, finding more joy in watching Shadowheart teach young acolytes about moon-blooming flowers than I had in all the wonders of Chult or the glittering spires of Waterdeep. Although perhaps the possibility of more adventures in the future made this pastoral idle a bit less smothering than if it was to be my eternity.

"Checkmate," I said absently, toppling Halsin's last piece. "Another?"

"If you'd like. Though you seem rather distracted."

I shrugged, resetting the board. "Just thinking about how absolutely mortifying it is to discover I actually enjoy your company. All of you. Don't let it go to your head."

I reset the board, my fingers lingering on a carved wooden piece. Sebastian would have loved these—he had an eye for craftsmanship. Always noticing the subtle details, the way light caught the grain of wood, how shadows played across surfaces.

"Your move," Halsin prompted, but my mind was already wandering through shadowed caverns where mushrooms glowed like stars.

Sebastian had been... good. Patient. Understanding. Everything I should have wanted. He'd shown me beauty in stillness, peace in routine. The way he mixed his paints, each color carefully considered, each stroke deliberate—it had been mesmerizing. No rush, no desperate need to prove anything to anyone.

And that had been the problem, hadn't it?

I moved a piece without thinking. "Did you know he tried to teach me to paint? I was absolutely dreadful at it. No patience for details."

"Who? Sebastian?  He's on your mind again, then."

"Mmm." I captured one of Halsin's pieces. "He said I was too focused on the end result, that I needed to learn to enjoy the process. Terribly wise of him. I hated it."

Because that was the truth of it—I'd tried to be what Sebastian needed, what I thought I should want. Quiet evenings with tea and canvas, gentle conversations about art and philosophy. But beneath that veneer of contentment, something in me had been screaming for more.

"The irony is," I said, watching Halsin contemplate his next move, "he understood me better than I understood myself. He knew I'd leave before I did. Said I had too much fire in me to stay in the shadows forever."

My fingers traced the edge of the lanceboard. "I could have loved him forever, I think, if I'd been someone else. Someone better at peace."

But I wasn't. I was restless, hungry—not for blood anymore, but for something else. Movement. Change. The thrill of never knowing what the next day might bring.

Sebastian had deserved better than half-love and restless nights. And I deserved to be loved for who I was and not ability to pretend to be what someone else needed.  It still felt strange, so think it so bluntly.  What I deserved.  That, flawed as I was—and my friends probably had a running list—I still deserved some things. And that was one.

I rose from the lanceboard, offering Halsin an exaggerated bow. "I'll spare you further humiliation for today. Besides, Shadowheart promised to show me her secrets of botanical warfare."

"It's called dyeing, Astarion," Shadowheart called from her garden, already gathering her basket.

"Same thing, really. Both involve destroying something beautiful to make it more interesting." I crossed the grass to offer her my arm, noting how she leaned into it more than she used to. Not for support—she'd bite my head off if I suggested that—but there was a comfort in the contact that hadn't been there decades ago. For both of us, I supposed.

The walk back to the house was peaceful, filled with her quiet commentary about which blooms would yield the best colors. I watched her hands as she gestured, weathered now but still graceful, still strong. The years had carved their marks into her skin, but they'd also softened something in her eyes, worn away some of the sharp edges we'd both carried for so long.

Inside, I helped her set down the basket, breathing in the earthy scent of fresh-picked flowers and herbs. This was my life for the moment. Teaching young thieves to read in the evening. Embroidering ridiculous scenes of our adventures onto silk. Listening to Shadowheart explain the proper way to crush petals for the deepest purple dye. Cherishing the ones who knew me best and who didn't resent that this would not be my life for forever.

I was a vampire who had learned to love sunrises. A former slave who now chose his own chains—of friendship, of family, of life on this planet with which I was increasingly enamored. Anyone who wanted to love me would have to love that too, divine or not.

But those thoughts could wait. Shadowheart was laying out her tools with methodical precision, and there was dyeing to be done.

"Now, pay attention," she said, selecting a bloom. "And try not to stain anything this time."

"That was once, darling, and it made that tablecloth far more interesting."

Her laugh, warm and real, filled the room, and I focused on the task at hand. The present moment was enough.

* * *

[Astarion kneels at his private altar, adjusting the blue silk with theatrical precision. He arranges fresh flowers—stolen from Shadowheart's garden—and places a bottle of wine beside them.]

"Oh most divine and probably-bored-out-of-your-mind Gale, your most devoted worshipper brings tidings from the mortal realm."

[He swirls the wine in his glass, a smirk playing at his lips.]

"I wanted to thank you, actually. For understanding why I needed to wander, to find my own way. And for not smiting me when I spent that decade spreading increasingly ridiculous stories about your ascension. The one about you achieving godhood through an eating contest with Cyric was particularly inspired, I thought."

[He pauses to sip his wine, then continues with an exaggerated sigh.]

"Life has been surprisingly... good. Though I must say, watching Halsin attempt to play lanceboard is a special kind of torture. The man can command nature itself, yet he can't grasp basic strategy. It's almost impressive, really.

"But Shadowheart's roses—now those are magnificent. You should see them.  It’s strange, you know, how something so delicate can hold so much strength. Shadowheart seems to have passed that quality on to every bloom in her care. Unless that's insensitive? Pointing out all the lovely things down here while you're stuck managing the cosmic order or whatever it is you do all day?"

[He leans forward conspiratorially, lowering his voice.]

"Speaking of Halsin... I've been thinking. He's aged rather well for a mortal, hasn't he? Those arms are still quite impressive, and he does have that whole wise-druid thing going for him. Do you think it would be terribly awkward if I—"

[He pauses dramatically.]

"If I perhaps... pursued a more intimate connection with our naturalistic friend?"

[He maintains the serious expression for exactly three seconds before breaking into laughter.]

"I'm joking, of course! Could you imagine? Though your face—or whatever divine equivalent you have now—must have been priceless."

[He refills his wine glass, grinning.]

"Someone has to keep you entertained up there. Tell me, which gods have the best sense of humor? I bet Mask is fun at parties. Though surely none of them can match my wit. Don't worry, I'll keep the quality material coming your way… and throw the occasional rose on the altar for you.  Don't read anything romantic into it. Or do. Depending, I suppose, on how the balance of heaven and earth—and certain mortal memories—weighs in your heart these days.

"Though I must admit, the roses make me think of her—our dear Shadowheart. She's still here, in her garden, making everything she touches beautiful. You’d like what she’s done with the place, Gale. Perhaps you should stop by. Bring that godly presence of yours down to Faerun once in a while. I promise not to make too much fun of you. Well, maybe just a little.

"I remain, as always, my dearest Gale, your devoted servant and friend."

[He rises gracefully, brushing invisible dust from his knees.]