#gnome's prompt game

[thegnomelord]

Hii, here for the prompt game of yours!

What about prompt 1. Where the reader is the one suggesting it to Ghost? Like, big ass guy sitting on your lap I think it'll be interesting. If you haven't gotten any ideas maybe there aren't enough seats in a vehicle and he's forced to just sit? But if you've already got a few ideas for this please use yours instead! I love your writing and how your brain works.

You've been doing great! Thank you for your hard work! Fighting man

Anon you and I share the same brain waves lol I legit made that prompt with Ghost in mind :Dd Play the game HERE

Prompt: "Do you-" "If you suggest I sit in your lap I'll kill you."

CW:NSFW, Sub Top M!Reader, Dom Bottom Ghost, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, quickies.

Simon's going to kill him. Stab him, shoot him, feed him to the dogs. And Johnny just looks at him like an innocent puppy with a smug look in his eyes. Of course Soap would suggest going to Vegas and of course he'd rent a car that's too small to fit them all, and of course Simon's the last one to get in...

"Come on LT, hop in already." The Scotsman grins, settling next to you in the back. Gaz is riding shotgun and Price's behind the wheel since he doesn't trust any of you to drive. "Wouldn't want to miss out on loosing all yer money."

Simon's contemplating strapping Soap on the roof or sticking him in the car's boot when you pat your thighs. "Do you-"

"If you suggest I sit in your lap I'll kill you." He cuts you off, glaring at you. He knows he's dead on the target when you give a sheepish grin, honestly he doesn't understand why you'd want him of all people to sit on your lap when he's at least a hundred pounds heavier than you.

"Oh come on Ghost," But you just give a charming grin, confident like a chihuahua against a wolf. "I promise I'll keep my hands to myself." You raise your arms up in surrender, giving him your best puppy eyes.

"Fine," Ghost relents. The shuffle into the car is awkward and he bumps his head on the roof a couple of times, knees knocking into yours before he finally sits down. He's not even surprised when your arms wrap around his waist and you pull him down on your lap further, your hands unable to meet on his front from how big he is.

"That's a comfortable seat, yeah?" Gaz snorts as you nuzzle your nose into his broad back, he's so big you can't even look over his shoulder, his weight pressing down fully on you.

"Aye, look happy like a hog in shite." Johnny snickers, trying and failing to duck from Ghost's hand, ending up getting knocked upside the head. "Ow- that hurt!"

"There's nothing inside there to hurt." Ghost snarks, feeling your chest shake as you muffle your snickers into his back.

"Settle down boys." Price grumbles as Gaz laughs next to him, Price's eyes meeting both Simon's and Johnny's. They mutter out low 'yes sir's before he humphs, turning the car on. The engine rumbles to life like a dying geriatric.

"Christ MacTavish where did you find this piece of shite?" Ghost asks incredulously, and Johnny answers something in Gaelic. He looses track of time when he starts bickering with Johnny until Price turns on the radio, resulting in Gaz and Soap belting out songs at the top of their lungs. He feels your hands squeeze around him, reminding him that he's currently sat on your lap; strange how he could forget that.

The drive to Vegas is hell, the road's bumpy like a teenager's pimply face and Simon bumps his head on the car's ceiling every time Price drives over a pothole. It wouldn't be as bad if he didn't feel. . .you. . . brush against his arse every time it happened.

He was lucky he was wearing his mask so no one would notice how hot he became, hands clenching into fists each time your cock poked him, his throat becoming dry. He could feel you stiffen, suffering under the same problem he was, heat slowly burning in your veins.

And of course Price had to pick the bumpiest road he could, not a second would go without the car rocking and making you grind against him, the bloody bastard probably did it on purpose. At least none of them mentioned how you and Ghost had become silent, you literally biting down on his jacket to keep silent.

Finally after a few hours of hell on wheels Price stop at a gas station that looks like it hasn't seen human life since the 80's. Simon doesn't even wait for the car to shut off before he's jumping out of it, "With me," he growls with a hand firmly grasping the front of your clothes.

You don't resist him as he pulls you into an equally sleazy bathroom, the type of which you'd find in a brothel. "Simon, what-" You suck in a breath as he all but throws you down on the toilet lid, locking the stall behind him.

"Shut'it." Simon growls, pulling his face mask down to kiss you roughly, blindly opening your pants to fish out your cock. You're both hard as rocks, Simon separates from the kiss to push his fingers against your lips. "Open."

Simon groans as you take his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his fingers. If you had more time Simon would have had you eat him out, but fingers will have to do for now, especially with how you look when he catches your tongue between his fingers.

"So eager." Ghost hums, undoing his belt and dropping his pants and underwear, bracing a hand on your shoulder as he leans down and roughly pushes two fingers inside him. He groans and kisses you again, quickly stretching himself just enough so he doesn't tear anything.

"Just for you." You mutter against his lips, sucking in a breath when Simon pulls his fingers out, spits on his hand and lubes your cock.

"You better be." He grins, swiftly turning around so his back is facing you. Holding your cock in one hand he moves so your tip is poking his hole, slowly sinking down. Your hands fly to his hips, gripping firmly but not trying to slow him down. "Yeah, that's a good lad." He groans, relishing the burn and stretch, the sizzle of pain muddling with pleasure, electricity running up his spine.

God, he's so big compared to you it does your head in, your hips bucking up to meet his, chasing the tight heat enveloping your cock. "Fuck, Si," You groan, biting the back of his jacket to silence your moans as Simon starts riding you. He's unable to get a good leverage with the awkward position so you two end up rutting like animals, your hand coming around to stroke his cock, feeling his walls tighten around you.

You two cum in record time, a low moan leaving his lips as he shoots cum across the stall door. His hole flutters and clenches around you, muttering 'come on, give it to me' over and over again until you're cumming inside him, his walls milking you for all you have.

You feel him slump against you, tight heat still trying to pull more cum from you. You both are breathing heavy, bliss coursing through your veins as you tilt your head to kiss the nape of his neck lazily.

"Oi, quit snogging else we're leaving yer here!" Johnny's voice rings from the other side of the stall door.

Oh, you are going to kill him.

[avernusfuries]

tag dump.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All the Good Girls Go To Hell 19

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, injury, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You come home for the summer but your break is not as relaxing as you expect.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Friday!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

"Is it berries?" Bucky asks as you cradle your head and the phone.

You shake your head, hunched over your knees, still sat on the cold tarmac. "There aren't any berries here," you sniffle, "just flowers."

"Oh, well, is it a flower?" He continues to guess.

His coolness, his light tone, it makes your own world seem less dire. You hear a car door, a noise that seems to echo speaker rustles. You sigh and tell him no again. He's been trying to guess this whole time and it's starting to get frustrating.

"Alright, game's over, doll. What was it?"

You look up as a shadow strides up the driveway. You get to your knees as Bucky comes closer. You lower the phone as you stare at him dumbly.

"How did you find me?" You blubber.

"You said you were with Naomi... I can track her phone. I bought it. Plus she always ends up with that kid," he shrugs as he offers his hand, "come on, let's get you off the ground."

"Why?" You stare at his thick fingers.

"Why what?"

"Why are you helping me?"

"Doll, let's not get into those feelings right now," he sighs, "please, you can't stay here. I can't leave a sweet thing like you out in the dark all night. Not like she did."

"Alright," you croak and take his hand. He hauls you up easily and lets you lean on him,.

"So, what was it?" He asks.

"What was what?" You murmur.

"The red thing."

"Oh, uh," you swing around and point, nearly toppling as he catches you, "the gnome's hat."

"Huh, never would've guessed," he clucks as he clings to you, "come on, doll, we really should get you out of here."

You let him lead you down the driveway. You feel very week as you let more of your weight lean on him. Your head lolls as your eyes threaten to close on their own. You open them as you approach the car and he opens the door. He sits you down in the seat and bends to get you in straight. His rough palms graze your knees and thighs before he pulls back, putting a hand on the roof.

"You good? Get your belt done up."

You nod and do as he says. He watches, looming over you, moonlight limning his figure.

"Good girl," he growls and his timbre sends a shiver through you, "I want you to stay awake for me, can you do that?"

"Yes, Bucky," you lean your head back and focus through the windshield, vision glazing.

"I know you can, baby," he caresses your shoulder and closes the car door. He gets in the driver's side as you hug yourself and chatter. "Cold?"

You nod and he reaches into the back seat. He pulls forward a grey hoodie and offers it to you. You take it and spread it across your shoulders. It smells like him. It's almost comforting.

"Right," he hits the button and the engine rolls over, "some music will help."

He turns on the stereo and flips to a pop station. You doubt it's his kind of music. He shifts into gear, giving you a long look before he pulls out.

"Doll, why don't you tell me what happened?" Bucky prompts as he keeps a hand on the bottom of the steering wheel, his other on the corner of your seat.

"I..." you sniff and take a deep breath, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Ah," he hums and nods, "did Naomi do something?"

You shrug and look out the window. He exhales as he slows at the stop sign.

"Did she hurt you?" His voice is gravelly.

"Not exactly," you lean into the door and cover your face with your hands, "it's not just what happened at the party... it's-- it's-- my mom. And Steve. And everyone!"

Your babbling. You can feel it but you can't stop it. The alcohol has you under its spell and fuels your distress. You just want to explode.

"Oh, your mother?"

"Yeah," you whine and pulls your hands away from your face, "her and Steve– and I can’t even go home–”

"Your mom and Steve?" He asks.

You snap your mouth shut. You shouldn't have told him that.

"Oh, doll," he coos, "I'm sorry."

His fingers stray down to your shoulder and he rubs it through the fabric of the hoodie. It's soothing despite everything. Gentle. You're tired. So tired. You just want to sleep. You lean back and yawn.

He squeezes your shoulder, "doll, stay awake. Remember what I said," he retracts his hand, "I'll get us home and you can lay down there, alright?"

You nod and peel your eyes open, "okay... thank you, Bucky."

"Anything for you," he says so quietly you barely hear him, "I'm gonna keep you safe."

🏡

The world sways around you. You can hardly lift your head. You open your eyes and see Bucky above you, feel his arms around you. He carries you throughthe shadows of the house.

You shift in his arms and he peeks down. "It's alright, doll, you tried."

You kep your head on his shoulder. You can hear his heartbeat. He's warm, he smells like cedar. You blink, eyelids sticking. He takes you into the guestroom and places you on the foot of the bed.

He makes you sit up, hands on your arms as he holds onto you, bending to look you in the face. You notice the fresh sheets, no longer the crisp white but patterned with dainty pink flowers. He brings a hand under your chin and makes you meet his gaze.

"I'll get you something to wear, doll, and some water," he explains.

You murmur and nod. He lets you go and reluctantly turns away. He stalks off as you lean over your lap, elbows on your thighs as you struggle not to fold.

"Here," he surprises you as he comes in again, "there's a shirt for you."

He hands you a tidy white tee shirt, one of his. You thank him through your sticky mouth. He goes to the night table and puts down the glass of water in his other hand.

"Make sure you drink that before you lay down," he says.

"I will," you whisper.

He goes again as you tug at the dress. You slip free of the tight sheath, tits falling out as you stand in nothing but your panties. You swoop the shirt over you and struggle to poke your head through. You grab the water and gulp it down, feeling it swish into your belly.

You put the glass back and turn to the bed. You teeter and fall onto the mattress, sprawled on your stomach.

You hear a subtle creak. Bucky's footfalls lightly glance over the floor and he sets a bucket next to your bed.

"Just in case," he touches your shoulder, "try not to roll onto your back."

"Got it," you utter sleepily and close your eyes, another yawn escaping you.

He drags his hand away and you feel him tug on your tee shirt, pulling the hem to cover the edge of your panties. He then drapes the blanket over you before retreating with a soft 'good night'. The light turns off and you're left in the dark, quickly succumbing to a drunken stupour.

🏡

You feel like you’re drowning in sludge. The morning blares over you from the window as you emerge from the deep pit of alcohol-laced sleep. You groan and stiffly bend your arm, pressing a palm to your forehead as it pulses. This is why you don’t drink, it’s not worth it.

Confusion comes after the onslaught of agony. You stare at the ceiling, taking in the room little by little. Your mind pieces together how you got there. The party, Naomi grabbing you, kissing you, running out… fractured memories that lead to that very moment.

You push yourself up with aching arms. You didn’t expect to be back here. You don’t know how to do this. After all he’s done, you feel like you owe Bucky. You can at least hear him out. He can’t be as bad as Naomi claims if he’s the only one trying to take care of you.

You get up, stopping to lean on the night table. Your hand trails onto the empty glass and you pick it up. It’s as good an excuse as any.

You go out into the hall, peering up and down. You pad along towards the kitchen, an eeriness follows you knowing that it’s only you and Bucky. You’re not surprised to find him waiting in the kitchen. He always seems to be a step ahead of you.

The smell of coffee draws a rumble from your stomach. You look sheepishly at your host and show the glass, going to the sink to rinse it. As you place it in the rack, he takes down a mug and fills it, sliding it towards you. He’s the first to speak.

“Morning,” he waits, watching you as you hook your fingers through the handle of the cup.

“Morning,” you eke out, too nervous to try the coffee. You inhale and make yourself look at him, “I’m sorry–”

“I should be sorry,” he says, “I shouldn’t have let you go with Naomi. I should’ve told the truth. Way before that. I shouldn’t have gone along with any of it.”

You stare at him. His blue eyes flicker as his cheek dimples, anxiety needling in his forehead. He gestures towards your hand on the cup.

“Please, have your coffee.”

You drag the mug to the edge and lift it. You drink with a long hum. Oh, it feels good. You pull the brim away from your lips and swallow thickly. You clear your throat and peek up at him again.

“So it’s all true?” You ask, hoarsely.

“I don’t know what she told you but…” he hesitates, “I’m not her father.”

“Yeah,” you agree crisply.

“I can show you,” he turns and reaches for his phone, “everything. Right here. This is what she sent me the first time she brought you over.”

He shows you the screen, holding his thumb down to keep the chat from rolling back up. You see Naomi’s name at the top of the chat and the bubbles back and forth. You read the received message by his thumb.

‘Bringing a friend. Please say you’re my dad, don’t wanna freak her out.’

You chew your lip. It doesn't disprove anything she told you. You frown and he starts to flick through the conversation.

“Look, just tell me the truth,” you demand, though your tone is less than intimidating.

He sighs and lowers the phone, “we have an arrangement. I support her and she… supports me. In a way.” He looks down ashamed, “I’m not going to make excuses. I could say I was lonely, newly divorced, stupid. It was convenient–”

“She was vulnerable,” you suggest.

He nods, “that’s true. But I never intended… when she brought you…” He pokes his tongue out and closes his eyes, “I’m trying to just explain but there’s so much. Thing’s fizzled out.

"When she got back from college, she was just angry all the time so I gave her space. I told her that we could end things but I would help her find a place, keep paying her tuition and she could make it up to me later. When she got a job.”

He backs up and leans on the counter. He crosses his arms and raises his head. He looks tired, drawn.

“She brought you over and you’re so nice and it was– is refreshing. To have someone look at you without hate. My ex-wife, she had the same look as Naomi got. I don’t know what I did,” he sniffs, “but I’m sure I deserved it. I guess I’m needy.”

“Alright,” you mutter, unsure what else to say. Two sides of the same story. They line up, to a point.

“I know I can’t ask you to trust me. If I was you, I’d be… I’d be confused, creeped out, everything. I really don’t know what to say or do at this point. I called you over and over thinking I could explain myself out of it but there’s no excuse. And then you answered and you were drunk and crying and I came without thinking. Because I know Naomi, she’s destructive and I thought maybe she got you into trouble.

“And then you mentioned your mom and well, that broke my heart. I really can’t believe that she’d kick you out. Her own child. Even Mimi’s parents weren’t that cruel.”

You blanch and take another swig of coffee, trying to set yourself straight. 

“They didn’t? Her parents didn’t kick her out?”

“No,” a stitch forms in his forehead, “no, I guess she stormed out after some argument. They suggested maybe she stay and go to school here but she didn’t like that. She was on Steve’s couch for a while and then ended up here. Wanda got a bit crowded.”

You try to hide your surprise. You put the cup back on the counter and stare into the depths. Naomi lied. Maybe not about everything but she made it seem much more sinister.

“Doll,” Bucky rasps, “you okay? You gonna be sick or something?”

You bat your lashes, fighting back tears. You’re lost. You don’t know who to believe but your best bet is the one who isn’t groping you for her friends or cornering you when you’re alone. Your lip quivers as you search for a response.

“I… I believe you,” you breathe.

[taki-yaki]

prompt: Tav with a gun lol. Let’s say Tav got abducted from a sci-fi world, like from another sci-fi video game, which solves the ammo issue. Or she’s an artificer class from somewhere out there in wildspace, so she makes her own ammo and steampunk weapons. Whatever you choose.

Either way, Astarion is very interested in her weapons.

Making me think of all those glock mods for BG3 but I agree that Astarion would be 100% interested in an artificer artillerist Tav. Also with artificers usually focusing on intelligence, he would be interested in that compared to Gale.

Artificer Tav (or Glock Tav)

Astarion had never met an artificer such as you before. Sure he may have heard of some gnome who were artificers, but they usually specialised in either alchemy or armoury. 

He never took much interest in them anyway, besides all they would talk about is how their creations were made for non-destructive uses.

However, upon seeing your destructive artillery focus, it quickly gains his interest.

Someone who is intelligent and approves of using destructive force, rather than giving dull lectures about the meticulous details of the weave the magic as a whole, sounds like a LOT of fun to him.

Of course, the first thing he’d ask of you is to have a go at your eldritch cannon, but soon has to be confiscated from him, due to his recklessness with it. 

Instead, he’d try to give suggestions on how to improve your weaponry, “Maybe if you add a lick of poison to your bullets for an extra sting” “What do you mean it’ll cost too much?”.

Whilst tinkering with making small gadgets in your free time, he would observe you from afar, watching your hands skillfully craft each one. You would quickly pick up on this, by offering him to watch you work up close instead.

The tinkering side of your nature would lead to some problems in camp though, with collecting any pieces of scrap metal found on your adventures, old rusted cutlery? They can be repurposed into so many things. This would lead to an intervention at camp with the amount of ‘junk’ you have collected in such as short time.

Eventually, you would start creating small utilities to use in camp, such as a portable shower kit to compact carrying containers.

When you go to fight Cazador, the situation quickly turns into bringing a knife to a gunfight, however in this case you’re adequately equipped and prepared to fight him.

Obviously, you would defeat him, Buffy the Vampire Slayer style, “No weapon forged can stop me”, “That was then” pulling out your modified eldritch cannon and taking aim at Cazador, “This is now”, promptly launching him off the ritual platform.

After the tadpole is gone, you promise to make him a device that will allow him to walk in the sun once again. Stating that he’s better off trying science if all means of magic and gods have failed him so far. Naturally, it takes quite a few attempts to create a working solution, but once you do, he is forever grateful for your help and will go about boasting about how smart his partner is compared to the magic shows that wizards present.

[belphegor1982]

Scanlan with 17, if you feel so inclined ✨

(17. Tending to an injury/wound/illness from the Put That Guy in a Situation™ Ask Game/Prompt list)

*rubs hands* You know, it just so happens that I had an idea floating in my head and that I was able to use it for your prompt. Thought it might be a nice little 1,000-word story, maaaaybe 2,000, but instead have this 6,100 word behemoth! Thank you so much for the opportunity to write for these characters 💜 I'll post it on AO3 ASAP!

—

Friends in Low Places

“—og! Grog! Scanlan! Can you hear me?”

There’s a voice in Grog’s ear, piercing through the fog, and he makes an effort to shake the cobwebs because Pike almost sounds scared and she never does.

It works, and he realises a few things in rapid succession:

Pike is calling through the earring.

They were all fighting some big beast with lots of teeth and claws. Now they’re not. (At least Grog isn’t.)

They were in a cave, deep underground, and the fight happened right next to a really big drop. Presumably Grog is still in the cave, just… a lot lower.

And last, he’s covered in rocks and pebbles and dirt like a blanket, curled up on himself around something warm and small –

Oh, that’s another thing: Scanlan is alive, too. His breath is coming hard and fast against the middle of Grog’s chest, tickling the scar tissue there, and he’s clutching Grog so tight Grog can almost feel the sting of nails. (Grog likes to think he has really thick skin, so that’s saying something.)

“Guys, speak up if you’re okay – or at least alive,” comes another voice, sharper. Vex.

Grog feels Scanlan move around a little.

“I don’t know about ‘okay’,” he croaks, like the inside of his throat is coated in dust, same as Grog. His voice makes a weird echo in the earring. “But, uh, the other thing, I guess.”

Scanlan is one of those people who often uses more words than necessary. Grog doesn’t mind; that’s just how he is. Besides, Scanlan being tricky with words is a good thing more often than not.

Still, Grog unlocks one of his arms to touch his own earring and says, “We’re good.”

There’s an assortment of relieved noises in his ear. Instead of trying to make out what Vex, Vax, Percy and Keyleth are saying (that would take too long), he zeroes in on Pike’s voice. It shakes just a little still when she asks, “Do you think you can climb back up?”

Good question. Grog unfolds completely – realising in the process that he’s been wrapped around Scanlan, who also slowly lets go of him – and looks up.

And up.

Not that he can see all that well in the dark, even with the dull light of some of the weird worms Keyleth said are attracted to warm spots, but man, this cliff is high. And, unfortunately, way too steep to climb.

“I don’t think so,” says Scanlan, his head tilted real far back, and Grog remembers gnomes can see pretty well in the dark. “I can’t even see you guys.”

“Man, this is deep. How the hell are you still alive?” There’s wonder in Vax’s voice. Now that Grog thinks about it, yeah, that’s a good question.

They’ve been hired by a local mine owner to kill a monster that mangled and munched on some miners; nobody was sure what it was, other than pointy, dangerous, and probably hungry. After two days underground the S.H.I.T.s finally found the thingy – a big beast with long spikes on its tail and fangs that had to be worth a lot of gold each. Grog, who still had no idea what it was except ‘a future corpse’ (and didn’t really care), called it ‘the thingy’. Then, since it just wouldn’t die, apparently, not without trying to take all of them with it, he called it ‘that fucker’ as he hacked at it with his great axe, grinning all the while (gods, whaling on monsters is fun). And then none of that shit mattered, because it scuttled back and swept its tail behind in a wide arc, aiming for the spot Scanlan stood at a safe distance hitting it with magic (and hitting them with healing spells).

Grog completely stopped enjoying himself or wondering what the creature was called. Instinct took over. He bolted between the spikes and his friend and the giant tail knocked them both over the edge of a drop.

Neither of them died, so clearly it was the best decision.

“What happened to the thingy?” he asks as Scanlan opens his mouth to answer Vax’s question. That seems more of a pressing concern.

“Oh, it’s dead,” comes Keyleth’s voice, then some shuffling as Grog pictures her nudging something heavy with her foot. “Yup, very dead. Ew.”

“I’ll put a handful of fangs into the bag of holding,” says Vex, sounding like she’s not exactly looking forward to it, “so we can show them to Barandiaran and get paid. A couple of those spikes, too. Doesn’t look like they’re venomous, but they might be worth something. Oh, and Keyleth picked up your axe, Grog.”

“Hey, thanks, Keyleth.” Grog feels a little naked without his great axe, but at least he knows it’s in good hands and he’s gonna get it back soon.

Scanlan, who’s been looking a little put out that Grog cut him off, crosses his arms and looks vaguely upwards, in the direction Grog assumes the rest of their friends are.

“Yeah, that’s nice. What about us? How do we come up?”

“I’m not sure you can,” Percy remarks, sounding distracted, like he’s thinking hard. Just as Grog and Scanlan glance at each other in alarm, he continues, “So I guess we’ll have to go to you. Do you see a way out?”

“Hah, yeah sure, we… Wait.” Scanlan peers towards the back of the cavern which, to Grog, looks exactly like the sides of the cavern – utterly dark. “Hang on, I think we actually passed this way earlier on our way up. It’s not far from where we last set up camp to lunch-dinner-whatever.”

“Are you sure?”

If it was anyone else than Pike who asked, Grog is fairly sure Scanlan would have said something snarky; but Scanlan is funny about Pike. Even in the dark at a foot of a cliff, where she can’t see him, he beams like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Sure I’m sure! I dropped an apple core not far from here – pretty sure I can find it again if nothing ate it in the meantime.”

“Do not move,” says Vex, almost as sharp as when she demanded a sign of life from them. “Seriously. Stay put, we’re coming down to meet you. You’re closer to the way out anyway, we’ll be retracing our steps.”

“Sure you’re both okay?” Pike asks. “Not hurt?”

Grog smiles. As usual, he took some damage in the fight, scuffs and scrapes and things – he’s definitely gonna have new scars on his shoulder and his thigh – but he’s super tough and he heals fast. And apart from a few bruises of his own Scanlan doesn’t move like someone who’s injured.

They both reply in the negative. Scanlan’s answer is longer and more flowery. Pike says, “…O–kay,” a little uncertain, but it sounds more like she’s still worried rather than her usual disconcerted and/or amused response to Scanlan being Scanlan. Then, because she’s the best, she adds just for Grog, “See you soon, buddies” before the earrings go silent as they walk away and out of range.

The scratch on his thigh is smarting a little and sending tingles down his leg, so Grog makes himself comfortable on the ground while Scanlan stares up the cliff with a funny look on his face.

“That really was a hell of a drop, huh.” He looks back at Grog and smiles. “Thanks, bud. I think I would’ve looked like one of those fancy holey cheeses if you hadn’t been there.”

Grog shrugs. “I mean, it’s not a big deal.” Then, as Scanlan gets a look on his face like he disagrees and it is a big deal, “Hey, by the way, did you do somethin’? ‘Cause for a second there I thought we were gonna go splat.”

He registered sensations as they fell, other than the wind whistling in his ears and his body trying to curl into the tightest ball imaginable to protect his insides and Scanlan’s. A muffled voice against his chest, a warm tingle enveloping him, the impression that the world slowed down for a couple of heartbeats before he crashed into the ground. Either he developed powers – which he doesn’t rule out, maybe he is a secret wizard and just didn’t know it till then – or Scanlan used his own.

It’s hard to see in the mostly-dark, but he thinks Scanlan looks miffed at the ‘no big deal’ for a second before he shakes his head and grins.

“Well, yeah. I had one spell left in me and I wasn’t about to—what the hell, Grog, is that blood yours!?”

His face went from smiling to shocked in the middle of his sentence. Grog frowns and looks down.

Oh.

Yeah.

Shit.

The scratch on his leg isn’t very big, but turns out it’s a lot deeper than he thought. One of the thingy’s tail spikes must have gone deep into the meat of his thigh. It doesn’t hurt more than the kind of injury that takes care of itself with a bit of rest, so Grog honestly hasn’t noticed till now, but it’s bleeding steadily, probably has been since their fall. There would be a little puddle of blood on the ground under his knee if rivulets weren’t slowly trickling down the slow incline and around the bigger pebbles. The back of his trouser leg is warm and sticky almost down to the top of his boot.

“Huh,” says Grog, blinking down. At least that explains the pins and needles in his leg. “That’s, uh. Not. Good?”

“Not good, sure, let’s go with that.” Scanlan hurries closer and starts rummaging around Grog’s belt and trousers. Good thing Grog isn’t ticklish.

“Lookin’ for something?”

“Yeah, the bag – where is it?”

“I don’t have the bag,” says Grog, who doesn’t like that Scanlan’s usual grin disappeared. Scanlan’s always smiling. “I gave it to Keyleth, and she gave it to Percy.”

“Gave it to… Why?”

“He wanted to keep working on a ‘project’ bigger than his pepperbox. Said he needed the bag to keep the parts.”

“Okay, but you don’t happen to have a healing potion on you, do you?”

“Nah, they’re all in the bag. That’s also why I gave it to Keyleth: you lot need those potions way more than me.”

Scanlan stops frisking him and stares up at him.

“I guess, but what happens when you need one and you don’t have any on hand?”

“Then Pike heals me, gets me back up. Or Keyleth, or Vex, or you. I mean, you have magic, right?”

“Sorry, big guy,” Scanlan says slowly, “I’m beat. I don’t have anything useful left – most I can do right now is try to send a message thirty feet away or hurt somebody’s feelings, and neither works on rocks.” He searches his own pockets and adds with a grimace, “Damn, I don’t even have the fun stuff on me.”

“What fun stuff?”

“Just straps and ribbons and things.” Grog blinks; Scanlan shrugs. “You never know when you’re gonna meet somebody who’s down with a bit of bondage. But they’re all in my pack, and I put my pack in the bag of holding –”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Because it was heavy and I wanted to move quickly in case we found the thingy, or the other way around!”

That’s… a good reason, Grog muses. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that not everyone has his muscles and endurance.

Scanlan stands there for a second, his hands in his pockets, slouching slightly. He bites his lip, looks at Grog’s leg, and shrugs off the leather vest he uses as armour. Then he starts to undo the few buttons on his shirt that aren’t already undone.

“Uhh,” says Grog, baffled, “what are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m stripping.”

“Okay, but why? Oh, you mean you wanna, like, bang?”

Grog knows Scanlan likes having sex, a lot. Which is fair; so does Grog. Having sex is awesome. But this is Scanlan, his second best little buddy, the guy who never balks at going with him to houses of lady favours, one of the very few people he knows who never talk down to him or treat him like he’s too stupid to understand things. Grog loves him a lot, and the thought of having sex with people he loves is too weird to contemplate.

Also, while a few girls Grog had the best kind of naked fun with had dicks, he’s never been with a dude, and he has a feeling it’d be kinda weird, too.

So he sits up straighter and tries to recall the words Pike taught him in case someone was interested in him and he wasn’t.

“’Cause if you do, I am sorry,” he says, sounding out each word carefully, “you are a great person and I respect you very much, but I am not attracted to you like that.”

He must have got it right on the first try, because Scanlan chuckles as he takes off his shirt.

“You don’t know what you’re missing, buddy. Don’t worry, though, I will do my best to live with the sting of rejection.”

He eyes his shirt, then Grog’s thigh, and makes a whole-body eh gesture before walking right up to Grog. “No, my big, incredibly sexy goliath friend, I’m not trying to woo you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d totally be DTF if, you know, you were interested and I’d get to not be dead by the time we’re done, but that’s not why you’re getting a strip tease.”

“So?” asks Grog, still puzzled. It was warm in the part of the cave where they fought the thingy; Keyleth said it’s because of some gas that makes it smell like walking into a fart at times. But Scanlan usually gets cold way before he does. Why did he take off his clothes?

“So, while we’re waiting for the others to waltz back in and save the day…” Scanlan stops, cocks his head to the side. “By which I mostly mean Pike. She’s amazing like that. Hopefully she still has energy for some spells left – but failing that, a bag full of healing potions works, too. Anyway,” he adds, crouching in front of Grog and trying to wedge the shirt under his thigh as gingerly as he can, “while we’re waiting, you’re getting a bandage so you don’t bleed to death. Or rather the funny word Vex said that time, way back, before Pike came into the picture… You know, the thing she tied around Vax’s arm when he got stabbed bad… What was it – sounded kinky, like pourniquey, or… Tourniquet! That’s it!”

The triumphant grin turns into a grimace when he has to pull on his shirt with all his might to fasten it properly. He’s so small there’s almost not enough material to tie a really tight knot, even when Grog gives him a hand and pulls on the sleeves as hard as he dares. So Grog also keeps his right hand firmly on the wound, half at Scanlan’s insistence and half because of a dim memory from when he was really young, of seeing a fellow member of the Herd clutching a gushing wound to keep the blood inside while other people ran for a healer. His father made him watch so he’d toughen out. Grog guesses it worked.

When they’re done, Scanlan takes a step back and a satisfied look at his handiwork with his fists on his hips.

“There you go. Deluxe bandage. I’ll be taking that shirt back when you’re done with it, though. That’s imported silk from Marquet.”

Grog watches the blood slowly seep into the fabric, dark on white, and frowns.

“Scanlan?”

“Yes, bud.”

“Do you really think I’ll bleed to death? ‘Cause that would be a shitty way to go.”

Scanlan’s eyebrows go up, his smile goes down. He goes to sit on Grog’s left and elbows him in the side.

“What? No, Grog, come on. You’ll probably go out fighting dragons and hydras, only you’ll be so old by then people will wonder How the hell is he still alive and still so awesome? Also, who is that extremely handsome gnome bard who seems so chummy with him? Do you think they’re single? Unless you’d prefer to die peacefully in your bed, surrounded by your kids and grandkids. That might not be so bad, either.”

“Pssh, are you kidding me?” Grog scoffs. “That last one sounds lame. I prefer the other one, it’s badass. Plus I’m a dude, so it’s not like I can have kids, right?”

Scanlan scrunches up his face.

“I mean. You don’t get to, you know, grow them inside you, but you do get to help make ‘em if you want some. As far as I know that’s the fun part anyway.”

Then, as Grog nods and does his best to look knowledgeable, he gives him a funny look.

“Grog.”

“Yes?”

“You… do know how kids happen, right?”

“Obviously,” says Grog, who has little to no idea, but who’d rather get stabbed by a thingy again rather than admit it.

Scanlan shuffles forward to perch himself on Grog’s good leg, just before his knee, and squints up at him.

“Okay. Spill. Where do you think babies come from?”

“’That a trick question?” Grog scratches the back of his head and tries to dredge up relevant memories. The topic’s never been of much interest to him. “Well, sometimes ladies get big, so they go to the healer’s tent and, well, they make the babies, I guess.”

About a year after he came to live with the Trickfoots, Pop-Pop Wilhand tried to explain what that entailed exactly. His explanation was long, rambly, and full of embarrassed hemming and throat-clearing. He said something about a man and a woman loving each other very much, then segued into flowers and bees, and by the time he reached the tadpoles Grog had checked out completely. He listened politely, or rather waited for Wilhand to finish his speech so he could go outside and help Pike chop up wood. Wilhand did so with relief and the pleased look of someone having Done Their Duty, and Grog walked away wondering what the hell that was about.

Technically he could ask Pike about it, of course, but he won’t. Either she got the same talk and didn’t understand either, or she knows a lot more than him and he’d look like an idiot.

It’s always hard to read Scanlan at the best of times, but at least he’s not laughing at Grog, just staring at him like he’s expecting more.

“Uh-huh. Okay. But before that?”

Grog is sitting in a puddle of blood that isn’t even someone else’s, his thigh started throbbing while he wasn’t paying attention, and he hates feeling cornered like this. His patience has limits. He crosses his arms against his chest and says in a huff, “I don’t know, mate, that looked like none of my business, so I didn’t ask, okay? Nobody ever managed to explain that shit properly, anyway, so I figured it was magic. Just works and no one really knows how.”

Scanlan looks blank for a few seconds. Then he smiles widely, and to Grog’s relief it’s not the kind of smile that means he’s gonna say something snarky.

“It’s not magic, buddy – well, not that kind of magic, anyway. It’s just sex.”

“What?” asks Grog gruffly.

“People make kids by having sex.”

“You’re messin’ with me.”

“I’m not!” exclaims Scanlan, throwing up his hands in the air. “I promise!”

Grog pauses to think. “…Really?”

“Yep. That’s why I said helping make them was the fun part, not actually making them.”

He did say that. Grog thinks some more.

“So… a dude really can’t, like. Grow a baby.”

“If he has a vag and the right insides, sure he can.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“But you need at least two people to bump uglies for that. One of each set.”

Grog taps his finger against his chin. “So, uh. How’s that work?”

And Scanlan explains, matter-of-factly, with normal words and all sorts of expressive gestures, what goes where and how. It doesn’t sound all that complicated. Why so many people clam up and go red about it is just baffling.

But then something disturbing occurs to him.

“Scanlan?”

“Oi?”

“Do I help make a baby every time I visit a house of lady favours?”

“Nah,” says Scanlan confidently. “There’s potions and cantrips for that kind of stuff. These ladies are pros, they know what they’re doing.”

“And the ladies that aren’t pros?”

Scanlan looks thoughtful for all of two seconds. Then he waves the thought away. “Like I said, potions and cantrips. I’m sure it’s fine. If you don’t forget to pull out in time it’s all hunky dory.”

“Oh, good.”

Then he remembers he’s supposed to keep a hand on his thigh, to help the doohickey do its thing. After he presses his palm flat on the wound again, though, he lifts his hand again to glance at it real quick, and frowns.

There’s a lot of blood on and under his leg. More than before. His palm drips with it and some of it is seeping up on the back of his hand from between his fingers. The doohickey did slow down the flow, but Grog’s pretty sure that so much blood on the outside rather than the inside is a bad sign. So’s the tingling that started in his fingers and has been creeping up to his elbows in the last few minutes.

Nothing he or Scanlan can do anything about, though, so he doesn’t bring it up.

Scanlan is humming absently, still sitting on Grog’s good leg. He leans back and yawns, then mutters, “Where’d they go, by way of Wildemount? We didn’t take so long going up, right?”

Grog shrugs. Without the sun or the night sky it’s always hard to tell the passage of time, so he stopped trying. Maybe it’s night outside and his body knows it, hence the impression that the ground is leeching warmth from his bones.

“Gettin’ cold too, huh?” he asks with a jerk of his chin to Scanlan’s bare chest. Scanlan shakes his head.

“Gods, no. This place is more stuffy than the Nine Hells. Well, maybe not literally, it’s probably even hotter down there, but I’m not sure it smells worse. Like… farts and rotten eggs. Ugh.”

“Can’t be that warm if I’m getting cold,” Grog points out, lower than he means to. Wait, when did it get hard to speak at a normal volume?

And why are his eyelids so heavy all of a sudden?

Scanlan’s gaze whips up to his face then down to his leg so fast Grog has trouble following. He springs up and sits astride Grog’s other knee, close enough to press a hand on the wound, right next to Grog’s. His hand is so tiny that it immediately looks like he dunked it in blood.

“Shit,” he says in a tone so sober it sends a chill up Grog’s spine. With the other hand he touches his earring. “Guys, can you hear me? Pike? Pike, we need you here, fast, it’s… Ah, fuck.”

Nobody answers. They’re still out of range. Numbers are stupid and make no sense, but ‘five hundred feet’ suddenly sounds like a lot anyway.

Numbers are stupid; Grog isn’t. He doesn’t need to be able to count to weigh up the odds and see that they’re starting to look bad. Like, bad bad.

The shirt Scanlan used as a doohickey has gone almost completely red, for one. So has the hand he’s pressing into Grog’s thigh with so much force – for him – Grog actually feels the weight of it. Maybe Grog should worry more about the dark that’s creeping up on the edges of his vision, but at this point it feels like too much pointless effort.

“Hey!”

Scanlan snaps his fingers in his face, making him start awake.

“None of that, you’re not going anywhere. Come on, you just gotta wait for the others. They’ll be here soon. Guys? I’m serious, get your asses down here stat. Tell you what, I’m gonna keep talking till one of you replies. I’m going to annoy the shit out of you and you’ll hurry back here just to get me to shut up. How’s that sound?”

Still no answer. Scanlan throws his head back and lets out a string of very creative swears. If Grog wasn’t halfway gone he’d congratulate him.

Gods, it is a shitty way to go. Bleeding out in the dark after fighting a thingy he didn’t even get to kill. Fighting dragons and hydras when he’s really old would’ve been so much more badass.

Somehow, without meaning to and even without much breath left, the words must have passed his lips, because he could swear Scanlan turns pale.

“Stop it, okay? You’re not helping. Forget the thingy, you’re not dying now just because of… Godsdammit! Guys! Help! Pike!”

The last word sends a jolt throughout Grog’s body. Pike is kind and bright, fierce and strong; she loves drinking and fighting and helping people. She would get sad if he died, and the world isn’t right when Pike is sad. Scanlan gets it. He’s always trying to make her smile or laugh.

“Come on, buddy, please don’t – PIKE! Oh guys, thank gods, just – no, shut up, get the fuck over here now! Pike… Please…”

Scanlan’s voice cracks a little on the last word. Grog didn’t know it could do that.

The last thought that successfully takes shape in his brain is that maybe this isn’t such a shitty way to go, after all. He saved Scanlan from the thingy, and Scanlan saved them both from the fall; and sure, he’s not taking a big badass monster with him, but he’s dying with a good friend at his side. It would have been a bummer to die alone, in the ass crack of the world, with miles and miles of rock between him and the open sky.

Grog’s right hand goes slack and slides down from his thigh.

Scanlan makes a strangled noise.

“Grog, don’t you fucking dare—”

Everything stops.

* * *

“—og. Grog. Can you hear me?”

There’s a voice in Grog’s ears, piercing through the fog, and he makes an effort to shake the cobwebs because Pike definitely sounds scared and she never does.

…Wait. This feels weirdly familiar, like a dream he’s already had.

Time pauses, rewinds. Grog recalls a fight, a fall, a friend – yeah, that definitely happened. His right thigh aches dimly, and exhaustion is weighing his bones. That tracks. But also, he’s alive, which definitely doesn’t.

Plus there’s a wet nose that smells of bear nuzzling the side of his head.

Voices burst out (“Hey furball! Back off, let him breathe!” vs. “Trinket, darling, give him some space”), but as usual there’s only one Grog really pays attention to.

Sure enough, when he works his eyes open, Pike is crouching just in front of him, very pale but smiling, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. Her holy symbol is still glowing faintly from between her clenched fingers and her dark hair is falling out of her crown of braids.

“Hey, buddies,” she whispers. “Welcome back.”

Her voice quivers a little, but the small hand laid on his chest is perfectly steady. Maybe it’s the residual warmth of whatever spell she hit him with, maybe it’s just because he’s surprised and happy to find himself not dead after all, or maybe it’s because he just loves Pike a whole lot and he’s glad to see her – the last vestiges of cold leave him.

“Hi, Pike.” He frowns. “Did I die?”

She chuckles, and lets go of her pendant to wipe her nose on her sleeve.

“No. Well. Maybe just a little,” she says, still with that weird combo of big smile and wobbling voice. “You gave all of us a hell of a scare, you know.”

All of us?

Indeed, now Grog’s eyes focus farther than Pike in the light of a torch planted into the ground, there’s Keyleth, staring at him with wide eyes, shoulders trembling just a little; Vax, a look of naked relief on his face so stark it startles Grog; Vex, one hand gripping Trinket’s fur and the other grasping Grog’s good leg – whether to prop herself up or to physically make sure he’s indeed alive is anyone’s guess; Percy, both fists clenching and unclenching as though of their own accord, breathing much too deeply and carefully to be natural; and Scanlan, sat slumped near Grog, his face almost as white as his shirt was before he took it off. Blood coats both his hands past the wrists and his eyes are almost as shiny as Pike’s.

“Told you,” he says with a weak smile, “dragons and hydras. Not some random thingy in a cave that smells like farts and rotten eggs. Also –”

He holds up the bag of holding and fishes out a sparkling red bottle that he hands out to Grog.

“There you go, big guy. Bottoms up.”

The healing potion must be one of the really good ones. It goes through Grog like a trail of fire, energy fizzing to his fingers and down to his toes. He doesn’t usually need potions to heal, so it’s odd to feel flesh knitting itself up and blood rushing along his veins again. His limbs still feel weird, and he has a feeling he’s going to need some rest before he’s back to full health, but life and strength are flowing through him once more.

Turns out Scanlan was right: it takes more than a thingy to kill Grog Strongjaw.

Vex takes the empty bottle from him and the bag from Scanlan, who barely reacts, and asks, “Better now, darling?”

“Yep, all good,” Grog replies. It’s not really true, and he doesn’t miss a look from Pike that says she’s going to keep an eye on him no matter what, but it feels kinda true, and that’s enough for now. “So what now? I mean, we’re done here, right?”

“I suggest we find a safe place to camp before we head out,” says Percy, looking around as though he expects another thingy to leap out of the shadows. Which wouldn’t surprise Grog overmuch, really. This place sucks.

They all agree, and after Vax suggests they set up camp where they stopped earlier, pretty close from here, most of them leave to do just that.

To Grog’s relief, nobody fusses over him more. He’s not used to people worrying about him outside of Pike and Wilhand. It weirds him out. Vax slaps his arm with a smile and walks away, Trinket padding after him; Keyleth climbs back to her feet and pats his shoulder awkwardly, though her smile is warm and genuine; Percy gives him a nod before following her, his breathing normal again.

And Vex tightens the bag’s drawstrings and puts it in his hands.

“Grog,” she says. “Um. Listen.”

Grog listens.

“I know you can take a hit better than anyone else. It takes a lot to knock you down, like… a lot. And I know today was, well, an anomaly. But I was thinking… You should keep the bag. You know, full time.”

“Okay,” says Grog, who’s waiting to see where she’s going with it before deciding if it’s worth getting angry about. He loathes being coddled. But Vex also essentially said he was a tough motherfucker, so that makes up for it. “Why?”

“Because you’re not just tough. You’re the fastest of all of us, so if anyone needs a potion or something else from the bag in the heat of battle, you can just run and give it to them, right?”

Oh. Yeah. That’s a pretty good reason. Good thing he didn’t get angry.

“As long as you don’t forget to take one yourself when you need it, okay?” Vex adds in a softer tone. “Anyone can need first aid at some point, dear. Even a barbarian built like a brick shithouse.”

“Right.”

She looks at him intently some more, as though there’s a question in there he’s supposed to answer. When it becomes obvious that he’s said all he wanted to say, she rises, winks at him, and leaves him with Pike and Scanlan.

Vex’s winks are something else. More often than not she uses them at other people like she fires her arrows, so being on the receiving end of a nice one for a change is a treat.

“What’s that on your leg?” Pike asks Grog as they all stand up.

Grog is about to reply ‘just some blood’, but then he remembers Scanlan’s shirt is still tied around his thigh and that’s why Scanlan’s holding his leather vest instead of wearing it.

“I forgot,” he says, “I did get first aid. Scanlan made a doohickey, look.”

Pike does look at the doohickey. Then at Scanlan. Then back at the doohickey, Grog, and then Scanlan again.

Scanlan stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“I mean,” he says just a little uncertainly, “I was tapped out of useful spells and I think that’s how you tie a tourniquet – but then again, you know, I’m a bard, if you asked me what rhymes with ‘tourniquet’ that’d be more my speed. Like, I might say ‘turning key’ but good luck fitting that in a song and it doesn’t really match the scans—”

Without warning Pike grabs him into a hug. An actual hug, so sudden Scanlan doesn’t even have time to say anything, and so tight he lets out a little breathless ooof. He goes an interesting shade of red. Although maybe that’s just because he just got crushed against chain mail.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, very quietly but so fiercely Grog has no trouble making out the words. “Just a minute more, and I wouldn’t have… He’d… Thank you.”

Well then. If Grog still had any doubt left that he really would have died down here without his best little buddies… He’s not afraid to die, as such, especially if it’s against something really badass or to protect someone he loves (which is not that many people). But he’s fucking glad he didn’t.

Scanlan looks at Pike (or rather the back of her head, mostly), looks at Grog, and, wonder of wonders, says nothing for once – just holds her back a little awkwardly, his vest dangling from his hand.

It doesn’t last long anyway. Pike lets go of him and steps back quickly, looking a little self-conscious, like she just only noticed he’s naked from the waist up. Chest hair or jewellery probably doesn’t count. And that’s funny, because she’s never like that around Grog, who rarely wears anything except his trousers, belt, and boots. Plus, now, the doohickey, which he manages to loosen but not quite untie; the knot is really tight and the congealed blood isn’t helping. So he shrugs it off for now and picks up both gnomes, setting one on each shoulder. Pike is a little heavier than Scanlan, because of the chain mail, but as usual it’s like carrying a couple of kittens.

There. Just as things should be.

“Hey, Scanlan,” he says, walking towards the others while Pike wipes her eyes and clings to his shoulder a little tighter than she usually does, “sorry your shirt got messed up.”

“It’s okay, buddy. It was for a good cause.”

“You know,” says Pike, “I think a tourniquet works better with a stick. I could teach you.”

“Well, not many sticks underground, but I suppose if needs be I can always use my—”

“Your what, Scanlan?”

“—flute! I was gonna say ‘my flute’! I am not risking the Cube just to make a dick joke, guys, come on.”

“Hey Pike, remember when Wilhand said babies come from birds and tadpoles? Turns out he was wrong.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. They actually come from people havin’ sex. Do you thinks he knows?”

“I… You know, I think you should definitely tell him next time we see him. Sounds important.”

“Pike? This Wilhand, he’s your… great-grandfather, correct?”

“Great-great-grandfather, why?”

“Oh, nothing. Hey Grog, be a pal and pass me my pack, will you, there’s a clean shirt in there. Also, tell me someone picked up my flute?”

Turns out Vax did.

Having friends, Grog reflects before they settle down around a campfire and take a flagon of ale from the bag, is indeed pretty great.

⁂

(uuughhh I'm still meh about the last sentence (it's been kicking my arse for the past two days at least) 😭 I'm waiting to see if/when my beta is available to look this over before I post it on AO3, but I will as soon as I can 💜)

EDIT oh!! I had fun with a 5e monster/NPC stat block builder and homebrewed a thingy :D Let me know if you think it's appropriate for a level 5-ish party! (ngl, I ripped the Deadly Leap feature from the bulette ^^')

What do you think? Total shit or could actually work?

[galesdevoteewife]

Right back at you! Could you tell us about their wedding ? 8, 18 and 19 🥰

Hello hello!! Thanks for dropping the ask!! Loved to do more Wedding prompts!! ✨✨

8. Traditions - The overall ceremony was a much simplified version of the traditional Dekarios ones. Many customs involves seeking good luck and my HC Gale snorted at and skipped lots of them. "All that's needed are the right words, gestures and substance components." type of Gale who would ignore the regulations and superstitions.

It still serves as both family gatherings and singles mixers as the traditional ceremonies do.

Dekarios family dances and ice-breaking games.

The rings followed Waterdeep traditions.

All the traditions are from Dekarios or Waterdeep. In my world Menzoberranzan don't have this type of weddings.

18. I Now Pronounce You... - Zilvera inherits Gale's family name, becoming Zilvera Dekarios and Mrs. Dekarios. Gale smiles every time he reads or hears someone call her that way. Zilvera likes how it links their name like a pair, although she rarely introduces herself with the surname. Just in case, because she wouldn't want to stain its reputation on her behalf.

19. Guests -

🎶People were chatting, playing, dancing, singing, drinking, eating, mingling 🪕

A group of children made a bouquet for the bride using the flower decoration on the table. "We think you are beautiful," the brave boy holding the flowers at the front said nervously with blushing cheeks.

Astarion was flirting with the most innocent-virgin-looking cousin.

Shadowheart set up a drinking contest with bets, and made a fortune out of it. She can hold her wine and she skillfully cheated.

Lae’zel was bored until Shadowheart persuaded her to start a martial arts arena: "Shouldn't a true warrior be able to win with any weapon?" Contestants chose food from the table as their weapon. The loser would have to eat the food afterward. Baguette was a popular choice. SH again made her coin purse even heavier. "My animals need to eat, and I am a responsible owner." She said with a glass of wine in her hand.

Elminster was there. Gale was playing cool but he was thrilled inside. He opened a precious wine for his idol and Elminster played along as if he was here because he wouldn't want to miss the wine. Only El knew the true reason of his visit, the old wizard has always been a mystery.

The ceremony moved Wyll to tears. The magically chilled beer moved Karlach to tears. They both missed the food and air so much.

There were piles of wedding gifts.

Barcus and some of his gnome friends, from Ironhand and from Gondians, attended. He brought her a very fancy firework show as wedding gift. The gnome's visit was also a business trip; they planned to expend their business in Waterdeep.

Zilvera looked at Barcus with an arched eyebrow. He stood there stiffly, posing like a scarecrow. "Are you trying to give me a hug?" "I just feel like it’s appropriate for the occasion. You want it or not?" "Maybe, but I am not bending down. How about you jump into my arms?" "You wish!" "Hm." She smirked, it’s good to see the familiar grumpy face. "Here, take this. I brought you a wedding gift so you won’t blackmail me later. Find a secluded place and toss it into the sky, as high as you can…damp coal! I said secluded place! Would you ever listen to my instruction...!"

"…Listen. I'll only say this once." Barcus said while they both looked up to the sky, knowing the drow's ears would pick up his every word no matter how loud the fireworks were. "Zilvera, you are a better person than you think. You deserve all of this. May you always find inspiration and strength in your union, my friend."

In my HC post-game Zilvera was in close contact with Barcus, who was now leading the Ironhands and collaborating with the Gondians, to help them recover from Gortash's doing. They needed money and wanted their skills to be known, while the drow wanted to build her own merchant guild, so they hit it off. Zilvera grew increasingly fond of these little fellows for their impressive skills and their character. She especially liked Barcus; they had become true friends.

♡ Wedding Prompts ♡01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

I appreciate Barcus's character and quest line so much, his was lots of fun! ("We love collaboration. Challenge. Solving problems with the power of reason, creativity and invention". Yup that's my cup of character ☕) He also have this firework dialog at tiefling party, it was very him 😂

[medra-gonbites]

BG3 Masterlist

Hereby find a list of my writing (revolving exclusively around Baldur's Gate 3 because I have brainrot).

If you feel like it I'd be more than happy to receive prompt to work with (however I am quite slow just so you know ^^)!

Disclaimer: Most NSFW pieces are not posted on this platform in their entirety and will relay a link to the full version on AO3. This allows the reader to consult the full list of tags and CW before interacting with any potential triggering scenario. NSFW does not necessarily means smut: it can also indicate violence or possible triggering themes.

Head Canon Blobs

Companions Filmmaker Edition - What roles would the BG3 characters be taking on a film set?

Companions Party Edition - Who brings what to Tav birthday party?

Companions Music Edition - Which instruments do the Tadfools Band (and others) play and why?

Companions Pokemon Edition - Which Pokemon would the companions choose

One Shot Fictions

The Contemplations and Conclusions of Minsc of Rashemen - SFW - A stream of consciousness following Minsc's (and Boo's) reading of their new (and old) comrades.

A Night to Remember - SFW - The drunken shenaningans of two tadfools out in Baldur's Gate. (Astarion/Shadowheart (platonic))

A Modicum of Decorum - SFW - An old friend attempts to visit Gale. Unfortunately Tav is at the door. (Gale/Tav)

Wounds of Love - SFW - Lae'zel is obsessed with the wizard and needs to do something about it. (Astralweave: Gale/Lae'zel)

Ashes to Ashes - SFW - During the first year in Szarr Palace, Astarion has grown very close to one of the other spawn. (Astarion/Male!OC)

The Treasure among the Scale - NSFW - Wyll encounters a distressed mermaid on the beach and decides to help her out. (Wyll/Unnamed Fem!OC)

A Cone of Cold you Made of Me - NSFW - Gale visits an old flame. She is not happy to see him. (Gale/Unnamed Fem!OC)

On My Lord's Lap - NSFW - Lord Astarion and his consort Gale receive an adventuring party reporting on their missi. (Bloodweave: Ascended Astarion/Consort Gale)

A Wild Magic You Cast - NSFW - She infuriates him; her talent for magic matches only the chaos she triggers. (Gale/Fem!Wild Sorcerer Durge)

Blooodweave week 2024 - SFW & NSFW This series consists of 6 one shot chapters and 1 multi-chapters fic centered around the Bloodweave ship (Astarion/Gale)

Multi-Chapters Fictions

The Wizard Who Read Everything - 3 chapters - Pairing: Gale/Named Fem!OC - SFW

The wizard had struggled to find an apprentice for quite some time. When he finally does, he find himself quite intrigued by his new hire. It is not appropriate but he can't help think about her. The racy literature that she writes as a hobby does not help. Neither does the fact that he reads in secret…

What is left of what once was - 5 chapters - Pairing: Gale/Fem!Tav - Ascended Astarion/Fem!Tav - NSFW

Astarion has ascended. He has all he has ever wanted. Except you, since you chose Gale over him. Now that he is a Vampire Lord he will not let you go so easily.

Roll Initiative - 4 chapters -Pairing: Gale/Astarion - Alternative Universe - NSFW

This is not Astarion's idea of fun but he begrudgingly agreed to join Wyll's current D&D tabletop campaign: the prospect of rolling dice and hallucinate a quest for 2 hours does not appeal to him at all. At least the game master is cute...

My Tavs & Durges

Most of them are silly geese. I like puns and inventing wacky backstories for them.

Tavs

Medra Gonbites - Drow Paladin

Denisious Delicious - Rock Gnome Bard (& co-op Tav Denise Delice - Wood Half-Elf Druid)

Mari Zoto - Human Monk

Durges

Dana R'Whaal - High Elf Sorcerer

Robert (Bob) Slay - Half-Orc Warlock

Zorthos Akognto Yerwitcher - Tiefling Cleric

I hope you enjoy my work! Comments and feedbacks are always appreciated of course !

[parkkiablah]

Your writing is soooo good! I've loved everything you've done .

Could I give a prompt of Zevlor X Tiefling Tav ( purple Tielfing )

That after she's rescued the tieflings from moonrise and discovered that Zevlor is missing. There heart breaks as they think they now have forever missed the chance to tell him there true feelings 💔

But they take that anger and sadness and fight kethric and when they find zevlor and maybe bring him with them to finish the fight ( I wish we could bring him with us in game )

Anyway they get back to camp and Tav ignores everyone and looks for zevlor and when they find him they hug him and there tail wraps around his.

(Thank you so much for the request!! I hope you like it 🧡)

Lost Chance? (Zevlor x Tiefling Tav)

You sneaked into the prison area of Moonlight Towers, looking for the tiefling refugees here.

When you heard what happened it was out of question for you to get them out of here, they were your kind after all and you grew fond of them, sharing the same burden of judgement the people held against tieflings.

You still didn't believe that Zevlor just betrayed them. There had to be more to it than just that and you had to talk to him about it.

When you found the prison cells you were happy to finally have found them. Lia stood at the front of the cell, telling you to talk to the gnomes in the other cell as they seemed to plan something.

And so you did. It wasn't easy to find a way to talk to them without the prison guards starting to be suspicious of you but you managed. Wulbren had asked for something to break through the walls of the cell and you threw an heavy weapon you had with you inside the cell, careful not to be caught in the act.

You were sure you had to fight the guards around anyway so you thought it would be a good option to use as a distraction of what the gnomes and tieflings did in the cells.

The gnomes had quickly destroyed the wall in their cell, revealing a tunnel to the tiefling's cell and to a small boat.

They waited before they left, obviously unsure where to go.

Scanning the group of them you didn't notice Zevlor being with them. Was he not here?

"Is Zevlor not with you?", you asked them.

"They brought him somewhere else, no idea what kind of plan they had for him.", Cal responded.

You were stunned and shocked. It couldn't be. Did they torture him? Or kill him right away? Your mind was wandering on all the worst scenarios and you couldn't stop feeling helpless.

He couldn't be dead. It just couldn't be.

It would mean you missed your chance to tell him how you felt for him.

You didn't know him for a long time, yet you couldn't help feeling warm whenever you talked to him, feeling comfortable yet nervous, feeling your heart beat faster when he just looked at you. There was no way you could deny your feelings for him and right in that moment you felt lost.

Zevlor wasn't here and knowing how cruel the Absolute was it wouldn't be a surprise to you if they had killed him. And realizing that was like a hit in the stomach.

You missed your chance.

Or that's what you believed when you were fighting Ketheric. Your anger and frustration obviously showing and it made the fight on the roof of Moonrise towers a short one, when Ketheric disappeared into the Mindflayer colony.

Following him you noticed the amount of tunnels formed inside of the colony and finding the way towards Ketheric would probably take a while.

Stumbling through the many tunnels and finding one dead end after the other you walked into a room with some of the pods you had been in as well a while ago. The first one of them showed a Mindflayer while the next one was empty.

When your eyes saw the third one you couldn't believe your eyes for a second. Zevlor was stuck in there.

He was alive.

Your hands found the mechanism opening the pods in no time and you didn't care about the Mindflayers you had to fight. You would fight hundreds of them if you had to.

The fight was a short one, Zevlor fighting with you and his blade easily cutting through the enemies.

Still in disbelieve you watched as his blade cut through the last enemy. He turned around to you, blood covering his face aside his tired expression and yet you couldn't find him any less attractive than the last time you had seen him.

"Thank you. I really thought it was over for me.", he said, his face showing relief.

You tried holding back any emotions trying to run through your body, after all you still had to fight and defeat Ketheric.

"I'm glad we have found you. I was worried when I didn't see you with the others.", you said.

"The others.. what happened to them?"

His voice was heavy with guilt and you were curious to hear his part of the story once you got out of here.

"I saved all I could. Some where in prison here but they are safe."

"I have no right worrying about them but I can't thank you enough for saving them once again."

"Would you join me in the next fight? I could use your help.", you asked him and hoped he won't refuse. You couldn't stand the thought of him being out of your sight again.

"I don't think this is a good idea, the Absolute made me turn against my people once already and I don't want to find my blade in your back.", he said, his face showing worry and defeat.

"I trust you. Please join us.", you said. Your eyes were locked with his as he tried to find a way to say no to you. He looked at you for a few seconds before a sigh left his lips.

"I will do my best to assist you.", he finally replied and you were happy to have him with you in the upcoming fight.

Knowing him by your side made you feel at ease and even more so when you defeated Ketheric.

It was a lot to take in, yet you pushed most of the information to the back of your mind, your priority was to have a chance to talk to Zevlor outside of the Mindflayer colony you were still in.

Your camp was set up inside of Moonrise towers today as you successfully defeated all the enemies inside of here.

Aylin and Isobel were the first to approach you, Jaheira tried a moment later, yet you turned them down and told them you would talk later.

You just wanted to find Zevlor right now.

He was standing outside of the door to Moonrise towers, looking into the distance while he was obviously deep in thought with his back facing you.

"Zevlor.", you called out his name and he turned around. Thats when you collided with his chest, the impact made him take a step back or he would have fallen, your arms around his waist and your face burried in his chest.

You stood there for a moment when you felt his arms slowly close around you, pressing you closer to his body and his head resting against yours.

Your tail searched for his, wrapping around it slowly and you felt him do the same. Tails wrapped around each other many times, twisted together like you never wanted to let go of him.

Thats when you couldn't hold your emotions back anymore. You quietly sobbed into his chest and he held you even closer.

"I thought I had lost you.", you sobbed, having a hard time forming words with the sobs shaking through your body.

His hands caressed your back, trying to calm your shaking form and offer some comfort.

"I am here. You saved me again and I can't thank you enough for it.", he whispered into your ear.

He held you like that for a while, chest moving with his steady breathing that camled you down while your sobs became less frequent.

You loosened the embrace, wiping your face and hiding your face from him.

"Sorry, I shouldn't be such a mess right now."

His hands found your cheeks and lifted your face to look at him.

"No need to apologize. You can cry on my shoulder anytime you need.", he said quietly.

Your eyes wandered over his face, blood still clinging to his skin and his eyes full of worry. His thumbs wiped over your cheeks to remove the tears, who were still wet on your skin and you relaxed into the simple caress of his fingers.

"I really thought I had lost my chance to tell you..", you whispered and he looked at you like he was waiting for you to continue talking. "I love you, Zevlor. I know we didn't have much time together and we don't know each other well but I can't help feeling-"

He cut you off with his lips on yours. Your eyes were wide for a moment, trying to realize what is happening before you closed them and relaxed into the kiss. Lips softly moving against each other, his hands still cupping your face, holding you gently while your tails were still wrapped around each other.

"I feel the same.", he whispered when you had parted for a moment, only to find you press your lips onto his again.

[thegnomelord]

Alright since 28 is taken Ill do the next best thing 29! Graves and his shadows with M reader, who is a colonel.

I need the wholesome and maybe a bit of the spice ya know. Thank you for soing Shadow company content, i am so starved.

Once again good soup!

Here you go dude, I'm not the best when it comes to writing for a group of people so idk how this turned out :/. Play the game HERE

Prompt: Hug from behind

CW: NSFW, subbot Graves, domtop Mreader, Shadow company fluff, hug from behind, fluff, groping, handjob, cumming in pants.

Being a colonel in the Shadow company and Grave's right hand man, you had a lot of responsibilities. From running drills to stitching up wounds to writing reports and drafting contracts when your magpie of a commander sees a new person he wants to recruit; you expected to deal with a lot of shit, but never in your wildest dreams did you expect to become the Shadow Company's emotional support Colonel.

Colonel Care Bear — it was their nickname for you. You'd made the mistake of being annoyed at the name which, of course, made the little fuckers double down on it. Nothing you did made them stop, even Graves joining in their fun and calling you that instead of your name with a smug grin.

You're not even sure when or why it had started.

It wasn't like you were overly paternal, you just took care of your soldiers. In whatever ways they needed you; The first time you'd needed to give emotional support had been after Jenkins had lost his battle buddy. Jenkins was still relatively young compared to the other Shadows, a rising star that Graves had snatched up, but on the flight back to base he'd been no better than a scared kitten, desperately trying to hold in his sobs. You hadn't said a word when you had pulled him close to you, letting him cry his heart out into your shoulder.

None of the others said a word either, and you didn't bring it up after your plane had landed. You'd expected it to be a one off experience but oh — you were so wrong.

Like feral cats learning to trust a human, the Shadows started approaching you, carefully at first, standing just at the edge of your personal space nervous fingers toying with the hem of their shirts and eyes flickering between you and anything else, until you grew annoyed and pulled them close to you, letting them cry or talk or just sit with their head on your shoulder for as long as they needed; a lighthouse in a dark sea.

Then Williams, who'd had one too many bad missions, had come into your office without a word and plopped himself into your lap while you were busy doing paperwork.

You were surprised, but not too much, with how often you'd found yourself with a Shadow near you you figured something like this was bound to happen. Though you hadn't expected it to be this forward. "Bad day?" You asked.

Williams just grunted into your neck, slightly nodding his head.

You shifted to still be able to write with him in your lap. "Want me to talk?"

You felt his hair scratch your neck when he shook his head, a negative grunt leaving his throat.

"Got it." You said and went back to your work, a hand on William's hip to keep him stable.

Safe to say you weren't amused when Graves had walked in and cracked the biggest bloody smirk when he saw you like that. You were even less amused when he'd whipped out his phone and took a photo of it. And you were ready to piss in Grave's beer after that photo had circulated through the entire Shadow Company, leading to many more similar incidents of a Shadow crawling into your lap when you weren't busy.

It really wasn't their fault your embrace just felt so good and comfortable, your arms perfectly sized and muscled to put weight in your hugs, shoulders just broad enough to make them feel small and safe.

Graves knew this because when he'd needed to confiscate Smith's phone after he'd caught him taking pictures of your ass (not that he blamed him, you had a nice ass but they needed to have some professionalism) Graves had found their simp chat.

It took him days to finish reading all the messages. I mean there were hundreds of texts gushing just over you, calendrer times for when which Shadow could go bother you for attention, not to mention the countless pictures they'd taken of you, from mundane to more suggestive when you were in the communal showers (Graves would die before he admitted he'd needed to rub one out at some of the pictures).

Safe to say that when he gave Smith his phone back Graves was. . .curious. He'd never approached you for comfort like the Shadows did, mostly because he knew he couldn't keep his thoughts pure after just a few minutes in your presence, his throat going dry whenever he feels you pat his shoulder when you pass in the hall.

"Care Bear!" Graves calls when he finds you on your way to your room, using that name just so he can see the irritated twitch of your brow.

"Yes commander?" You ask in that same tone of voice you use when you know he's up to something.

"Oh come on, no need for that." Graves grins, "Ah just need you to do something for me," He says, because he wouldn't be your commander if he was straightforward. "Follow along." He motions with his hand like a dog as he passes you.

Like a dog you follow, so close you cast a partial shadow over him. He leads you to a more secluded hallway, stopping abruptly and hearing you stop too. But you're not close enough, so with an annoyed sigh he says "Come closer."

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says, taking a few short steps closer until your chest is almost touching his back. Without a word Graves suddenly grabs your arms and wraps them around his waist, leaning back on his heels until his back is flush with your chest and you're supporting his weight.

You stall for a few moments just trying to convince your head that yes, your commander is doing that. "Really?" You ask.

He tilts his head to meet your eyes, casually resting his head on your shoulder. "Something the matter Colonel Care bear?" He smirks, reminding you of a very content cat.

You give him a blank look before rolling your eyes, "Could have just said you wanted a hug." You huff and move your arms to really hug him, your hands resting comfortably on his hips, your arms caging him in, the heat of your body seeping into his, your chest rumbling as you mutter your annoyance at the damn nickname.

"What fun would that be?" He says, eyes closing.

And, Hell, Graves gets it now.

He could get addicted this. Your scent and cologne clogs his nose, the heat of your body chasing away the lingering chill of the base. You support his weight so easily it's like he's floating on a firm cloud, forgetting about ranks and war and everything for a few blissful seconds. His mind wanders; wonders what it would feel to have your strong arms pin him every day, what it'd be like to be pinned down, the current gentle pressure turned bruising and demanding, bending him in half and shit— he's hard.

And of course you notice, wouldn't be his right hand if you couldn't read him like a book. "I'm getting the impression," You note, your grip increasing just a bit to keep him still, your other hand skirting down. "That you wanted something more than just a hug." You growl and squeeze your hand, groping the bulge in his jeans.

"Shit—" Graves sucks in a breath, legs scrambling for purchase but you hold him still, his weight still on you. "—I wasn't thinking of nothing." He says quickly, the pressure of your hand on his clothed cock too good.

"Uh huh," You hum, keeping a careful eye on his facial expressions as you experimentally move your hand; Short slow brushes of your thumb against his cockhead earn you little whimpers, unable to hide them with his head still resting on your shoulder. Firm squeezes of his entire bulge has his skin turning a nice shade of pink, his ear hot beneath your tongue as you nibble on it. His thighs part as you bully your hand lower, the strong pressure of your fingers against his balls as your palm grinds into his cockhead making him moan, the stuttered attempts at explaining himself dying out as a visible damp spot grows in his jeans.

"Faster-" Graves growls, his hands grabbing purchase in your hair, yanking your head down into a rough kiss, "-mhh, faster, fuck, man-"

You smirk against his lips. "Ask me nicely." You say, purposely pulling your hand away from where he needs it the most, ignoring his disgruntled sounds. "You son of a bitch-" Graves snarls, breathing rapidly in an attempt to get his frazzled brain to work before swallowing his pride. "Please," He says it like the word hurts him.

"Please what commander?" You wonder, undoing his belt and slipping your hand into his jeans, "Please touch my cock? Please get me off? Please fuck me till I can't walk?" You throw suggestions, applying just enough pressure on his twitching cock to leave him dumbly nodding his head.

"Yes, yes, yes- oh fuck- shit yes-" Phill pants, eyes closing and weakly thrusting his hips into your hand with what leverage he has, seeking out the pleasure that comes with your calloused hand stroking his sensitive flesh. "Fuck- just, ahh-" He breathes in through clenched teeth, "-just please."

"Alright, alright," You hum, increasing your pace, the glide of skin on skin eased by the precum he's leaking, swallowing his little moans and rough grunts as you kiss him. You can tell he's nearing his end with how he begins twitching even more in your hold, hips pushing into your hand sporadically, fat tears prickling his eyes. "Come on then Commander, cum already."

He does almost as soon as you tell him to, his moan swallowed down by your lips as he cums in his pants, your thumb rubbing insistently on his tip to milk him of all he's got, strong arm keeping him close to you.

"You did good commander." You coo gently as you pull your hand out of his pants, and without waiting for a response you push your cum covered fingers into his open mouth. "Real good," You smirk when Phill immediately sucks on your fingers, his brain melted into mush and incapable of rousing his pride to feel ashamed of how he moans at the taste of his own spend. "Such a good boy," Your praise does something to him, has his cock making a valiant attempt to get hard all over again.

The air leaves his lungs when you suddenly push your hips against his ass, making him feel your own hard cock trapped in your pants. "I took care of you," You begin, pulling your fingers from his mouth. "Are you prepared to take care of me?"

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

meet me for coffee at luke’s and celebrate 3.5k

iiiiihhh 3500! thank you all so so much! as chosen by all of you wonderful people, we will be celebrating this milestone as well, so let's have some fun! I've had one of those months where gilmore girls has been constantly going in the background, so naturally, this celebration is a cosy little gilmore girls theme ♡

this celebration will run from now till the 28th of april. anyone can participate and you can send in as many asks as you’d like, there is no limit.

navigation | masterlist | request guidelines

people are particularly stupid today - games! (cast your mutuals, fuck marry kill, would you rather…)

gnome-kicking says a lot about a man's character - tell me a random fact about yourself and I’ll say who I ship you with!

I’m fine. I’m just being dramatic. It’s what I do - i'll give you a cosy song that has your vibe!

And if eating cake is wrong, I don’t want to be right - send me a sfw request! (if you need some inspo, here are some prompts)

try a plum, they’re better then sex - send me a nsfw request! (if you need some inspo, here are some prompts)

I need coffee in an IV - request a moodboard! (it can be for a character, a prompt, song, colour or ask me to make one that fits the vibe of your blog) 

moots: @sw34terw34ther @midniteluv @bruisedboys @autumneverleigh @lone-nyctophile @chvoswxtch @luveline @wanturvideo @fightingdragonswithwho @starlit-moonlight @skullrock @appocalipse @lovetaints @wonderlandhatter @happyheidi @reidslovely @creelteeth @cosmal @prettyboyeddiemunson @gaelic-symphony @deeplywornletters @magicchai @fxllfaiiry @angelulls @fleurfairie @oncasette @ddejavvu

[mumms-the-word]

Close

Day 9 of the BG3 Fic February Challenge

I am once again swapping today's SFW prompt for an NSFW prompt that I made...SFW. More or less.

I mean is there anything "safe for work" about being stuffed in a wardrobe with Halsin, let's be real

I digress. Read on, adventurous and friendly readers. And pretend that Last Light Inn has way more rooms than it actually does.

Check out my masterlist of BG3 fics here!

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9. Tav/Durge and LI are forced to share a confined space or bedroll together before they confess how they feel (NSFW #12)

---

Last Light Inn was livelier than ever before, now that Ardynn and her team had saved all the prisoners from Moonrise Towers. It was a wonder they all had somewhere to stay, but the inn was large and had many rooms, not to mention plenty of space to camp just outside. So long as they stayed within Isobel’s moonshield dome, of course.

Ardynn had claimed a small table for her own, trying to plan for their next task in the morning. They were to visit the Thorm mausoleum, to seek, possibly to kill, a mysterious figure named Balthazar. Whatever was down there also held the secret to Ketheric’s immortality, so they should be prepared for anything when they entered. Too bad no one seemed to know what they ought to expect. Jaheira had only shaken her head when Ardynn asked earlier.

“I did not go that far inside,” she’d said. “Once Ketheric Thorm was sealed away, I left. After that…well…” She gestured out, toward the shadows beyond.

Ardynn tapped her fingers restlessly against the table, shifting pages of notes this way and that before glancing around the inn. She could see all her companions in various places. Karlach and Wyll lounged at the bar, opposite Rolan and his siblings. Gale sat in some far corner, nose in a book. Astarion and Shadowheart shared a table, looking catlike as they bent their heads together and whispered conspiratorially to each other. Gossiping, she assumed, perhaps about the Ironhand gnomes hardly a table away. Lae’zel was…Ardynn glanced out the window to her left. Ah, Lae’zel was outside, hacking at a target dummy. Training, as always. Which just left…

Halsin.

Ardynn paused, surveying the room again. No sign of the tall druid anywhere. She got up and peered into the bunk room where Art Cullagh lay sleeping. Not there either. She frowned, retreating back into the main room, crossing to where Jaheira was. Isobel had joined her at her table and they were sharing a light meal and soft conversation.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Ardynn said, smiling apologetically. “Have either of you seen Halsin? I was hoping to ask him something.”

“Ah, the Archdruid?” Jaheira asked. She waved her hand absently. “He is upstairs somewhere. The children were getting underfoot and he agreed to entertain them up there.”

“I believe they’re playing a game,” Isobel said. “I do hope he’s keeping them out of my room. I locked the door, but…” She shrugged.

A game? Ardynn glanced up at the balcony that wrapped around the entire main room, doors leading to other rooms. She didn’t immediately see Halsin, but she did spy one of the tiefling children scurrying from one room to the next, smothering their giggles in their hands.

“Thank you,” Ardynn said. “I’ll leave you to your dinner and...make sure the children aren’t invading your room, Isobel.”

She ascended the stairs up to the second floor, nearly running into one of the children, Mirkon, the moment she stepped onto the landing. 

“Oh! Sorry, miss!” He started to move around her and stopped. “Wait. Have you come to play with us, too?”

Ardynn crouched down to Mirkon’s level, giving him a smile. “That depends. What are we playing?”

“Everyone’s playing hide and seek! Only, we’ve changed the rules.” Mirkon giggled. “Mister Halsin is the one hiding, and the rest of us have to find him. We have to be very, very quiet about it though, because once we find him, we hide with him. Last one to find him loses.”

Ardynn tilted her head. It couldn’t be that hard to find Halsin, could it? He was as tall as a house. Yet, when she looked around the top floor, counting the children she saw hurrying quietly from one spot to the next (one of them peeked into a box that was certainly much too small to hold Halsin, to her amusement) she counted all the tiefling children that had made it to Last Light. Umi, Ide, Mirkon, and Mattis.

No Mol. Ardynn still hadn’t found Mol. She hoped she was all right.

So four children looking for one man and not succeeding. Either the children just weren’t very good at seeking, or Halsin had found a very clever hiding spot. She supposed he might also be cheating, but in the short time she had come to know him, he didn’t seem the type.

Mirkon looked around furtively before leaning in to whisper, “You don’t have any ideas about where he might be, do you?”

Ardynn made a show of thinking. “Hmm. Well, he must be somewhere on the second floor. And he must be somewhere that can hide a very big person.” She tapped her cheek, pretending to ponder. “Have you checked under every bed?”

Mirkon gasped. “He can fit under there? I have to go check now.” He immediately dashed away, disappearing into one of the other rooms. Ardynn smiled to herself and got back to her feet.

Never would she have thought she would have to track down Halsin…again. She walked around the landing, peering into each room as the children went in and out. She supposed he probably could be hiding under someone’s bed, but then the children would have found him by now. Something else then…

She stepped into one of the rooms, peering around at all the furniture. Her eyes landed on a particularly large wardrobe with double doors, nearly tall enough to reach from floor to low ceiling. One of the doors was ever so slightly ajar. A hint. Perhaps even an invitation.

She turned her gaze away, pretending to do a sweep of the room, looking anywhere but the wardrobe, but keeping her ears sharp. There. It was subtle, quiet, but she heard the telltale creak weight on of wood. Not from the floorboards—Last Light Inn was plenty full of creaking floorboards—but something close. The tenor was just slightly different.

Still pretending to look around, she moved slowly closer and closer to the wardrobe. Finally she paused in front of it, staring at the crack between the doors. She could see nothing from where she stood except darkness. Her heart started to race a little in her chest as she reached for one of the small iron handles—

Only to stop. Why was she so nervous? This was silly. Why was she playing the children’s games when she had plans to make? She hesitated, staring at the wardrobe door.

Behind her, the door to the room flew open with a bang and she whirled, hand nearly to her dagger before her mind caught up with her. It was one of the other kids, Mattis.

“What the—oh, it’s you. I was hoping it was Bear Man.” Mattis looked around the room a moment before shaking his head. “I could have sworn…” He peeked under the bed and then behind one of the curtains before leaving the room by another door, walking out onto the balcony outside.

Ardynn pressed a hand to her chest, closing her eyes and trying to calm her pounding heart. Honestly, she had been less frightened when she played hide and seek with Oliver and his terrifying shadow “parents.” This was getting ridiculous.

She opened her eyes to another creak of wood behind her, only to see out of the corner of her vision a bark-clad arm. Before she could react or even make a noise, the arm curled around her waist and pulled her backward, into the depths of the wardrobe, the door swinging shut and enclosing her in darkness.

She wriggled out of his grip, turning to face him, cheeks blazing hot. “Hal—“

He pressed his fingers to her lips, silencing her. There was a mischievous glimmer in his hazel eyes, but he shook his head, lifting one finger to his own lips. He pointed toward a thin line of light, the seam between the wardrobe doors.

Ardynn heard the sound of light, short footsteps. The footsteps of a child. She and Halsin bent their heads closer together, peering through the crack in the doors. Just outside, the lavender-skinned girl, Ide, stepped into view. She frowned, looking around the room. When her orange gaze swept toward the wardrobe, Ardynn’s breath hitched. Would she come check the wardrobe? What would she say if she found Halsin and Ardynn both inside?

“Mattis?” Ide asked.

“Out here!” came the distant reply from outside. Ide hurried across the room and out onto the balcony.

Ardynn breathed a small sigh of relief. They were safe—for now.

It was only then that she realized how close they were to one another. Her cheek was nearly pressed to his chest, his hand now on her shoulder rather than silencing her with his fingers. His body curved over hers, forced to hunch in the confined space of the wardrobe, his head bent toward her. When he gave his own sigh, his breath stirred her hair and tickled one ear. She had to suppress a shiver.

She forced herself as far back as possible inside the cramped space, but all it did was afford them a few inches between them.

He barely seemed to notice. He merely gave her a smile, as though none of this were remotely unusual. “I didn’t know you had joined the children’s game,” he said softly, keeping his voice low.

“I—I wasn’t—“ She stopped, a little baffled, and then shook her head. “Aren’t you a little big to be hiding in wardrobes?” she whispered.

He chuckled, his laughter warm and low. This close, she nearly felt it rumbling in his chest. “I confess I may have chosen my hiding spot a little poorly. Then again, few spots seemed suitable for a man of my size.” 

That was an understatement. This had to be the biggest wardrobe in Last Light, and he still had to fold himself down a little to fit inside. Ardynn, slight and short, had a much easier time fitting. Or she would have, had two thirds of the space not been taken up by a giant bear druid.

As if in response to her unspoken thoughts, he shifted, attempting to turn so that he was more fully facing her, only to find his broad shoulders wedged uncomfortably between the back wall of the wardrobe and one of the doors. He grunted softly and shifted again, freeing one arm but nearly pushing open the door. Ardynn hurried to catch hold of it and keep it closed, leaning forward right as his arm came up, his hand brushing against her side and bumping briefly against her breast.

He snatched his hand back quickly, causing his elbow to thunk against another wall of the wardrobe. “Ah—my apologies, I—“

“Shh! Do you want them to hear us?” She pretended not to notice his touch, though her cheeks were burning, peering once more through the crack in the door. He shifted, restless, before eventually raising his arm and pressing his hand to the far wall of the wardrobe, his arm extending over her shoulder.

“Perhaps I ought to wild-shape into a cat,” he whispered. She looked up to find him somehow even closer, his head bowed nearer hers. “But I fear that may be unfair to the children. I wouldn’t want them to mistake me for a cousin of His Majesty downstairs and think I’ve disappeared for good.”

“You would think they would know to look inside large wardrobes,” she whispered back, crossing her arms. But then she rethought that decision, since all it did was take up the scant space between them so that her forearms were nearly brushing his broad chest. She uncrossed them again, unsure where to put her hands. She settled for pressing them against her legs.

Gods but he was close. If she breathed deep enough her chest would brush his. And with his hand pressed to the wall behind her, his body looming over hers—not that he had much choice—the size difference between them just felt that much more intense. She felt as though she could curl up into a ball and snuggle herself into the curve of his body and no one would be able to find her until she emerged again.

If only.

It struck her suddenly that this was the closest she had ever been to Halsin. In battle they were often meters apart, him charging ahead as a bear or casting spells from afar while she took up a spot with high ground to rain arrows down over their enemies. At camp, his tent was pitched far away from everyone else. The closest they had been before now must have been at meal times and on the road, where she might have occasionally brushed arms with him as they walked or touched her knee with his as they sat cross-legged side by side around the fire.

She'd never before been close enough to feel his breath on her skin, or feel the heat of his body warming her own. She'd never been so close that she had to tilt her head further back just to gaze up at him. She'd never been so close that he took up the entire field of her vision.

She had to change the subject, or distract herself, fast. She cast about for ideas, trying to remember why she wanted to talk to him in the first place.

“I’m a little surprised to see you playing games,” she breathed. “We haven’t cured these lands just yet.”

She knew the subject of the shadow curse was all-encompassing for him, but as soon as she said it, she regretted it. At her reference to the shadow-cursed lands, his face turned grave, a shadow passing over his expression.

“The...children deserve a night to forget about the darkness every now and again,” he murmured, his gaze dropping away from her face. “I had hoped Thaniel would join us, but...he is not strong enough yet. He rests at our camp now, with Scratch and the owlbear to keep him company.”

His gaze grew distant, eyes trained on some spot just to her left, his thoughts moving on without her. As his eyebrows drew together to form a crease of worry, a pang of guilt gripped her chest. She shouldn't have brought it up. He didn’t say anything else for a long moment, his mind clearly on Thaniel, and she didn't know what to say to bring back the levity from before.

She reached out and took his hand, the one at his side, clasping it in both of hers and holding it between them. “We’re not going to leave him half-healed, Halsin,” she whispered. “I promise. Once we defeat Ketheric…Thaniel will be whole again. We’re going to see this through. I promise.”

He stared at her a moment, as if surprised. But then his expression softened. The hand pressed to the wall of the wardrobe moved, landing heavily on her shoulder. 

“I do not deserve you, you know,” he breathed. “I have asked so much of you, and you have already done more than I require. Thaniel has both halves of himself, thanks to you. I wish…I wish I did not have to ask more of you, but I��”

“Halsin.” His name ghosted from her lips, partly a sigh. She leaned imperceptibly closer, having to tilt her head up to keep his face in view. “I agreed to fix this shadow curse. That means curing Thaniel too. I’m not going to go back on that promise.”

His gaze searched hers in the darkness, his lips parted with words he seemed hesitant to say. She wished—foolishly wished, longed, even—that he would close what scant distance remained between them and just kiss her. She had dreamed about it for days, hoping that whatever barrier he kept between them might eventually crumble and he might see her as more than just an ally dedicated to a cause. She thought she saw some of that happening now. She couldn’t possibly be imagining the way his gaze dipped down to her lips or the tightening grip of his hand on her shoulder. Could she?

Just one kiss, she prayed silently. One secret kiss, tucked away in this cramped wardrobe, where it could stay forever, just so long as she could say she knew what it was to kiss Halsin just the once.

She felt him shift, felt her breath hitch in her chest, her lips parting in anticipation— 

The wardrobe doors flew open with the sound of a child’s delighted gasp and Ardynn flinched back, pressing herself as far from Halsin's body as she could get in that wardrobe. As light flooded in, nearly blinding Ardynn with its suddenness, she heard Ide’s voice.

“AHA! I found y—wait! Miss Ardynn, I didn’t know you were playing!”

[crownedinmarigolds]

If the Stakebait Coterie all played D&D together what classes would they play? And who would be the DM?

O-oh my gosh thank you for the question! It's my favorite kind - dungeons and dragons + Stakebait!! Straight from the horse's mouth (@thesixthplaneteer ) it goes as such:

Dungeon Master - Sydney aka the Dusk Angel, leader of the Thinblood revolution in ATL and exasperated den mother. No telling where he got the time to run this game but maybe he needs to feel some real control in his life. He is probably always late by maximum half an hour but he's at least always prepared. His stories are always thoughtful and well-put together and he eventually gives everyone what they want.

Ranger - Ralph! Despite his IRL size he's a much better fighter at a distance so that would probably carry into his gameplay. According to thesixthplaneteer he'd be a half-orc. The least optimized person at the table but he's ALWAYS going to play the character he wants. 🥰 I imagine him cracking jokes the entire session but gets scary tactical during combat. And he brought the white claw. (Probably jokes about ERP with Khloe after the session is over... JK! Unless.)

Wizard - Khloe! The chronic overthinker and planner, she'd definitely be a clever spellcaster who would try and use her environment to her advantage because wizards have paper skin and glass bones. While she likes martial classes that's just so many numbers she's not prepared to handle. I think race-wise she might be a human variant like a Genasi! Or perhaps a gnome. Either or. Something where she can be colorful! She probably has dinner for everyone at the table and plenty of snackies. She'd take gameplay INCREDIBLY seriously but would definitely slip into silly shenanigans when prompted.

Fighter - Christian. Human fighter - completely by the numbers made in a generator character sheet. Has probably never played DND in his life but he loves hanging out without his coterie despite his grumpy demeanor so he's "toughing it out" and playing the most generic race+class combo imaginable at the DM's suggestion. He's made fun of it relentlessly by Ralph but he does a good job fighting. He's probably a stoic RP'er who only speaks minimally unless something really interests him, but he at least takes the game seriously enough so everyone still has a good time. He probably brought a giant coffee thermos because he always just got off work before a session. And actual beer because "fuck white claw, goddamnit."

Cleric - Kyle! The forever Healer both in unlife and at the table! He'd be a gorgeous elf of whom he'd already have stunning commissioned artwork of. He also has the highest Charisma at the table and probably has a stable of lovers in every port they visit. All implied of course and nothing explicit at the table. Probably spoke with the DM beforehand about a custom made God that is dubiously aligned morally... bordering on Warlock but he knows the system enough to game it properly. 🤭He and Khloe would be the ones taking the story the MOST serious, Kyle breaking character the least out of the party. Bonus Player: Nyth, Sydney's boyfriend(?) who will randomly join him some sessions to play a various pre-made NPC. He'd probably steal everyone's hearts before bailing halfway to go meet up with his bestie Noa or he'll make the session go on forever for one reason or another. He's a mess and we love him. AH so fun.... THANK YOU!

((Art by @the-art-block!!! Sydney, Nyth, Khloe, Ralph, Kyle, and Christian!))

[thebarontheabyss]

The characters decide to play DnD to pass the time. MC is the game master. What creatures do the characters play as? What are their classes? Are their personalities similar to those of the characters or are they completely different? Who survives the campaign and who doesn't?

Another day, another prompt that makes me want to write a full-on chapter about it instead of working on the actual game, lol

(BTW! Hijacking to announce the next part will drop sometime this week!)

Now, let's play DnD!

Death plays a character quite opposite to their real-life role - a human paladin sworn to protect and serve. They get excessively invested in the role, trying hard to make every decision morally righteous. Ironically, their character meets their demise due to their unwavering commitment to face danger head-on for the sake of others. Death experiences their first death, and they find it quite enlightening.

True to their nature, Lilith\Damian picked the role of a changeling bard, using charm and wit to navigate the game. They excel at deception and persuasion, often using their skills to steer the group out of trouble - or sometimes getting them into more of it.

Morgan\a is playing an elven sorcerer (as if they would pick anything else!) who focuses on powerful spells and arcane knowledge. They enjoy showcasing their magical prowess just as usual, sometimes to the detriment of the team's strategy. Pepper sits beside them and is thankful that, at least this time, their dangerous behavior is contained in a game.

Hastur, quiet and observant, plays a disciplined Tiefling monk. He's strategic in combat and often saves the group from dire situations. His character survives, often being the last line of defense for the team.

Shelly's choice contrasts sharply with her real-life persona. As a gnome barbarian, she charges headfirst into battle, much to everyone's amusement and surprise. She's kind of the game's MVP and is the most enthusiastic player by far.

Peisinoe embraces the role of a cleric, and picks Shar as her deity (she would get along with Shadowheart lol). Guess loss and darkness kind of speak to them in a way. They are having way more fun than they though they would.

Yaga, with her penchant for numbers and details, plays a meticulous dwarf artificer. She enjoys crafting solutions and gadgets for various challenges.

The Raven plays a cunning dragonborn rogue. They excel in stealth and thievery, often gathering crucial information for the group. BTW, if you ask them, they are an actual dragon - and proud of it.

He Without Name was assigned the role of an orc fighter by the others, and they often guide his actions in the game. But, he's surprisingly effective - often saying "Time... Smash..." when the battle starts.

[blorbologist]

Treat, Grog and the gnomes

Awww yeah, the besties! <3

--

“Can you teach us to play?”

Twangggggg.

Scanlan glances up, strings humming against his shock-still fingers. Takes stock of things. Pike is absolutely fucking wasted, leaning against Grog’s leg and swaying even when he’s steady as a stone pillar. Grog’s the one who asked, though, and he’s got the earnest, slow voice he has when he really means something and has been thinking about it a while.

“Sure,” he says too easily. Then, because he’s curious and just a smidge wary: “Why?”

“‘Cause you’re just so good,” Pike slurs.

Yeah. That’s not exactly news to a bard. He’d be dead if he wasn’t this good. 

Scanlan opens his mouth. Pike, drunk and loud, steamrolls over him: “How do you remember them all? All the songs? There’s so many, so many more than in the church, and you always nail them.”

Grog adds, “Or make ‘em better!”

“Yeah, yeah! And - and you just make people feel things. Without even trying! And. When you do…” She leans heavily into Grog’s knee, blinking up at Scanlan with a dopey grin. “Wow.”

“How do you do it?” Grog sits down on a chair that wails in protest, places Pike on the table with a hand to keep her from toppling over. “I just haveta hit things and they die. You’ve got all these lil’ threads and words to get right!”

Well, gods be damned. 

They’ve made him blush.

Scanlan clears his throat. “I - well! It’s a hard-earned skill, one I can do my very best to share.”

He pulls his lute from its spot on his lap, padding at the strings carefully. Squints at Grog’s massive, powerful fingers.

“... let’s start with Pike first,” he decides.

(Pro tip: do not let Pike handle any delicate instruments this drunk! How did she bend it in half?!)

🎃For my trick or treat ask game! [No longer taking prompts, thank you so much for the fun!] 🎃

[starrysnowdrop]

PSA: For New Followers

I just had to block someone who stated that they didn’t want followers who “lewd lalas”, and I felt that I needed to get my thoughts out on the matter.

I don’t tend to write NSFW, and I’m not known to be any kind of spicy writer. I tend to blend fluffy wholesomeness with a good dose of angst, but not a lot of spice. Any spice is usually only heavily implied. (Though I do have two posts of NSFW headcanons for Yume and Yume x G’raha and one small prompt I wrote a long time ago, and that’s it). Plus, I’ll never post explicit NSFW gposes for any of my ships on any platform.

HOWEVER, Hali is my lala WoL OC and she’s in love with Aymeric, and they are in a romantic and sexual relationship post-EW. Even though I never intend to make any explicit NSFW content for them, Hali is an ADULT, and she’s not ace. I believe that lalas are people, just small in stature. No different from other fantasy races of small people from other media such as dwarves, gnomes, hobbits, etc. The lalafell seen throughout the game are absolutely NOT written as children either.

Does that mean I’m a “lala lewder” for writing Hali as an adult, who experiences sexual attraction, has sexual feelings, etc. even if it’s not explicit NSFW content?? Or the fact that I ship her with a non-lala npc?? I honestly don’t have the answer to that question.

But I do know that I felt some kind of way about seeing that statement a little while ago. I felt that even though I haven’t written anything explicit, I felt unwelcome, and I felt the need to block the person in question to be safe.

If this post somehow offends you, then feel free to unfollow me, block me, do what you need to do. Because I love Hali. I have never felt so strongly connected to any OC I’ve written before besides Yume, and I adore her ship with Aymeric that I’m currently developing. It makes me happy, and my close friends seem to love it as well. I’m not about to give that up for anyone.

So if that’s a deal breaker for you, then that’s fine with me. Let this be your warning that I write a fluffy, wholesome, yet angsty ship that comprises of two idiots in love who both think their love is unrequited.

[aloha-solar]

Chapter: 30/? Pairings: Astarion/Gale, background relationships (Tav/Halsin, Wyll/Karlach, Shadowheart/Lae'zel) Rating: Explicit Chose not to use archive warnings Was a fill for this kink meme prompt

***

Astarion has made a terrible mistake.

When Tav discovered the existence of the Iron Throne—in only a tenday, no less—she summarized that it was on an island or an archipelago. Somewhere far away from Baldur’s Gate, a place most would hesitate to visit due to the Temple of Umberlee’s location right next to the docks. When she called on Shadowheart (for healing purposes), Lae’zel (for fighting purposes), Astarion (for lockpicking purposes), and Wyll (for general hero purposes) to join her, Astarion’s only hesitation came from the fact that they were rescuing gnomes.

He didn’t know it would be a submersible. He knows Tav didn’t know it was a submersible.

It still doesn’t stop his breath from growing shallower as they get further and further under the water.

It’s fine, he tries to tell himself. You can’t drown.

But then Caelestin’s voice wriggles into his mind. Because you know we cannot die of suffocation as quickly as a pure mortal could. He might not be able to drown, but Polliwog might. He might not die down here, but Polliwog might.

The walls of the submersible seem to get closer and closer. He wonders if this is a material he can break through, instead of the marble Cazador sealed him in. He wonders if it’s easier or harder to be trapped in an enclosed space with other people. Because on one hand, there’s the knowledge that you aren’t alone in the terror. On the other, he can’t watch any of his…his friends die. He doesn’t want to feel Polliwog still inside him.

At least when Cazador entombed him alone, the only thing Astarion had to lose was his sanity.

Read the rest on Ao3