#i do feel bad for alfira

[arcanewonder]

[pushing500]

I gotta say: I love Vanic!! (Especially the way you draw him, I had no idea it was possible to make githyanki cute) Also, since I saw you do requests... Would you be willing to draw any of the origin characters from bg3? I just think it would be cool haha

The whole reason Vanic exists was because I wanted to see if cute gith boys were possible, and I like to think I succeeded in my efforts. It might have something to do with how tiny and squishy I draw him, but... Eh.

I love him <3

As for the other origin characters... Well, I gave it my best shot!

First up was Stari and Lae'zel! (keeping them in the same style as I draw Vanic, for consistency)

I managed to fit Gale, Shadowheart, and Wyll all on one page. They were very fun to draw. I don't like drawing ornate armour, though, lol. Can you tell?

Then Karlach, the best girl!! Her clothes were a pain to draw, too, but that's what I get for trying to draw at 11pm on a work night 🤷🏻‍♀️

Bonus "origin characters" in the forms of my two Dark Urge people!

Alulin, my half-gnome, half-illithid bard who's doing her darndest to resist her urges while pumping every stray illithid parasite she finds into her head. She must have one hell of a headache, but that doesn't stop her from getting down and dirty with Bears and Mind Flayers at every chance she gets (which is two so far, but it never hurts to hope). she was much easier on the eye at the start of the run, but Halsin still gives her kisses whenever she asks (which is frequently 👀), so she can't be that bad.

Then there's T'uin, a half-drow sorcerer, who is embracing his dark urges with enthusiasm. I can't play with him for too long at once because I always feel so bad doing the mean stuff. He is very pretty, though, so I can put up with him for short periods. He's currently being fought over by Minthara and Lae'zel.

[spellsparkler]

writing elias is fun for, i expect, the same reason a lot of people find the dark urge fun: I know more or less what's going on with her and she's got no fucking clue. she's a very information-driven person, and as soon as she realises that there is some largely indefinable difference between her and the rest of them she immediately starts trying to catalogue it and narrow it down. it's interesting to write someone who is so deliberately aware of themself and observing themself all the time

[thecubspeaks]

[there is no one at work and i've been wanting to poke at this idea... i have no idea where the plot would actually go except in the broadest strokes, so who knows if there will be more]

Karlach cries when Jaheira presses the harp-shaped pin into her hand. 

She’s been crying at everything since emerging from Avernus, it’s honestly getting embarrassing. Sunsets, sunrises, grass, a guy selling cabbages, some kids playing a game in the street. 

Obviously she cries when Wyll sets off�� she cries about ten times on their last night together, which very quickly becomes a very drunk last night– like, singing-on-the-roof-of-the-Elfsong drunk. Not that it’s the last last: they will see each other again, but Karlach needs to be in Baldur’s Gate for a little bit and Wyll needs anything but, and he’s given up enough for her so she’d never ask him to stay, badly as she wants him to.

She takes a couple days after that to just be. She wanders the city, she eats all the food she missed, she scares the hells out of Dammon turning up unannounced and they both cry yet again. She calls on every friend she ever had: Rolan and his siblings (Lia’s a Flaming Fist now!), Alfira and Lakrissa (not married yet, but possibly finally together? Still hard to tell), Fitz and the baby (not a baby now, he’s walking around and can almost hold a conversation), Danis and Bex (who have a baby now, too), Barcus and his pals– hells, she even stops in at the Guildhall. Cries at all of them.

She buys fruit on the Wide and visits the House of Wonders, because she’s a fucking hero of Baldur’s Gate and best mates with the Grand Duke’s son, so she can actually go to the Upper City now. Doesn’t spend much time there, though. There’s too much to do in the Lower City. She spends a day hanging out by the docks. She considers Sharess’s Caress, but loses her nerve. She haggles with street vendors in Little Calimshan. She visits her parents. Definitely cries there. She lays in the grass in Bloomridge Park for an entire day, even when it starts pouring rain. Then she catches a stonking cold, and spends a few more days in bed, luxuriating in the knowledge that she can just lie around feeling sorry for herself and a bunch of imps aren’t going to try to stab her in the neck while she’s sneezing. She has a big, snotty cry about that, too. 

When she’s well enough to not turn Jaheira’s place into a plague pit, she makes her way there, the last and accidentally delayed stop on her list. She hasn’t really made it past the Blushing Mermaid in this direction. She tries not to look at the statue of Balduran in the square– pity that, of all fucking things, didn’t get destroyed– and as she’s thinking it, resisting the urge to look at that face, she stumbles into someone.

She laughs at once– looking the way she does, you’ve got to let people know right away you don’t mean any harm– and hold up her hands in apology before she’s even fully turned around. “Sorry, mate, I wasn’t–”

She stops. The woman, dressed in a plain black gown, is brushing herself off with visible irritation. “Watching where you were going? Yes, obviously.” She looks up, and her frown deepens. “Why are you staring?” 

Karlach blurts it out despite herself, despite knowing what a bad idea it is. “Shadowheart?” 

Her eyes flash wide in surprise, then she quickly composes herself. “Is that supposed to be a name?” She gives her skirt one final flick– she’s wearing gloves, so Karlach can’t see if the wound is still there on the back of her hand, but why wouldn’t it be? 

The ache of grief and guilt is so sudden and strong, Karlach feels sick. She can’t speak, can’t say anything as Shadowheart gives her a last disdainful look, mutters something about people with more muscle than sense, and stalks away. Karlach sinks right down onto the plinth, sitting there at Balduran’s feet. This is a very different wanting to cry than all the other crying she’s been doing. This is– all the things she hasn’t been thinking about. The people she hasn’t seen, because she can’t bear to see them. This is two fucking years for guilt over what he did– what they did– to curdle into certainty that it was the wrong fucking choice. 

She’s never stopped thinking about it, even in Avernus where you couldn’t ever lose focus, had to sleep with one eye open and keep your mind ten steps ahead. Even in the midst of all that, her shitty old brain found time to remind her constantly, constantly, of the look on Shadowheart’s face as the Mother Superior and those creepy, evil masked Sharrans dragged her away. The look on Jaheira’s face as she stared down Astarion, like she might spit at his feet. Wyll and Astarion shouted at each other for what felt like hours that night, until Karlach and Gale just had to drag them off to separate corners of the camp.  

And there was so much left to do, so much they needed each other for. So they just never spoke of it again. 

They hadn’t killed her. Was that a comfort? 

And on the other hand, they had killed her, hadn’t they. They’d killed Shads, Fringe, the spiky heart with a soft centre that Karlach knew, wanted so badly to know better. There was nothing in those eyes, in a mind they’d probably had to wipe clean half a dozen times since Karlach saw her last. Since Karlach just let them take her away. 

I’m not usually one for making the first move, she’d said. But then again, you haven’t exactly been quiet about wanting some companionship tonight. So… shall we give this upgrade a trial run?

And she’d grinned and said, Oh fuck yes. 

And Shadowheart had laughed, just the smallest bit, and said, Let’s just not go announcing it to the whole camp.

So they never told anyone. 

She’s half in a daze still as she walks to Jaheira’s place, knocks on the door. She can hear the noise of all the kids tearing around inside. One she’s never seen before, an absolutely miniscule little halfling, opens the door and stares up at her with huge eyes and huge rosy cheeks like two apples. 

“Hi,” Karlach says. The kid is so small, it’s really not helping her feel more anchored in reality. “Is your mum in?” 

The halfling takes in a long, deep breath that puffs up her whole little chest, then yells impossibly loudly, “JAHEIRAAAAA!” 

“How many times, Cheska?” scolds Rion’s voice from somewhere inside, but then she, too, is shouting, “Mother! One of your mysterious friends come to call, apparently!” 

Coming here always feels like a flash of a life she could have had, and that’s really not something she needs layered on top of her present state of mind. She almost just turns and leaves right then, but Jaheira’s there at the door before she can, and must see something in her face, because she hauls Karlach right into her study and shuts the door. Then she stops short, her hands on Karlach’s shoulders.

“Let me look at you,” she says. There’s an unignorable waver in her voice.

“Jaheira,” Karlach says warningly. “I’m a fucking faucet these days, so if you start, you’ll never get me to stop. And I just…” 

“Just what?” Jaheira prompts, and seems very glad to get to move past the moment of near-miss vulnerability. “You do not look nearly as happy as I expected you to. How long have you been back?”

“Just over a tenday,” Karlach says. “I meant to come sooner, honest, but–” 

Jaheira cuts her off with a laugh and a wave of her hand. “You needn’t make excuses to me, of all people! Rion would tell me I am getting my just desserts. But come, sit. Tell me what’s the matter, cub.” 

A voice in Karlach’s head that sounds suspiciously like Rion’s points out that clearly, Jaheira is bored. She wouldn’t be home in the first place otherwise. But that can be true at the same time as it can be true that Jaheira cares. About Karlach, about all of them. 

About Shadowheart. 

Karlach takes a breath.

“I just saw Shadowheart.”

Something goes dark in Jaheira’s expression, like a shutter drawn over her eyes. Karlach should wait to see what she has to say, but– well, Karlach’s always been impatient, and talked too much, and two more years in Avernus isn’t about to change that. “How did I let that happen, Jaheira? How did I just– stand there? It was like… it was like I was in Avernus all over again, in Zariel’s court, just watching horrible things happen and telling myself I was powerless to stop them, so it was more important to keep myself alive.” 

“Astarion was in no place to be a leader then, and we should have been quicker to see it.” Jaheira sinks into a chair next to Karlach’s. Karlach knows she was angry about it once– she saw it herself– but it sounds like all that anger has burned away with time and just left weariness behind. 

“I guess we were so used to just letting him do the talking,” Karlach says, not that the thought consoles her. “And I was so proud of him, after everything with Cazador, freeing those other spawn. I really thought he’d just– keep making the right choices.” 

“No one makes the right choice every time,” Jaheira says. “And Astarion is better at hiding his grief than most. He was far less at peace with what he chose than he wished us to know. And Shadowheart paid the price for our inattentiveness.” 

Karlach shakes her head. “I should have seen. I should have done something. It wasn’t too late to fight.”  “You are finally free,” Jaheira says firmly. “Do not turn around and cage yourself in regrets. We were none of us thinking clearly then, with the weight of the world on our shoulders– you, with the spectre of your own death always at your heels.”

“It’s because I’m free that I have to think about her!” Karlach retorts. “I get to be free. We condemned her forever.”

Funny, to get angry and not feel the literal rush of flames engulfing her. It’s just a normal heat– well, probably still a bit hotter than normal, but not literal sparks at the edges of her vision, and– in those last tendays– not the ominous clunking and whirring that said she’d started to push too hard. But it was never just the engine that got her heated up. 

“You’ve had all this time to make your peace with it, but I’ve never stopped thinking about her! I don’t regret anything more in my whole fucking life. We did so much good, and none of it even matters to me because I just think of that one evil, evil thing we let him do. That we did. I need to–” The idea’s words before it’s an idea, she says it without entirely knowing what she’s saying ‘til it’s said. “I have to do something. She’s still alive. I have to help her.” 

“I should have guessed you would say something like that.” Jaheira stands up. She goes to her desk and starts to rummage through it. “I know you know the stories, so it will sound strange to you, but you remind me very much of Khalid. You have the same heart. The same passion, though you wear it differently. Nothing can crush your kindness, after a life that would have ground all the good out of most. You cannot bear injustice, despite all the injustices done to you.” She finds what she’s looking for and straightens up. She plants both hands on the desk and fixes Karlach with a long, level, unwavering look. “You know I do not say this lightly. And you also know it is not entirely a compliment. He had– you have– the true heart of a Harper.” 

Karlach’s jaw drops. She’s just staring like an idiot but she doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing to say, how is she supposed to respond to that? Jaheira thinks that she–

“I have spent the past months,” Jaheria says, “determining how the House of Grief can be brought down. There is unsettled business between Viconia and myself, and I have allowed her to prey for too long on the city’s lost and hopeless. And I–” Her voice falters, almost imperceptibly. “I saw her, too. A few months ago. She must have been given some mission outside of the cloister. But that will be our opportunity.” 

“How’s that? Burn it down when she’s away?”

“We must be spies before we can be soldiers,” Jaheira says with a crooked smile. “They are too well-versed in secrecy. We must have someone on the inside, and none of my Harpers have had any success. There is only one person.” Jaheira splays out her hand. The silver harp glints in her outstretched palm. “When Shadowheart sees a glimpse of light, she reaches for it. They cannot crush this out of her no matter how hard they try. You have shown her before. I know you can do it again.” 

She cries when Jaheira presses the pin into her hand. 

[lunoa-rt]

Alfira portrait from the beginning of the year mannn I miss my bg3 hyperfixation phase…. Also is this the place and time to admit that I smashed her lute in all my durge playthroughs (I do feel bad about it) (kinda)

[sorcerous-caress]

Could I request Karlach, Shadowheart, and Alfira and Lakrissa together (if you’ll write for them together), when an embarrassed Tav nervously asks to sleep with them for the night because back home they shared a room with people and sleeping alone makes them paranoid which is causing them to lose sleep?

Asking to share a bed

[Fluff, suggustive, cuddling, nb!reader]

[Karlach, Shadowheart, Alfira / Lakrissa]

Karlach

She greats you with the same military nickname she gave you since the start, endearing in her own way as she fights back a yawn.

Your nervousness doesn't go past her, and wasn't it for the curl of a smile at the corners of her lips, you wouldn't have guessed she noticed either.

"Hell yeah, gods know I'd take any excuse to cuddle." Is her enthusiastic reply after you explain your situation. "Well, only if you're cool with cuddling, it's on the table, right?"

She takes your nod as permission to wrap her arms around you and playfully throw on you on the bed next to her, you softly bounce against the mattress before settling in.

It doesn't take long for her to drift off. The glow in her chest dimming, and the engine sounds muffling.

The heat is comforting, you realise as your eyes grow heavy, like a warm bath after a long day. Her big arms secured around you and making you feel safe, nothing bad could ever get to you whilst she held you this close, protected you from whatever lurks in the darkness.

The next morning, you wake up while still in her arms. She rubs the sleep from her eyes as she takes you in, a smile bright enough to rival the morning sun as she asked how was yout sleep, is she was scary enough to chase away any nightmares, her sharp teeth peeking through her lips.

Shadowheart

She's usually the last to go to her tent, preferring to bask in the darkness of the night. Linger amidst the shadows hidden from the moonlight and appreciate the beauty found in the allure of the unknown, the swirls in the shadows, and the fading of one's self to join a bigger and greater purpose.

It's when she'd usually get on her knees and pray, grovelling with her face to the sky.

You waited for her to finish, and the intimacy of the act felt almost forbidden to say wasn't it for her reassurance that it was alright before.

There's gratitude in her eyes afterwards, for the acceptance you've offered her, for the indifference you've gifted her with.

The answer to your question is met with hesitation.

"Just share a bed?" There are undertones to her words, "or do you mean like the bottle we shared?"

Heat flares up towards your cheeks at the memory, you play it cool. "Just share a bed, i promise."

Her covers are soft, princess like almost. A flowerly smell with fluffy pillows and layers of blankets neatly stacked at the end.

The smell of her shampoo is easily identified on the cover of her pillows. A half empty bottle of wine sits on the table nearby, next to a pocket-sized book.

As the two of you lay motionless under the covers, sleep doesn't come easy. There is an uncomfortable empty space between you.

And then you feel it, just under the covers, her hand moving towards yours, her pinky entangling with yours.

Shadowheart looks at you with anticipation, the space between the two of you close. You can feel her heartbeat falling into rhythm with yours as you drift off to sleep.

As the night fades and the morning comes, you wake up to the same hand hand still holding yours, on top of the covers this time. Shadowheart's focus on the small book she took from the bedtable, whispering and practising her spells for the day, preparing the healing ones beforehand.

Alfira / Lakrissa

The laughter and humming of a melody comes to an immediate stop as you knock on the door, the sound of clothes shuffling and the string of a lute being accidentally pulled follows.

You wait patiently, looking around the hallway to pass the time as your eyes glance over the various oil paintings of the elfsong tavren. Feeling disappointed when you came to the realisation that despite its name, their paintings weren't just of elves.

"Hello there, Hero." The door swings open as you're greated with the sight of Lakrissa in her night attire. Behind her, Alfira quickly came into view as she realised it was you waiting in the doorway.

With a smile, she urged Lakrissa to invite you in, the other obliging with amusement.

The mellow atmosphere from before slowly returned, both women feeling at ease around you as if you were a long lost friend.

As the conversation went on, Alfira sat next to you.

"Thank you so much for allowing me to stay in your camp that night." Her words wer sincere, "Adventuring really wasn't for me at the end but, still, I'm grateful you didn't turn me away in the morning."

"How sweet." Lakrissa's arm wrapped around Alfira's waist, giving her cheek a small kiss. "Were you waiting for the chance to thank them all that time?"

"Hey don't laugh" a blush coloured Alfira's cheek as the other women teased her, "I just...well...yes so what if I did?"

"Then I'd say that's exactly just like you." Another kiss, this time a tender one to her forehead. Lakrissa let go afterwards.

Both of them made it clear that they'll be here if you ever need anything.

So when you stated your request with embarrassment, Alfira enthusiastically agreed. Lakrissa was pleasantly surprised at seeing her usually introverted lover so welcoming and eager.

Alfira is in the middle, Lakrissa hugs her back close to her own chest while you're held by the bard. Her hold is careful and loose, as one would hold a bird so gently in fear of damaging your wings.

You're so fleeting in both of their eyes, so close yet so out of reach. So even as they bodies entangle with yours, they keep your need for freedom in mind. Heros like you never liked to be tied down, and they never want to be a burden.

As the sunrays filters through the outside curtains and announce a brand new day, you slowly wake up the strumming of the lute. Lakrissa still sleeping, having moved to where Alfira used to be and cuddled into your warmth.

The bard is at the end of the bed, humming a soft melody as her fingers strum the cords.

[tsaritza-mika]

The Companions and Separation Anxiety

So something occurred to me while working on a WIP. It mostly started with Astarion, but then drifted to consider the others you could romance as well. I was mostly thinking of Star at the time, and the others came from conversation

If you consider everything that happened, from the moment they met, Tav and Star have never really spent any time apart for maybe longer than a few hours at most. And yes, I'd considered even the times he's left at camp. Because even if he's left at camp, all of them have that underlying mission and the need to rely on their allies. For all the allies that you gather in the game, you still keep everyone outside of your little group at something of an arms length. The only ones that spend even a little bit of time at your camp in the same vein as the rest of your companions are Dame Aylin and Isobel (no I'm not counting Alfira, because in Durge runs she isn't likely to survive a single night XDD poor baby).

All of our time is spent with our companions from the moment we meet, and for the ones we romance, I don't think it'd be far fetched to think that after everything is said and done, the brain and all other enemies dealt with, our chosen romanced companion could very well have some measure of separation anxiety if Tav/Durge had need to leave their side for longer than a day or two.

Especially with Astarion I think he would be hit hardest in this, because before his adventure with everyone, he had no choice but to watch everyone he might have had even a flicker of feelings for being taken away and never return. Kudos where he deserves them, he did a LOT of growing during the journey, but old habits die hard too. So even if he's in a better place at the end, he could very well experience some measure of separation anxiety the first time they need to really be apart from each other. This could be even worse if playing a Durge, as it might be a bit more intense considering he's already experienced his partner dying in front of him and being completely helpless to do anything to stop it before Withers steps in.

With Durge, Astarion had spent 200 years praying to every god he knew for a savior from his torment, watching as everything, every piece of himself was taken away from him. Then, the first truly good thing to happen to him, the first person who acknowledged him as someone worthy of love and respect, was ripped away from him by a god. And once again, he couldn't do anything to stop it. Even with Withers bringing them back, I doubt he's going to be completely fine with Tav/Durge being too far away from him for a while.

I'd imagine Gale and Shadow might have similarly bad reactions, yet not quite to the level that Star may get. They would also have comparable ways of dealing with it I think, reassuring Tav/Durge that they're fine, and that they understand, but their mannerisms aren't as assured as they usually are, and their words may be more clipped and sharp. They just really don't want to think about it, and try their best to ignore it.

Lae'zel I think would just, do everything physical to try not thinking about it. She acts like she's not worried about them, when in reality she's secretly counting the seconds until they're home. She keeps it all inside, because realistically she knows they can handle themselves, but she's not the emotional type. I think she might try losing herself in training. Like she's just, working herself to near exhaustion, putting in every effort to not think about it.

Honestly I think the only ones who wouldn't really be hit by it would be Wyll and Karlach. Like, they'd still feel the worry, but they'd be the ones to handle it best. Wyll and Karlach have been used to being on their own for quite a while before the tadpole, and judging by their dialogue during the reunion, I would guess they may still worry, but it wouldn't truly bother them unless they got word that Tav/Durge was in some serious trouble.

Halsin would likely be the only one who would be a middle-ground in all this I think. He'd do everything he could with the kids and the village, but then if he finds himself with enough time to think about it, he'd probably just, I dunno, chop some wood and build a table or something XDDDD Tav/Durge would come home to find that he's got a whole new 12 person table with chairs and carved dining set and cutlery. He's also carved a mother and father duck gently touching beaks as a centerpiece, and all the other carved ducklings have the names of everyone he knows carefully carved into them and placed in front of each seat. He's also been talking to them. People have been worried about him, but they didn't want to say anything XDDDD

[randoimago]

Could I ask for headcannons about Karlach, Shadowheart and Alfira reacting to a very sappy romantic proposal?

Getting a Sappy Romantic Proposal from S/O

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character(s): Alfira, Karlach, Shadowheart

Type of Request: Headcanon

Note(s): I love this idea so much.

Alfira

Oh you beat her to it! She had a song and everything prepared for you, but instead she's dealing with these tears running down her face (happy tears, of course).

Can't even pretend to be a tad upset that you beat her to proposing because she's so happy. Of course she says yes. You better believe that she's still going to sing the song she wrote. Maybe not now because her voice won't sound good from crying, but she will find a time to surprise you.

You both had already talked about what your shared house was going to look like, but now that you're engaged, Alfira is coming up with so many wedding plans. She'll happily sing at the wedding too as long as there's no squirrels.

Karlach

Grinning from ear to ear as she watches you. Don't mind her, keep going S/O. Then again, she might not be able to help it as she picks you up and spins you around a bit (assuming she isn't going to burn you alive, that is).

She thought she was hot and bothered before, after that proposal she's going to take you back to her tent. After saying 'yes', of course.

Yeah she did think your proposal was overly dramatic and cheesy, but she loved every second of it. Might ask you to redo it another time since she was too busy being distracted by wanting to kiss your face to fully pay attention.

Shadowheart

Is dying on the inside. She's so happy that you're proposing and she'll absolutely say yes. But the way you're doing it is so cheesy and gods she hopes no one else is around because she knows she's a flustered mess even as she tries to hide it.

She doesn't want to interrupt you, but she hopes it doesn't take too long with the proposal. She figured you took a long time with this proposal, but she would've been just fine with a classic "Will you marry me".

Might just cut you off with giving you a kiss. She'll feel bad if you're pouting afterwards about the interruption, but the answer is yes. So please stop talking and just take her to bed already.

Taglist:

@reo-the-leo @unhelpfulnpc

[swordbisexual]

A Party

Rolan Week Day Four

In which Rolan seeks Shaxibis out just before sunrise. 2.1k words

(cross-posted to AO3)

--

“Any minute now. Just you wait.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I swear!”

Gods, but Cal and Lia can be just as bad as the children. They’ve been circling back round to this argument all night, when they aren’t busy drinking or dancing or singing horribly off-key along with Alfira’s relentless lute-playing. Even during a victory celebration, Lia can’t help but see the worst - which Rolan finds all too relatable, and therefore annoying beyond belief - and Cal can’t help but try to keep her from matching, in their words, the “perpetual Rolan sulk.”

The subject of Cal’s optimism is the sunrise; a thing none of them have seen for days now, so long that Rolan has to wonder if they’ve been stuck here for the ages and eons it’s felt like beneath the interminable moonlit night. According to Cal’s reckoning, they’re less than an hour out from dawn, which has only served to rouse the actual children into staying up well past the wee hours just to see it. If anything, Lia’s arguing is likely only to serve as entertainment. She and Cal can be a right double act when they’ve a mind to it, and for once, Rolan is just glad that he’s not the butt of their jokes.

There is something lightening the air around Last Light Inn that feels more widespread and far-reaching than the cleric’s spell. While most of the Harpers are still at Moonrise making a last sweep for straggling cultists, Cal and Lia and Danis and Lakirssa all agreed, quietly, that they’d rather spend the night back here before setting back out with what remains of their fellow Elturians. They’ve scrounged up what they can from the wine cellar and made a proper party of it, or as best they can with what they’ve got.

To everyone’s great surprise, Shaxibis and her band of misfits all came to join them on their last hurrah. It’s fitting, really; the children swarm Wyll and Karlach just like they did back at the Grove, and even Astarion’s skulking in the corner feels nearly the same as his skulking during the party at the riverside camp. All that’s changed is the location, and the quality of the wine, and, well…

Everything.

The city is closer than ever before, and with it his apprenticeship. His future. That there is a greater threat looming feels like something he can actually face, and maybe even stand down, with the help of proper training. He could be more than the greatest wizard the Gate has seen. He could help, like Lia has begged him to from the start, and he could do it with all the heroism and flair as…

As…

Damnation.

Baldur’s Gate and all the accomplishment it promises has been far from the first thing on his mind, truthfully. For the last half hour, Rolan has been watching the door, waiting for Shaxibis to return. After her last duet with Alfira, she’d begged off, saying that she just needed some fresh air. No one else seems to have noticed that her brief step outside has stretched out beyond reasonable measure.

But for Rolan, he may as well be waiting for sunrise of another sort.

No one notices when he slips away as well, picking up a bottle of wine and two empty goblets along the way, stepping outside the inn and starting a slow, searching circuit around its perimeter. She could be anywhere - the lakeside, the cellar, even the upstairs balcony - and he hasn’t the faintest idea of where to start, or whether she actually wants to be found.

“The water is wide, I cannot cross over…”

There. The strings of an instrument; not as richly-toned as a lute, but not as sweepingly ethereal as a lyre, either. There’s a simple, mournful quality to whatever is being strummed, almost as enchanting as the voice it accompanies.

“Neither have I wings to fly…”

Rolan follows the sound of Shaxibis’ voice, soft and low, to the dock below. There she sits, alone on the wooden slats, her feet dangling to nearly skim the water’s surface. Little light makes it down here near the inn’s cellars, but her hair glows like a moon all its own, unbound from the knots she’s taken to wearing it in so that it waves around her neck and skims her bare shoulders.

She’s quiet, and in that quiet there is a new, soft loveliness to her. And that only makes his stomach roil and head swim even more.

Whatever instrument she plays is laid across her lap, its wooden body gently curved at the sides, and only strung with four strings that ring out like a chime with every sweep of her thumbnail. She slides her other fingers along the fretboard with an ease that looks like second, simple nature. This is not an instrument she has studied; this is one she was practically born playing, as much as part of her as her own hands. It’s so like how he naturally slips into his own self-taught spellwork, and like a spell, he’s so entranced that he can’t look away.

“Bring me a boat that can carry two, and both shall row, my love and I.”

He hangs back to listen. Most of the songs he’s ever heard her play are old standards, and always lively, dancing tunes. Things that inspire the bold to dance, and the meek to tap their toes in time, and someone as upright as himself to lean in, just a little, to better hear the sound. This song, though, is so sweetly wistful, and with the simplest of chords strummed on the simplest of strings, he feels it as a knot in his throat and an ache in his lungs.

Her voice trails off, and she turns her head to look just so over her shoulder. “I know you’re there, Rolan.”

Wincing, he steps out of the shadows and onto the dock. “And here I thought I was being stealthy.”

She snorts. “For a crowded city street, maybe.” When he doesn’t move to join her, she turns to look him in full, then pats the space beside her, cocking a brow. “Well?”

Rolan finally lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and he takes the last few steps to the edge of the dock. Carefully, he places the wine and the cups at her side, then sits down with the drink between them. With a small grunting huff through his nose, he tugs his robes up around his knees to keep the hem from dipping into the lake. “You know, you’d have a rapt audience inside.”

She looks down at the instrument in her lap and plucks a string. “This one is just for me, really.”

He gets a closer look. The body is bowed much like a violin’s, but it’s longer and slimmer, with a much less pronounced curve. The carvings on its body are similarly plain: only a pair of twin hearts, charmingly simple, with the notches of whatever knife hewed them out still visible along the curved tops. “What is it?”

Shaxibis runs a hand over the fretboard and smiles, fondly, making Rolan’s stomach flutter. “A dulcimer.”

“I’ve never seen such a thing before.”

“You wouldn’t have.” She strums it again, and he notices that two of the strings are closely paired together, and they echo one another with the same note. “They aren’t seen much in the bards’ guildhalls. Definitely not in tavern rooms.” Idly, she presses down on the frets, and the same tune she’d been singing moments ago hums beneath her touch. “Folk up in the High Forest hills play them at home, mostly.”

All he knows to do is uncork the wine and pour. “So that is where the great Shaxibis comes from.”

She wrinkles her nose at him, but she still takes the goblet that he offers up and drinks deep. “I’m the ‘great’ now, hm?”

“After all you’ve done?” He takes his own drink and swirls it beneath his nose, breathing in the scent of stone fruit beneath the richly tannic top notes. “I suppose you’re at least ‘good.’”

She laughs. “High praise.”

That laugh is more intoxicating than the wine at his lips. He wants to sing her praises as poetry, but for all his appreciation for the fine arts, he hasn’t even the slightest gift for them. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I would never.” She sets her goblet down and turns her attention back to the dulcimer in her lap, playing a few more bars of the tune, though she only hums along now, keeping the song’s words to herself. The song dwindles away again, and she sits in silence; strange, for her to be so, and it makes Rolan hold his breath as he stares into the deep red dregs of his wine.

Finally, she speaks again. “You’re lucky.”

Rolan furrows his brows and turns towards her. “You must be joking.”

She should be, because that’s her way, but the look in her eyes as she turns her face up to his is anything but droll. There’s a sad shine to that gold-flecked gaze, breathtakingly wistful, and when she smiles, it never quite makes it any higher than the curve of her cheek. “I mean it. To have a family like yours…”

He frowns with a sigh. “Not by blood,” he says. “I’m not…” He gestures in helpless circles with his goblet. “Not really their family.”

“You try telling Lia that.” Shaxibis picks up the bottle and tilts it towards him til he brings his cup over to be filled once more. “See what happens.”

“Fine.” He watches her pour a few glugs into her own cup and chews his bottom lip. “And what of your family?”

She raises her cup back in the general direction of the inn. “Could I join in on yours?”

The words seize him like a bolt of lightning, blinding his good sense for a moment and rooting him to the spot with sudden visions of what it would mean for Shaxibis to be a part of his life. To see her every day, to groan at her constant jokes, to secretly hope for her laugh of delight and hand over his and—

What are you thinking? Just as quickly, he comes to his senses. If anything, it was simply a figure of speech, an easy way for Shaxibis to deflect his question and declare that she is fond of Cal and Lia all in one fell swoop. She could not possibly mean it any other way, and he is a fool for letting his imagination run full tilt away from him at even the slightest suggestion.

Or… perhaps not.

“I didn’t mean…” Her eyes have gone wide, and in the dim light he can nearly see a flush darkening her cheeks. She licks her lips; suddenly, he cannot look away. “I just…”

There is a lightening rosy glow behind her now, reflected off the lake’s glittering surface beyond. Sunrise. So it is still real, and the curse was lifted, and the impossible truly is possible, isn’t it? That is what pushes him to try, to lean in, to tilt his head just so, to brush the pad of his thumb to her chin and bump his knuckle beneath in a wordless question that hangs between his tongue and parted lips on bated breath.

She kisses him, gently, with lips the color and taste of wine. Those lips are as bold as the rest of her, but soft too, soft in this quiet space between. A gentle hum in her throat, the warmest breath of air as she exhales against his cheek, and while she doesn’t move any closer, in truth she doesn’t have to. This is close enough - too close - and the millimeters between his nose to her cheek, her hand hovering at the edge of his jaw, all of those minuscule spaces are brimming with raw, powerful magic, a hum like thunder as steady and rolling as a drum.

Just as surely as she leaned in to him, she is the one who breaks them apart, and he aches with the cool kiss of the air in her absence. “We should go,” she says. “Before they come looking for us.”

Rolan drops his hand from her chin, but he still lets it hang in the space between them. “Shaxibis…”

She moves her dulcimer from her lap and swings her legs up to the dock, moving to stand. “You already thanked me once,” she says, scooping up her wine cup and the half-empty bottle as she graces him with another painfully wistful smile. “I don’t want to be greedy.”

[gloomstalkertav]

Summary: With the Netherbrain defeated, Alfira the Bard is finally ready to compose the 'Tale of Tav', but she needs the help of a certain ex-Hellrider to fill in the hero's romantic blanks.

Pairing: Zevlor x Fem!Tief!Tav

Status: In progress

Author's Note: This story will do what I like to call a 'renegotiation' of canon. It will stay true to BG3's narrative intent while inserting our favourite stressed old man into more canon story events (particularly in Act 3) in order to give him the romance with Tav he clearly wanted and the ending I feel he deserves.

Rating: T (eventual M)

Warnings: angst, violence, canon character deaths, implied sexual scenarios

Nine Hells Story Links

Prologue

In which competition to compose the best version of recent events in Baldur’s Gate is fierce, but Alfira is fiercer (i.e. ready and willing to exploit ex-Hellrider Commander Zevlor’s well-known weakness for bards).

9. Nessus

In which Zevlor’s terrible, horrible no good, very bad day - make that tenday - actually, when was the last time he wasn’t having a bad day? - is interrupted by the arrival of Tav (and readers of this fic learn to adjust their eyes to the author’s excessive use of hyphens and en dashes).

8. Cania

In which Zevlor battles his trust issues and reaps a strange sort of reward (and the author continues to pepper in scenes that definitely did not happen in the game).

7. Maladomini

In which the author greatly exaggerates Zevlor’s role in the battle for the Emerald Grove.

6. Malbolge

In which the tiefling party, in-keeping with canon, is a disappointment to Zevlor fans (though Zevlor himself comes out ahead in this version).

5. Stygia

In which all of Act II is summed up in one angst-riddled chapter, and no tieflings are spared the horrors of canon.

6. Phlegethos

In which Zevlor and Tav arrive in Baldur's Gate, and spend 10,000 words not confessing how they feel (then 1,000 finally doing so).

[y-rhywbeth2]

So glancing between the original games and the third - again - and thinking about the difference between the feral and Chosen bad endings and how I'm going to interpret them in my own canon. BG3 lore is irrelevant to me from now on I'm entering the phase where I'm assimilating my playthrough into my own Realms canon.

Also, Durge appears to be soulless. I am aware of the way the game treats Durge as though they have a soul, but BG3 makes strange choices where lore doesn't match up all the damn time. Astarion is clinically dead but the rest mechanics still need food. BG3 talks like Wyll is a devil, and they definitely don't have mortal souls. Dark Urge identity crises and complicated relationship with personhood, how I love thee.

Major BG2 spoilers, so I'll put that under a cut just in case anybody would like to play those games blind.

I noticed this a while back, but Durge's situation is reminiscent of a soulless Bhaalspawn. When their soul - the portion of them that is "them" and not entirely Bhaal - is removed they start displaying the same symptoms and slipping into what is basically the feral ending, judging by Imoen's behaviour:

"Who-who... who is that? Keep back... Keep back! [...] Who is Imoen? I don't know that name. I don't know that name! She's not here! [...] Get away from me! I'll... I'll kill you! I'll rip your eyes from your filthy faces! Do not tempt my wrath! Do not... I... she's not here. I do not know that... name. [...] I see... yes... I see... She's not here... Someone else will come..."

We have dizzy spells and risks of blackouts (otherwise known as Bhaal threatening to take over):

"Your step falters, your vision spins, and you feel something is very wrong. For an instant you are conscious of nothing but the rushing of your blood."

Bhaal literally just assuming direct control rather than flooding you with the urge to murder. Also pain caused by said attempt at taking control:

"A shock of pain passes through your body, and you feel you mind slipping away, forced aside by the darkness within." - "Your blood cools, and mind and body are reunited under your control. Your will had faltered, and the essence of Bhaal was there to take advantage. The void where your soul once was overflowed with murderous fury, the mark of a deity that no longer exists. The taint of Bhaal has affected you differently than Imoen, reacting with your strength of will. You will eventually lose yourself unless your stolen soul is restored. A fate, as they say, worse than death." - "The madness fades, and the essence retreats, but if this continues you will lose not only yourself , but also everything you hold dear. The uncertainty of your condition has obviously worried those you travel with. The quest is treacherous enough without having to worry about what you might do."

Most Bhaalspawn have mortal lineage and were left to develop their own identities until they hit adulthood and Bhaal decided it was time to start pushing them into killing each other as part of the resurrection plan. Their souls are explicitly divine in nature, but they had time and freedom to develop those souls. Each demigod is a potential fledgling god.

The soul and the conscious mind aren't the same thing, so personality and decision making can continue but the emotions and personhood are... not quite there, only the echoes of it. It's been compared to wearing a mask and acting out a part in a play, rather than actually living as that person.

Durge it seems was engineered from the very beginning so that they would never have that chance. Created directly from Bhaal, with no other parent (let alone a mortal one) to dilute him; Bhaal started forcing their hand to kill from a far younger age (before puberty) rather than waiting for them to reach adulthood. and Sceleritas was following them closely ensuring that people would be around to have "accidents", like Alfira.

But it's also notable that Bhaal doesn't just want a puppet, he needs a Bhaalspawn with the drive and power to be his avatar. He somehow needs Durge blindly loyal and lacking in independence but also in possession of "strength of will" to be worthy of/able to house and use his power.

It seems that Durge does not have a soul the way their siblings do, all they have to resist Bhaal with is their mind and sheer willpower. If they disappoint Bhaal then he will simply assume control - something he can do any time he likes. Over the course of BG3 they start developing something like their own soul - judging by the way Bhaal and Sceleritas are still in touch and seemingly testing them, I can only assume this is actually according to plan; Durge is supposed to cultivate a spark of their own divine soul over the journey (and also get tadpoled and help Bhaal take over the Netherbrain and thralls through them, as Sceleritas kind of mentions).

If they fail then Bhaal goes for the feral ending; they go into the "Imoen" category where they're not worthy of his attention and he just uses Durge as a puppet.

Mystra can't force mortals to become her Chosen, they must consent, so possibly that rule applies to Bhaal too? I don't know, but it explains why Bhaal needs them to accept. If they resist then they're clearly strong enough to be worthy but wilful enough that Bhaal decides the risk of that spark of a soul is too great a risk to him and his plans and tries to destroy it but fails because it's too late, and Jergal cuts this fledgling divine soul free.

If they accept becoming Chosen then they are agreeing to be imbued with a fragment of Bhaal's divine essence. Bhaal gets what he wants and merges it with another fragment of his divine essence, presumably setting the stage for him to become a full deity walking the face Toril through Durge's/his body. The fledgling spark of individual is lost in Bhaal when the two fuse; the threat of the resist ending isn't present, because that spark is gone, so if you defy him again he just takes over and we get the punishment ending.

[silent-words]

Gale smooches: 33, 41, 50 💜💋

It took a while, but the answers are here, enjoy! Tavs here will be different.

33. Kiss in a dream

When Laerie opened her eyes to a lavender-coloured sky, she inwardly sighed. Another meeting with false Mira, who did not even bother to dress like her best friend. Another talk of her "potential", another morning spent as if she had never meditated. Laerie stood up unwillingly and looked around.

The elf found herself on the same rock, floating in the Astral plane, with ruins of ancient temples around her. However the false Mira, that Dream guardian, was nowhere to be found. Laerie carefully stepped to the edge of the rock and looked down. What she saw was unexpected.

On another floating island further down there was a figure clad in violet, sitting on the precipice and looking far into the sky. On a closer inspection she found out it was Gale, who appeared to dangle his legs. She found it amusing. Laerie suddenly remembered their kiss in the Weave and his rejection the next night. He said it was the Orb that prevented him from getting "too excited". The elf had been pleased, that she had been able to excite him to the verge of eruption. But nevertheless, she wanted at least to share a kiss. If it was a dream, if Gale was not real anyway, maybe she could fulfil her own desire?

She jumped and gently landed right behind the wizard. He turned around and raised his brows in surprise.

'I didn't think I could summon people I wanted to see by thinking about them intensely.' He smiled. 'Anyway, come here, my dream Laerie, my dearest elf.'

That version of Gale was a bit too close to a real one. With one exception – he would never called her "dearest", he wouldn't have such feelings for her. But it was pleasant to listen to.

'I came by my own will,' she answered and got to her knees by his side. 'And I will do exactly what I intend to.'

'Colour me intrigued. What...' he didn't have time to answer, because Laerie took his face into her hands and kissed him. He froze for a moment, but then gave in. He tasted of rosewater, as the Weave, electricity was tickling on his impossibly soft lips. She didn't quite understand how it happened, but suddenly their tongues were caressing each other, the kiss became messy and needy. Yet she still felt the airiness of the kiss, as if only their spirits were kissing. He put his arm around her waist and pulled. She tried to straddle him, but felt her knee slipping, and then they were swirling together towards the void.

She jolted awake, surrounded by the glowing fungi of the Underdark. The dream was so vivid, that she remembered all the details. Laerie touched her lips and smiled.

When the whole camp gathered for breakfast, Gale seemed more excited than usual.

'I tried lucid dreaming last night.' He began. 'Imagine, in my dream I conjured up the same Astral plane where we meet the Guardian.'

'Thankfully the Guardian was not there,' Laerie said without thinking. Suddenly everyone was silent. She looked up at him and saw an astonished face. Then she understood. In a dream she was with Gale, with real Gale. And he called her "dearest".

41. Forbidden kiss

'Why are you awake at this hour?' Gale closed his book and looked at Kitani curiously. 'If you're going to kill me like you did Alfira, I have to remind you that it will bring destruction to everyone here, including you. Maybe it will make you reconsider.'

Kitani's face became sombre. She said:

'I hope no other innocent dies at my hands.' She pierced him with her eyes. 'Not you, I'd rather die myself.'

'I'm sorry, Tani, I rarely see you at night, let alone in my tent,' he sighed and gestured to his side. 'Anyway, I don't want to be a bad host. Sit and feel yourself at home.'

Kitani wanted to say that just seeing him made her feel at home, for she didn't remember if she had ever had one. She sat next to him, casually brushing her knee with his thigh.

'What do you think of the concept of forbidden fruit?" she tilted her head to the side and curved her lips into a smile.

'Oh, I have one in my chest already, I'll think a hundred times before pursuing another.' His eyes were said.

'Sorry, I wanted it to sound seductive.' She moved her head closer to his face. When he furrowed his brows, she continued. 'They say, forbidden fruit is always the sweetest. I wanted to test it. It's not exactly about the Orb,' she added and then pursed her lips. When he opened his mouth to say something, she interrupted him: 'I want to kiss you. I know we cannot kiss because of this,' she pointed on the scar, 'but maybe a just a little peck will be alright? The thoughts of your lips are driving me mad, I cannot sleep, I cannot concentrate on spells. Maybe if I taste you, it will calm down.'

'I don't think it will.' He chuckled. 'But now that you planted that seed in my mind, I will not stop until I test your hypothesis.' Then his smile widened, and she felt she couldn't wait any longer.

She leaned further and tentatively ghosted his lips with her own. Then, without any reaction from the Orb, she planted a chaste kiss. He gladly reciprocated. Still Gale's chest appeared to look the same way. They deepened the kiss, he put his hand in her hair, she placed her hand on his scar. She was ready to forget how to breathe, when he put his tongue in her mouth. She moaned...

And then they were blinded by a flash of light, and Kitani felt Gale wince under her in pain. She drew back immediately.

'I'm sorry, it was so stupid of me, I never wanted to hurt you...' she started apologising. Gale put his hand on hers, and she looked up at him. The other wizard looked pale and feverish, but he had a drunken smile on his lips.

'Every second of our kiss was worth the pain, Tani.'

50. In Secret Kiss

The tieflings at the Last Light inn had a party, celebrating the rescue of their friends and loved ones. Naturally, their saviour were at the centre of attention. Imogen was showing druidic magic tricks while she noticed a bunch of women around Gale. They looked flustered and enchanted, while he was telling them some stories. Rationally Imogen knew that he loved her, and he wouldn't be swayed by any of these admirers. But her wild nature egged her on to take him by the hand, pin him to the wall and make her lover forget everyone else but her.

She was unable to do it now, of course. Too many people, and, moreover, the promise she gave Gale to keep their relationship a secret for now. Suddenly she noticed one of the tiefling women touching Gale's leg with her tail. Imogen's legs stood up on their own, and in a second she found herself near him. He turned his head and greeted her:

'My time is yours. What do you need?' Only when she heard him say these words she understood what a stupid situation she found herself in. Well, she had to play along.

'Can you help me prepare for our march to the Thorm Mausoleum tomorrow? I still cannot figure everything out.'

He looked puzzled, but nodded: 'Alright, let's go.'

She took him by the hand and led upstairs to a small secluded room filled with brooms and supplies.

'Are you sure it is the best place to talk about our strategy?' He raised a brow sceptically.

'Well, I needed an excuse no one would question,' Imogen shrugged. 'I just wanted to kiss you, that's all.'

As the understanding dawned on him, Gale smiled widely. 'You could just use the tadpole, but I appreciate your effort.' Then he put his hand on her neck and pressed his lips on hers. Two kiss-starved and touch-starved people still couldn't be sated by drinking each other in. They drowned in each other not noticing anything but their warm wet lips.

Suddenly the noise from the celebration became louder. When they parted and looked at the door, they saw an amused grey-haired half-elf.

'I won't say I find this place romantic,' Jaheira said, 'but who am I to judge.'

No beta, we die like my sleep schedule.

[linka-from-captain-planet]

Power ranking BG3 ladies based on how much I'd personally like to marry them

All main and supporting women: Shadowheart, Lae'zel, Karlach Minthara, Jaheira, Isobel, Aylin, Mizora, Orin

Plus my background babes: Florrick, Talli, Alfira, Lakrissa, Araj, Nocturne, Skoona, Adrielle, Z'rell, Roah, Nine-Fingers, and special guest star Philomeen

*Isobel and Aylin deserve to be regarded as individuals occasionally, so yes I'm wrecking that home (Alfira and Lakrissa too)

*essentially, top 10 is "women I would like to marry" and 11-21 and is "women I would not like to marry"

Quartermaster Talli. Granted she has an unfair advantage due to looking and vibing as a fusion of my IRL girlfriend and the butch lesbian who installed my new garage door 3 years ago whom I'm still mildly obsessed with. But anyway, we'd have a really great life together. We'd be able to communicate, we'd be compatible in the bedroom, we have similar values. Wife material, Grade A - the gold standard comparison for everyone else on the list.

Isobel. We'd have our tiffs (we can both be a little catty and sensitive), but overall we'd be a pretty stable match. We'd put in the work to make it last. I feel like being a cleric counts as a "job" so I appreciate that.

Nocturne. My #1 "I can fix her" pick because I think I actually can. I appreciate a hard worker, so Nocturne having distinguished herself in her uh workplace enough to become an officer is very respectable to me. We could go to therapy together. Not a perfect match, but I think we could make it work.

Lakrissa. Would be an easy second place if she didn't read so young. She's a little immature (a little over-dedicated, a little too self-sacrificing) and so she'd have to do some growing up, but I think we could make it work.

Florrick. Even though she's my #1 beloved and by FAR the sexiest person in the entire game and I would do anything to [redacted], we'd be like two brick walls getting married. We're too similar. But sheer affection and lust propel her to the top 5 anyway, even though we'd probably be married 10 sexless years before one of us finally snapped and filed for divorce.

Skoona. Assuming she drops the whole self-deprecating thing (can't stand that). She has a job, she's sensitive, she's romantic, she's humble, and she's hot. I don't think we'd knock each others' socks off, but we'd be a nice match.

Lae'zel. Extremely 22 years old and that's an issue for me. I'm also too sensitive to make it through her tough outer shell to get to the soft waifu meat inside. However, she does have amazing wife material to uncover, so I think if I could be her second wife, we'd be golden.

Adrielle. We'd have our problems as two neurotic faux-normies, but we're neurotic in different ways, so maybe we'd complete each other? She's very conscientious and thoughtful, though, which are the most important wife traits for me. With commitment and therapy, we'd make it work, but it wouldn't be the smoothest ride.

Jaheira. I don't really want to be a step parent to young kids, so that pulls her down the list a bit, but there's no way I couldn't have her in the top 10. We'd get along great; we have the same sense of humor; we're both not clingy. A good match, but not really the wife for me.

Minthara. I want her so bad but she'd eat me alive and not in the sexy way. I would let her walk all over me for 2-3 years though, assuming she didn't dump me first. Impossible to rank below the top 10, but objectively not the wife for me.

Shadowheart. Like Lae'zel, there's a lot to get through before you get to the wife material deep inside. I would also need to be her second wife. Also, I'm not doing that cottagecore shit and I cannot have that many animals in my house.

Araj. I know I called her bad in bed 2 different ways in two other posts but that's not a problem, she's so sexy and interesting to me that I know I would fall super hard for her. I too love science? We have something in common. I feel like she'd bring out a lot in me, not necessarily good things, but to be loved is to be changed? I would probably come to my senses before really risking it all though.

Alfira. I love her so much but I am no Lakrissa, I could not handle both supporting her while she pursues her artistic goals AND having to top every time. We'd be that miserable couple that lets it drag on forever because nothing is *wrong* even though nothing is *right* and wind up hating each other.

Nine-Fingers. She'd stress me out too much. Running the streets, making enemies... what if a shake-down goes wrong? Admittedly I'm tempted to live out my mafia wife fantasies with her, but realistically, I think I'd have too many nervous breakdowns to make it worth it.

Karlach. The divorce would be so epic that I almost wanted to rank her higher, but I just know deep down that we would trigger/frustrate the fuck out of each other and completely implode long before making it to the courthouse and/or altar.

Aylin. I routinely get over-stimulated by my cats brushing against my leg when I'm trying to multi-task working and listening to music, so there is no universe in which I could tolerate being married to Aylin. She's too exuberant and touchy. I would be scream-crying WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME every time she simply asked me how my day was in her usual volume. An absolute disaster, she'd smother me despite her best intentions.

Z'rell. She can have place #17 to match the 17 husbands which I would not be okay with. I'm not jealous, but I'm not THAT not jealous. She's also just really harsh and I'm a crier, so we probably would not be able to have a conversation, let alone a relationship.

Roah Moonglow. Like Nine-Fingers, but I feel like the Zhent is like, a second-rate criminal organization and so it'd be like being a second-rate mafia wife. All the stress, fewer fist-sized emerald necklaces.

Mizora. On top of everything else, she's also a corporate LAWYER... yuck

Philomeen. I would go on 1 date with Philomeen, let her start a blowup fight with me outside of [regional burrito chain], let her neg me into fucking anyway, go no contact, and let her booty call me 2 years later at 3AM like nothing happened, but I would not even slightly consider dating her, let alone marrying her.

Orin. Ignoring the whole serial killer thing that's neither here nor there, the problem is the combo of overbearing family (my #1 dealbreaker of all time) and lack of communication skills (my #2 dealbreaker of all time). Like I'd be constantly trying to get her to go no contact with Serevok and she'd never listen and she'd always be talking in fucking Dr Seuss riddles and disappearing and pissing me off.

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

To Sleep With War

Modern AU Doephael.

Doe wrung her hands and stepped gingerly into the Yule party. She tottered in heeled boots, a tasteful cinnamon brown against the warm cream of cable-knit tights. She tugged self consciously at the hem of her faux suede skirt- it was borrowed, shorter than she was used to and flimsy feeling. The jumper was hers though, a big draping thing that near swallowed her in bright red fabric.

The room was sparsely decorated, with one sad tree in the corner draped with red and gold tinsel, the half facing out dotted with cheap shiny baubles. The gift boxes beneath were just empty, wrapped with the vestiges of paper from last year. Her colleagues milled about- there was Rolan, chatting animatedly with his siblings, Alfira and her girlfriend, and then Wyll’s father and Florrick, arguing in the corner.

Scanning the room- a standard hotel function with its greige walls and threadbare stained carpet- she spotted her boss. Hunching her shoulders, she slunk off in the opposite direction. I do not want to deal with you right now. Instead, she slunk around the edge of the room, watching for her friends. Ancunin’s hair would be easiest to spot, white as starlight as it was.

‘Don’t worry, Dodo,’ drawled a voice from her left. ‘I’ll protect you from that greasy little creep if I have to.’

‘Astarion,’ she yelped, turning. ‘How many times-‘

He cut her off. ‘Too many, I’m sure.’ She scowled in reproach and he sighed. ‘Oh, alright, you spoilsport. Doe. Sweet darling timid little Doe, when are you going to grow a spine?’ He stood there in his splendour, all in emerald green. The colour brought out his eyes, the olive depths of them flecked with honey. ‘You scrub up well, don’t you?’

‘You sound surprised.’ She did not have the energy to be insulted. ‘No no,’ he insisted. ‘I always knew there was a glamour-puss under the layers of exhausted, dogged loyalty to that prick,’ he glanced over. ‘Gortash doesn’t deserve your hard work. Or your sharp little brain.’ He tapped her forehead, throwing her a megawatt grin. ‘Come with me.’ He took her hand and drew her through the milling crowd- she spotted the Vanthampurs, the Thorms, several colleagues she’d never spoken to. ‘I need you to save Gale from himself. He’s going spare.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, you’ll see.’

He led her to a corner table at the back of the room. Lae’zel, Wyll, and Karlach were sprawled in their chairs, and Gale was talking animatedly, frowning. ‘-see, the problem with having not just colleagues but donors present is that it technically means we’re still working-‘

‘Oh, do be quiet, Dekarios,’ griped Astarion as they approached. ‘Have some wine.’

‘I will not,’ said Gale, his nostrils flaring. ‘That stuff is vinegar. And not the good kind.’

‘Vodka?’ said Doe, producing a slim hip flask from her shoulder bag.

‘Hello Doe,’ said Gale, moving to hug her briefly. He smelled like the museum library. ‘Why did you bring vodka?’

‘If you have to ask,’ cut in Karlach, raising a brow, ‘then you’ve bonked your head.’

‘Ah,’ he said, nodding sympathetically. ‘Of course.’

‘You alright there, soldier?’

‘Can’t complain.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Wyll, jabbing a finger at her for emphasis. ‘That scabby little wanker treats you the worst of all of us. You’ve got every right to complain, love.’

‘Mhm, fair.’ She took a swig. ‘If you were Gort’s secretary you’d probably drink yourself into a stupor, too.’

‘Hear hear,’ came Shadowheart’s soft voice. ‘Have you been arguing with people again?’ Raising a brow at Gale, she crossed her arms.

‘Not at all, my love. Merely a lively discussion about why in the hells we’re expected to work at our own Yule party.’ He pulled her in to kiss her soundly, drawing twin noises of disgust from Lae’zel and Astarion.

‘I don’t much care, so long as we can all get trolleyed and sing bad karaoke.’

‘Jen-‘

‘Ah,’ she put a finger to his lips.

‘Shadowheart.’ He kissed her finger. ‘I’m just saying it’s important.’

Doe leaned against the table, still anxious. Wyll and Karlach started a game of snap behind her, Astarion nursing a glass of swill. She examined her nails, their glossy red suddenly feeling cheap against the hotel backdrop. There was a buffet on the opposite wall, but she dare not approach; her memories of the last one flashed through her mind, a night spent on the bathroom floor emptying the contents of her stomach.

‘I will say,’ she piped up, turning. ‘This fiasco is not my fault. I was off sick the day this place was booked. It was actually Orin’s incompetence. I would’ve booked a stately home or something, but it was too late to change the booking, and-‘

‘Where is that secretary of mine?’ she heard too late. Snapped from her rant by a hand on her shoulder, she was steered away too quickly, stumbling slightly in her heels. ‘There you are,’ said Gortash, his breath heavy with booze. ‘I want to show you off. You look fantastic.’

Oh no. ‘But-'

‘No no, this night will go off without a hitch,’ he said cheerily, a hint of threat in his voice. ‘As long as you do your damned job.’ ‘But I’m not working,’ she started.

‘Who pays your wages?’ he hissed. ‘That’s right. Me. Now get over here and charm these bastards, or you’re fired.’ His voice was low, so as not to call attention, and she bristled at his overly familiar touch.

Her shoulders slumped. I fucking hate you. ‘Right,’ she said flatly. She’d already written his speech- tonight was supposed to be a gala, a shindig, whatever the hells they called it when a load of insufferable-

‘Ketheric, you’ve met Doe before.’

‘Ah,’ said a man she recognised. ‘Yes. I seem to remember you as accomplished. Congratulations on being above the rest of this rabble.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. Judgy bastard.

‘Most accomplished, yes,’ said Gortash. ‘Though I am certain she has other more useful talents.’

She shuddered, disgusted at the oiliness of his tone. He squeezed her shoulder in warning. ‘I read Classics,’ she supplied pointedly. ‘Specifically studying the intersection between the…’ she began, though the words died as her boss dug his yellowing nails in, painfully. ‘I mean,’ she said, suddenly sounding saccharine. ‘I have to say, the Watch has really expanded its scope, and in the new year we’re hoping to put all this generous funding to use on the new site. I’m sure you’re aware of the challenges we’re facing? Protesters and activists, the journalists are not happy with the state of progress. Your generosity is wonderful and very much needed.’

‘Good girl,’ murmured Gortash low in her ear as she finished her spiel, feeling bile rise in her throat. He let her go and wandered tipsily off to harass a waitress, and Doe let out a breath.

‘Well,’ said Ketheric politely. ‘I think maybe you’ve twisted my arm, Doe. I shall have to have a think about what we can give once dinner is concluded. Isn’t it true that places like this are only as good as their admin?’ He winked, turning away to talk to his wife, an ethereal looking woman in silver and white. Doe rolled her shoulders and clenched her fists, breathing through her mouth in an effort not to throw up. The clock on the wall read as barely 8pm, and already she wanted desperately to go home and scrub herself clean. She took a couple tottering steps back towards her friends, but warm fingers closed around her wrist, halting her. She turned, half expecting Gortash’s return.

‘Forgive me,’ said the man who held her arm. ‘I heard you mention you studied Classics, and I’d be fascinated to hear more. Would you please?’ He gestured to the chair across from him and she nodded, standing awkwardly. He was handsome in a rich man sort of way- sharply pressed Italian cut suit, neatly combed dark hair, and skin that clearly saw the sun. But it was his voice, the low, growling purr of it, that arrested her attention. He threw her a charming smile, eyes glittering like the two fingers of cognac in the glass on the table. ‘You’re shaking,’ he pointed out.

She was, she realised. Her hands trembled at her sides. Exhaling, she tried to smile. ‘Oh, I’m fine, actually, I think I should go back to my friends.’

‘Take a moment. He scares you, doesn’t he?’

Astute. ‘No.’

‘Come now,’ he said, looking unimpressed. ‘If you can’t be honest with a stranger, who can you be honest with?’

‘A little.’

‘He treats you poorly.’

‘Yes, he does.’

‘Sit with me.’

‘I shouldn’t really,’ she said shyly. ‘I’m technically working.’

‘At a party?’ he said incredulously. ‘Absolutely not. You enjoy yourself. I’m not sure I caught your name though, my dear.’

‘Doe.’

‘Doe. A sweet name for a sweet face. Named for deer or rabbit?’

She blinked in surprise. ‘Rabbit, actually. Most people just assume deer…’

‘I take pride in paying attention,’ he said. ‘You must have a libation for telling your tale. Please.’ He gestured to the glass of cognac. ‘Try it. I insist.’

She didn’t know how he knew she never had, and didn’t want to question it. ‘I… sorry. I’ll just get another glass, I have some vodka in my-‘

‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘Go on.’ He pushed the glass toward her. ‘You don’t look contagious.’ He smiled, almost daring her to do it.

‘Okay.’ She perched gingerly on the edge of the chair opposite him and picked up the glass, turning the amber liquid this way and that. Taking a small sip, she coughed as it burned down her throat.

‘Small steps,’ said the stranger. ‘Give it a moment to develop.’

After the burn was a blooming of flavour- oak and sweet spice, vanilla and caramel. ‘Oh, it’s really nice. I like that.’

He watched her set down the glass, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘Auspicious. Now, tell me your opinion of that new translation of The Odyssey, would you? I fear I might die of boredom if that slimy little employer of yours approaches me again.’

Her eyes widened. ‘I hope he doesn’t hear you saying that.’

‘I hope he does,’ he snarled. ‘He ought to be brought low, that one. You can tell me how you ended up in his service another time. Please, go on.’

‘Oh, well,’ she said. ‘I think the new translation is good, definitely more accessible for the layperson, but I do think it misses some of the magic of the original. Sometimes the value in these texts, I find, is in untangling them. And if there’s nothing to untangle, it feels a little bit soulless. There’s value in it for sure, but I didn’t fall in love with Classics as a discipline because it was easy.’

‘Well said.’ He smiled, sipped from the glass. ‘Would you like some more?’ He placed it in front of her.

‘I shouldn’t.’

‘That,’ he said slyly, ‘isn’t what I asked.’

She blushed, embarrassed. ‘Well. Yes, I would. As a matter of fact.’

‘Then drink.’

She drank. ‘I don’t miss my uni days,’ she continued, unprompted. ‘They were pretty awful, broadly speaking. A lot of my lecturers seemed to really be stuck in the dark ages-‘

‘Such is the life of an academic,’ he sighed dramatically. ‘I can’t say I miss my university days, either. Though they’re doubtless much further away than yours.’

‘I’m 30,’ she said. ‘And frankly it was this job or rot in obscurity at home.’

‘30 whole years? You jest, surely?’ His eyes widened and he leaned forward. ‘Why, you look positively cherubic.’

She frowned slightly, unsure how to take the theatricality in stride. ‘Well,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m glad to be here, no matter what age. Better to live than the alternative, no?’

‘Certainly.’ He smiled, a flash of perfect white teeth. ‘Though not under the thumb.’

‘I’m not.’

He regarded her silently for a moment. His gaze seemed to burn, her stomach swooping. Even when she looked away, his eyes did not waver. ‘Hmmm. Indeed. Listen, you go home. Have a nice evening. I’ll deal with him. But…’ he looked suddenly more intense, reaching into his suit pocket. ‘Take my card. I’d hate for this to be our first and last meeting, Doe. You’re wasted in a place like this. Now go, slip away before he notices.’

‘This is a really bad idea.’

‘The very best kind,’ he said with a quirk of the brow. His eyes gleamed conspiratorially.

She took the card. ‘Thank you. Who should I ask for when I call?’

‘I am Raphael,’ he said, taking her small hand in his to shake firmly. ‘It's been a pleasure. I hope we see one another again soon.’

‘See you,’ she said, rising to her feet. With a quick glance around, she scurried off to the exit, slipping into the night.

‘Get home safe,’ he said, voice carrying to her on the wind as she closed the door.

Huddling into her jumper, she began the short walk home. Her hands fumbled the keys, it was so cold; letting herself into her flat finally, she sighed in relief, locked the door, and stripped out of her uncomfortable clothes. ‘Fucking hell,’ she said, peeling back her tights to reveal bloody blisters. ‘I need to quit my job.’

She showered, ate a chocolate bar, and ignored the dishes in the sink that had been there for the last week in favour of texting the number on the glossy black business card in her pocket.

Hey, she wrote. I’m home safe. Thank you for looking out for me today. I appreciate it. -Doe

Not five minutes later came the response:

You said you were going to call. -R

Her stomach flipped. It’s a little late.

Many words or sleep, yes. I understand. Sweet dreams, little Doe. -R

The very counterfeit of death. It’s nice that you understand. Goodnight.

Tags:

@bluerosetarot @dansnotavampire @further-than-forever

@forget-me-maybe @poetryvampire @sasha199 @wandawillow

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

@aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard

@crimson-and-lavender @reeseykins @medra-gonbites

@roguishcat @weaverofnetheril @galedekarioswifey @hyperfixationstation128 @12thhouse-sun

@astarryvamp @feedthepheasants @dabigstinky @dreamingofthewild @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

@femmefuck @spooky-lil-bee @m00kieblaylock

[ask-karlachbear]

On rest. Moved to @wisterias-in-bloom

Hello Soldiers,

I saw Astarion and Gale spending a lot of time here, and I decided to join too! Do you wanna go and smash some bad guy's skull?🕺

also meet my fam from another ma'am: lynn

Behind the blog:

Hi, my name is Lynn. My main blog is @lynnloveshobi but you might have seen me more with @lynnlovesthestars.

I'm 25 and I use any pronouns.

Rules:

NSFW allowed only if you have your age visible on your blog.

No abuse RP. OF ANY KIND. Talking about the backstories of the various characters is okay, but asking me to roleplay anything like that will grant you a direct line towards the trash.

No homophobia, transphobia, racism, or any form of discrimination is allowed here. This js a safe space for everyone.

Just remember that behind this blog there's an actual person, with actual feelings.

USEFUL THINGS:

#CAMP: [your emoji/ your name/ your tav] to find your answered questions.

#karlach's dashboard to see karlach accidentally shitpost on the wrong account

#karlach rp or #karlach roleplay to find all the stuff karlach has said on this app.

#Karlach's prompts for the daily prompts.

#Karlach's prompts faq for faqs and the past prompts quick search.

#rp prompt (date in mm/dd/yy) to find a specific prompt and all the answers.

Other BG3 rp accounts:

My Baldur's Gate camp: @ask-shadowheart @askevilgale @ask-alfira @askscratchandbite @ask-thebladeoffrontiers @ask-gale @askgale @astariondisapproves @askastarion @ask-laezel @ask-thedarkurge @oakfathers-embrace @askdammonofelturel @the-devils-you-know @askthechosenofbane @lord-cazador-szarr @askvolo

@ask-withers

My oc:

-@wisterialynn My regulars: -🌹 -white paw -broke anon -my-bunny-prince -pala dragonborn tav -sad tav -daniel -Thaniel -Gortash's bully -gweneal -Ailen -call-me-tav -team-scales -lunastra -tyson -Althaea -lyria -Ezthus -eden -✨ -broke anon -all the beautiful tavs reading this post right now ;)

[majorasnightmare]

FREE DIRGE LORE!!! 8, 20, aaaand 22 pleaseee

FREE DIRGE LORE ON NAADYS BIRTHDAY!!! as a present he offers an inside out torso 🕷️🕸️🕷️

8. How does your Dark Urge feel about the wilderness?

I think his feelings about the wilderness surprise him, because hes actually really fond of it. He enjoys the simple and consistent behavior of animals, even if he has to kill them, and he really deeply enjoys the distance from people. Hes also really fond of natural water sources, a remnant of growing up next to the Chionthar, which was one of the only places in the city where the Urge wasnt quite so loud. He doesnt quite realize how much he enjoys the wilds until he gets back to Baldur's Gate and fucking hates it lmao

20. Is your Dark Urge open about their Urge or do they try to hide it? Why?

Hes SOOO open about it to a RIDICULOUS degree. Pre tadpole he identified completely with the Urge so anyone who had the privellege of knowing him As He Is (and not when he was trying to stealth through the city) would know who and what exactly theyre dealing with. Post Tadpole, he feels he has to rely heavily on this group of strangers for his own safety and sanity, and tries to be as open and forthcoming as possible about the Urges, first because it scares him and he wants help, and then when he gives up on the idea of receiving help as a matter of responsibility. He owes it to them to tell them when he might fly off the handle in case they have to put him down for everyones collective safety. He doesnt even try to hide Alfira's murder, and its everyones reaction to that event that solidifies his decision to both tell everyone whenever the Urges risk them (his own mental health is an acceptable sacrifice), and his decision to handle them almost entirely by himself

22. What first impression does your Dark Urge give off to strangers?

It depends on how much effort hes putting into "passing" as it is. Act 1 is when hes at his most offputting, a twitchy mess poorly concealing the burning desire to kill, and most peoples first impression is that theyre interacting with someone very deeply sick. By the time Dirge is leaving the Grove behind, hes stabilized enough to no longer come off like someone on a very bad LSD trip trying to ground himself. The general impression he gives off is one of lethal competency and assured unflappable confidence, with a fairly easygoing but professional attitude, which persists all the way to the end of act 1, throughout act 2, and only starts collapsing in Act 3

Once he learns hes a bhaalspawn, the combined stress of that revelation plus the ones hes learned in moonrise towers has started puncturing holes in his carefully constructed facade into a frankenstein of his Act 1 and 2 vibes. The end result is someone with the same lethal competency as before, but teetering on a very unstable knife's edge. Some of the twitch has started to come back, and hes snappier and more irritable than usual, because there just isnt any relief from the endless pressing throngs of people, and its driving him up a wall. The confidence is now taken as anticipation of bloodletting, and his general affect is more unsettling for it, like someone trying ever so slightly unsuccessfully to hide the fact theyre actively fantasizing about peeling your skin like a banana. Hes aware of it and tries to talk as little as possible to as few people as possible, made more difficult by the fact that by this point hes established himself as the partys go-to haggler and interrogator-of-npcs.

thankies for dirgeposting oppurtunity, heres him in the faded drow leathers dyed in his usual colors!!