#i have feelings about the god damn blade of frontiers

[solace-saphylos]

I get so irredeemably angry whenever I see modded bg3 footage of Wyll's dancing scene, especially if they've swapped the model for Astarion's. On the side of the white boy - He wouldn't move like that. He would find it embarrassing at best. On the side of the black man - How dare you strip his likeness from his courtship? HE moves like that, not just because he can by schooling, but because he wants to show those moves to you! He wants to dance all pretty and poised, the Prince crowned with a devil's horns, dancing to no music but the deep seated longing in his heart to connect with yours...

I danced with Wyll, and the whole scene felt like a roller coaster. He swept me off my chair and into his world. Mind you, I didn't even kiss him, I turned my face away. He took that rejection with such grace.

A grace I do not possess myself. STOP TAKING HIS SCENE FROM HIM, LET WYLL OWN THOSE DANCE MOVES ALONE LIKE THE DEVS INTENDED REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

[chaoticbardlady99]

Nobody's Fool (Astarion x GN! Reader) Part 1

Synopsis: You approach Astarion at the Tiefling party and get rejected. Everyone else and Astarion knows he made a mistake, but you certainly don't.

Author Note: I LOVE Shadowheart- okay. Love her, but she is also my favorite hot girl rival in my fiction. No idea why. I just also love the idea of her being best friends with a Selunite by the end of her journey (or ship her hardcore with an Oathbreaker Paladin)

CW: Sad boi rejection hours, mentions of sex, mentions of Dead Dove.

Based off of a post by @golden-baby

(I also listened to Avril Lavigne’s Nobody’s Fool while writing this and it’s very good if you haven’t heard it)

(IDK Who this gif belongs too, but it is not mine)

You have always been the first person to throw yourself into a situation and help others- it was what had drawn you to being a Cleric of Selune in the first place. 

 You miss being a young cleric studying the life domain under the stars and the bright moon. You miss not feeling so terrified. 

 All this tadpole has brought you is anxiety and fear, you have a feeling it will be okay. You are here for a reason and you trust that Selune needs you to trust her. 

 Meeting Shadowheart had certainly confirmed that- she obviously was plummeting down the wrong path, but she has also flipped this thinking on you a few times. Only, you cannot understand following a Goddess as cruel as Shar. She has obviously brought serious damage to Shadowheart’s life and you are determined to support her- whether she gets away from Shar’s doctrine now or fifty years from now, you will be here to help her when the time comes.

 In spite of your differences, you actually go to the same spot and pray together- farther away from each other, but the sentiment is still there. Occasionally you drink together after a particularly weird or bad day. You find you both can talk about your religious beliefs and you are open to hers which in turn has begun to show her how to be open to your religious doctrine. It’s nice to have someone to talk about the bigger powers at play- even if that person opposes your Goddess so viciously. You don’t really care- you know followers of Shar are hurt people hurting people. They need love just as much as the next person. 

 Lae’zel has been a tougher nut to crack, but you have provided sympathy where you can and support her. You promised her that you would all head to the mountains and search for the Creché. If the cure is there- she will get it. That has made Lae’zel feel better a few times.

 Karlach just wants a good life and to talk about the joys of Life, Gale wants someone to talk to about magic and help finding magic items, and Wyll just wants to feel accepted and like he is still the mighty Blade of Frontiers.

 Then there is Astarion.

 You have been head over heels for the man since he knocked you to the ground and questioned you. You could probably stare at him forever if it wasn’t so Gods damn creepy. 

 You practically bend over backwards to help him- far more than you do for others, anyhow. He seems to like you and you have definitely thought about asking him to go on a date with you at some point. 

 But then you think about how not romantic having a tadpole in your head is and nix the idea. 

  You listen to him whenever he speaks to you, any books you find usually end up going to him. Gale is still pretty upset about the Necromancy of Thay. 

 Any new short swords, daggers, arrows, bows, crossbows, armor, potions, etc- you name it, you probably already gave it to him. You often think you may be far too obvious with your affections, but it’s the only thing you know kind of appeases him.

 Every decision you make he despises and makes a point of mocking you for. Karlach is often telling him to knock it off, but that usually just makes it worse so you just laugh it off even though it hurts. You just remind yourself that he lived as a slave for the last 200 years and you are the first to admit that your Goddess failed to save him. You don’t know why, but it is what it is. Maybe one day he will see that not all people are his ruthless master. 

You also let him drink from you every three or so days. If he is injured in battle- you are first to offer him another drink. 

 Astarion calls you, “Darling '' from time to time and you thought that might be something, but you also heard him call Karlach and Shadowheart that too. 

 You feel so conflicted when you go to bed- he seeks out Shadowheart and never you at bedtime. He spends all night talking to her about Gods only knows what. You are certain some of it is mocking you, but you try to remain optimistic. He wouldn’t do that- you have been nothing but kind to him. What could he even say?

 Tonight is the first night that he is by himself and not talking to Shadowheart. You can do it- just go up and ask him if he would like to take a walk with you. No big deal. 

 “Hi Astarion,” you say softly, “are you having fun?”

“No- no thanks to you, by the way.”

 Your smile falters slightly, but you rebound. 

“I’m sorry- I wasn’t trying to ruin your night.”

 Astarion rolls his eyes and flashes a smile that makes your breath catch. 

 “I suppose it couldn’t be helped, Darling,” he says with a dismissive wave, “you and all your do gooder nonsense was bound to get us here eventually.”

 You smile brightly- happy with the positive step forward. 

“How rude of me- I forgot to ask- how can I help you this evening?” 

  This is the big moment- you can do it! 

“I was-“ you clear your throat, take a deep breath and avoid his eyes, “I was wondering if you would want to go on a walk with me on the beach later?” 

 Astarion blinks a few times and you think you see the hint of a smile- it makes you feel slightly optimistic. 

 Until it turns into a snort and a laugh he can’t hold back.

“You are so naive,” your heart drops, “whatever gave you the impression that I would want to ‘go on a walk’ with you?” 

 You frown, a lump in your throat is beginning to form and you feel so embarrassed that you wouldn’t even know where to begin to explain yourself.

“I- you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I am glad we could clear that up.”

“Me too,” you say with a forced smile, “good night.”

“You don’t have to-“

 You walk away- all the horror and heartbreak simply being far far too much to bear. How could you be so positively stupid? 

 Your mother always chastised you for this kind of thing- you give and give and give, hoping it will make people love you, but it never works. They will take everything from you and then some because they can. 

 You sit on an alcove overlooking the camp- far enough away that you hopefully won’t be spotted by anyone. You wish you hadn’t- you just barely catch a glimpse of Astarion dragging the all alluring and elusive Shadowheart away into the forest. 

 You are diminished to tears- your heart feels like it has splinters all over it and your stomach feels like it may twist before collapsing in on itself. 

 You are about to give up and leave, but the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention. 

“It’s just me,” Wyll says with his hands up, a friendly smile on his face, “you seemed like you may need a friend.”

 You laugh and wipe your tears away, “and here I thought I was hiding it so well.”

 “You do, my friend,” Wyll says before putting a hand on your shoulder, “what troubles you?” 

 “You are going to think I’m stupid.”

 Wyll laughs lightheartedly, “I have seen and done my fair share of ‘stupid’.” 

 You inhale deeply and tell Wyll your story- from start to finish. You are a crying mess by the end of it- so much so that Wyll actually maneuvered you and began cradling you in his arms. 

 His heartbeat helps steady you- the connection to nature and the ground is helpful. It makes it all feel a bit better- you suppose.

 You eventually sit back down next to Wyll- your face is blotchy and red, tear stained and puffy. 

“I have noticed that you give Astarion all of you,” Wyll says with a frown, “spirit, body, heart, and mind.

“Maybe it is time to stop- set some boundaries for yourself. I am sorry that you did not get the answer you wanted, but at least now you know and that is a blessing. You can now look for someone who truly wants you and gives equally as much as they take.” 

 You nod. You had hoped to hear more of a, “he will come around” message, but you know this is the better, healthier message. You despise it, but it’s true.

 You and Wyll spend time talking about other things. You tell him how you hope to open your own clinic one day and help people who cannot afford it. Wyll tells you about the Sword Coast, his failings, and his own trauma. 

 He teaches you different constellations, the different flora in the area, and what the fishing season was like when the town was functioning and Wakeen’s rest was up and running. It sounds like it was a beautiful place to live before all of this nonsense erupted.

 It’s fun and Wyll makes you feel seen and appreciated. He still isn’t Astarion, but you know it will take some time before you can look at someone else and that’s okay.

 Wyll walks you back to camp and you don’t bother to look over at Astarion’s tent nor do you go that way like you usually would. You noticed he was back and so was Shadowheart. Both of their clothes were ruffled- it’s been at least two hours so you can only imagine.

  “Good night, Tav,” Wyll kisses you on the back of the hand before engulfing you in a large hug that you gladly accept, “sleep well- tomorrow will be better.”

 You go to your bedroll and begin to open your healing magics book when a knock on your tent post gets your attention. Maybe it’s Wyll. He did say he enjoyed talking to you, maybe he wants to spend the night? That doesn’t seem overly realistic though- he is a perfect gentleman.

“Come in,” you say, still not looking up, “what’s up?” 

“I was hoping I may be able to get a small snack?”

 Oh. It’s Astarion.

 You just fed him earlier today before the party. Usually you would say yes, but Wyll is right- you can’t keep giving him everything and leaving nothing for yourself. 

“I- I am really sorry,” he frowns and his ears even droop, “I am just really tired and I don’t-“

“No worries, Tav.” He says with a forced smile on his face, “have a good evening.”

  You are shaking after he leaves the tent. You cannot believe you just did that. You set a whole boundary. 

 No he did not call you by a pet name nor did he flirt with you. Yes he frowned and it made your heart hurt, but you need to start putting yourself first. 

  You still cry yourself to sleep and you wake up early enough to wash your face with cold water- any evidence of your heartbreak is completely gone. 

     ***********************************************

 You have managed to really avoid Astarion for the last four, almost five days. You let him feed because you don’t want him to starve to death, but you found out that casting “calm” on yourself beforehand keeps your adrenaline from kicking up so you no longer react to him.

 You cry afterwards, obviously, but he doesn’t need to know that. He is right- he never did anything to make you believe he liked you and it was very naive of you to assume he did. However, you do commend yourself for your courage to try and you even walked away with your dignity. 

 At the end of the day, you are proud of yourself and you love yourself more than anything. You will continue your mission and continue to help people because you enjoy helping people. Right now, this group of weirdos needs you and you need you so that you all make it out of this nonsense alive.

 That is more than enough to keep someone busy.

 First there was a Hag to fight, then you unfortunately had to kill a monster hunter (you didn’t talk to Astarion about it afterwards, that is Shadowheart’s job), and fought a bunch of spiders off- which also brought up the Necromancy of Thay argument again. That was exhausting. 

 Astarion opened the door on a Bugbear and Ogre bumping uglies, you also had to really put your foot down so that he wouldn’t send a dark Gnome flying. He was quite frustrated with you, but he understood your reasoning enough to not do it. 

 Then there were the Gnolls and Astarion had opened the chest which caused the Zhentarim guild to attack and try to make you all explode. Thankfully you were able to save that weird artist, but no one from the guild survived. 10/10 supplies though. 

 There are things to be done and places to see. Exploring the Underdark first made the most sense. It upset Lae’zel, but she said she trusts your judgment which warms your heart. 

 It is certainly not a quick or easy journey to get to the entrance inside the abandoned temple of your Goddess. You can hear Shadowheart saying snarky things- Astarion snorts here and there, but doesn’t actually chime in for once. 

 At least you get some relief from that for a day. You wrap your hand around your Moondrop pendant and you already feel the love of Selune flow through you. You kept the statue as well and you keep it next to you- last night you actually slept with it in your hand. 

 You had grown up exceptionally poor and your parents died from some disease in the mines where you were all imprisoned. The mine was eventually raided by Selune clerics and paladins- you immediately knew that is what you wanted to be. Selune had saved you right before you were being shipped to another location and you lived with her clergy ever since.

 You were grateful you had a potion of flying as well as the support of the others to keep the moonstone. Even Astarion expressed his approval when Shadowheart became upset. You waited until it killed the Minotaur, of course. The splash of blood that hit the group wasn’t necessarily welcome, but oh well.

  And at least you don’t have a ridiculous name.

 You snicker to yourself as you walk- earning an odd look from Gale who is covered in Minotaur blood. You urge him to keep talking about whatever book he finished last night and he gladly dives back into the subject. 

 Finding a decent spot to camp was actually pretty easy. The camp is beautiful and your tent is set up next to Karlach’s. She convinces you to make a massive tent fort and Fort Tavlach is born. 

 You pass a bottle of wine back and forth as you talk. Karlach is letting you hug Clive as you talk about the tiefling party and the aftermath of everything.

“Is that why those two are sitting next to each other so miserably?” 

You cock your head to the side, “what do you mean?”

“What I mean is they look miserable and haven’t stopped fighting for the last three days,” Karlach states with a raised eyebrow, “have you really not been paying attention?”

 You shake your head. Karlach gapes at you, chugging a bit of the wine before passing it back.

“Well- I have been waiting to tell you all day, but Shadowheart finally told me what they were fighting about.”

 “Oh, Karlach, I really should-“

“Two nights ago, they tried to be intimate again and he said your name during the act itself.”

 You simultaneously choke on and spit out your wine- some of it comes out of your nose. You can’t stop coughing and Karlach is dying laughing- she is crying she is laughing so hard. You are crossing your arms and uncrossing them in front of your face- a look of bewilderment as you process what just happened.

“mE!?”

 This just makes Karlach laugh even harder, she goes running straight for behind a rock- screaming that she is going to pee herself.

 The entire camp is looking over in curiosity and you just wave awkwardly. You catch Astarion’s gaze from the corner of your eye and he looks sad- maybe even a little angry.

 He storms off to his tent and Shadowheart rolls her eyes, glaring at you before going off to her own tent. 

 Karlach eventually comes back and you both continue your drunken gossip.

“That- that can’t possibly be true,” you say, “I asked him on a date and he told me I was naive to think he would ever want to be with me that way.”

“What!?” Karlach looks like she may light the entire camp on fire, “why didn’t you say something! We could have-“

“No,” you chastise, “he is right. It was naive of me to assume- my hurt is no one else’s fault. I also chose to give him everything I had. 

“He doesn’t owe me, I wanted to do those things,” you affirm, Karlach is smiling softly, “I still adore him, of course, but this is for the best, you know? Wyll says it means I can set my sights elsewhere now that I know Astarion isn’t into me.” 

“That is very big of you. Look at you in your big kid pants.”

You roll your eyes and give her a playful shove.

“He has been hurt and used enough for a dozen lifetimes- I don’t want to contribute to that hurt.” 

“You are a good person, Soldier,” Karlach hands you the bottle of wine, “you know- Halsin would be an amazing lover. I am sure of it.”

 “You think?”

“Oh ho- let me tell you what I think, Soldier-“

 Karlach goes into her wild theories and you try so hard to listen intently, but your drunken mind is stuck on Astarion and wondering if he is okay.

[fatale-distraction]

BG3 Companions Social Media Headcanons Part 1

I was bored at work and couldn’t stop. 🤣 I’ll make another post with Halsin, Minthara, Jaheira, Minsc, and some NPCs!

~~~

Astarion - Pre-Tav, Astarion's social media is mostly thirst-traps for some kind of nefarious, Cazador-related money-making plot. They barely scoot past the TOS on lewd content. Very little real personal content, anything that isn't a thirst trap is heavily doctored lifestyle content to make it seem like he's living a much more luxurious life than he actually is.

After meeting Tav and getting rid of Cazador, he deletes all of his old accounts and opens up new ones. They're not exactly private, but he's much more careful about who he follows and who can follow him back. The posts become much more genuine. Still a lot of selfies, but they're sexy in the way of a guy just finally living his truth and being comfortable in his own skin. There's more shots of his daily life; waking up with his partner's obnoxious pets strewn across the bed, morning coffee and his current favorite book, new outfits that make him feel more himself. Tav features heavily in most of his posts, and there are probably as many pictures of them as there are of himself.

Karlach - chaos. No rhyme or reason. Lots of parkour and Jack-ass parodies. Constant flood of pictures of her stuffed animal collection. Stupid filters abound. There's several videos of her just flexing. Lumberjack videos. Seven hundred pictures of Tav, tons of selfies together. Videos of her literally sobbing over some cute stuffy she found or a dog she got to pet. "How many times can I say the fuck word before I get suspended." Memes. Memes everywhere.

Lae'zel - She follows three accounts and never posts anything, but somehow she's constantly scrolling through. What does she even do? Her profile picture is still the default. She doesn't have any profile information filled out. It just says "No." Her screen name is just Lae_zel. Every single item in her favorites is a cat video. She has One photo and its a gym selfie. All of her comments seem really mean at first, but they're all weirdly supportive things along the lines of "your teeth are sharp and your visage terrifying".

Shadowheart - total E-girl influencer vibe. Everything is #nofilter. She doesn't need filters. She's god's most perfect princess. You can't even be mad because it's not vanity its just how she Is. Ends everything with Prayer-hands-emoji hashtag Shar'sblessings or Selune'sblessings depending on where she is in that journey. Hairstyle and makeup tutorials and she makes it look so damn easy. "Dye my hair and cut my bangs with me." "Get ready with me" videos nearly every day. Every picture has a comment from Astarion that just says "oh fuck off" because even he can never hope to be as perfect as she is. Or at least that's what her forty-five thousand followers think.

Wyll - The official Blade of the Frontier social media account(s). Fencing videos and promos. "How to polish your horns for newbies" video that's been taken down twenty-seven times for lewd content even though it's literally for polishing actual horns. Accidental thirst traps because damn. Lots of disability advocacy, especially for visual impairments. Weekly Demon/Devil PSAs. Constantly featured in Karlach's vids and vice-versa. Buddy selfies. Once in a while a pic of him with his dad. Pics with Tav are rare, but when he does post them they're the sweetest pictures and he gushes about them for paragraphs. It's a little gross how gushy they are. Astarion comments with vomit emojis and Wyll just replies with an angry face emoji. The purest content. He's so wholesome. Not a swear to be seen. Lots of gentle hype videos. "You've got this. You can do this. I believe in you."

Gale - oh my god he has the most pretentious social media accounts. He's worse than Astarion. "Well, actually" videos with multiple parts because they're too long. Tea and bookshelves. Tara. So many pics of Tara. Tara napping on a book. Tara swatting a fly. Tara in the window. Tara on the kitchen counter. Tara laying in the sun. Tara doing nothing. He has one of those fancy cat terrarium backpacks. Magic tutorials. Mystra simp. Surprisingly few selfies but the ones he has are IMMACULATE. Pretentious book reviews. His only saving grace is that he is HILARIOUS. He's the only one with a reasonable about of pics with Tav as opposed to almost none or way too many, but the captions are always really sweet.

~~~

Part 2 here!

Part 3 here!

Part 4

[ohsayit]

Fishing out voiced lines (part 1)

So, I have been trying to datamine for the cut Absolute Zevlor. I can't seem to get the parser to work so I have only been looking at the dialogues from 1.0 onwards.

Couldn't find anything other than the one line on the top of one of the files that says he reveals himself a traitor in a conversation but with no actual dialogue being shown. At the moment, I am going through this video from 3 years ago, so pre release I believe. I am trying to fish out bits that sticks out to me that may possibly be part of the cut Absolute Zevlor lines, and also cheery pick some lines for my own liking. They will possibly will feed into the unknown HC of Absolute Zevlor of mine : )

I'd ask who you are, but I've heard of the Blade of Frontiers. I've heard he was a hero though, not a thug.

I have no idea what you mean, my friend.

Allegiance is a murky thing, particularly for a drow.

This is it. I pray I haven't led them all to ruin.

Who in the Nine Hells do you think you are?

(Speak with the dead) Finish..the plan...

(SWD) Go...where...they belong...

Just how much did that damn goblin tell you?

I..I didn't expect to meet a True Soul here.

I know how to pick my allegiances toom, and the Absolute has already won this war.

Ready, at last. Gods, how I've waited for this day.

That was close. Far far too close.

She was not yours to kill. We Might have bought save passage with her.

And you name me the traitor? Gods above, you are working with them!

It's good to know about your story at true.

Looking for information about her tribe. The same fellow who attacked at the gate.

And the Absolute wants them, badly. I will have my reward. I am sure they will be taken care of.

No matter this idiot overheard me. The others will never believe their reluctant leader Zevlor follows the absolute.

You, however, don't factor into it at all.

And so are you. If you ever interfere in my business again, that I promise you.

Shh. Not in mixed company, my friend.

To that point, there is something I'd like to speak with you about, but not in mixed company.

If you stop shouting, they might not find us!

Tilly, there will be time to explain, but we cannot let ourselves be divided now.

Do you have any idea what you have done? What you have ruined?

(SWD) I would have...sacrificed...them all! For the Absolute...

If these sheep can buy me a place among the wolves, then I will use them as I will.

What did you just say?

Ah, a new deity the goblins have taken to. I hoped the prisoner might be more forthcoming about their plan if she thought me had sympathise her.

Tell me what you know.

These people are mine. She can't have them.

I don't know what waits and I don't care. They chose to put their lives in my hands. Why thank you.

Around here? That sounds...dangerous. There is only so far you can push people.

You will soon find out how wrong you are...

You throw away everything I worked for. Why?!

(SWD) I heard tells...whispers...a new power...could raise up those who had been cast out...

Unskilled in the liar who convinces only himself

But they flocked to me when Elturel rejected us. When they needed a sword arm.

You..! Where did you get that mark?

What do you know about the Absolute?!

This one is interesting. It says he is not a Rider. I thought about if he was lying about it, but it doesn't make any sense. It's interesting to see there was an alt background for him. Though I am still die hard fan for Rider Zevlor. Delicious old man.

"I am Zevlor, by the by. Former school teacher, presently, well, something of a defacto leader to beleaguered people"

And he also have some voice lines that belongs to Aradin? lol

We've got a contract to track down some relic. And he wanted in on the job. Eyes lit up when he heard about it.

Well, this is going to make a part 2 to it when I am in the mood to carry on with my English listening test I guess :P I am half an hour in for 1hr 25mi ish audio recordings. Though I feel like a chuck of them are repetitive as I've already listened to.

Sorry I have to put the tag headcanon with this one. I don't have another tag for character analysis (my more written up gibberish) and these sort of bits of information and what not.

[silurisanguine]

OC Questionnaire Tag (bookish-karina questions answered)

Thanks to the lovely open tag by @bookish-karina I have more questions to answer as my OCs! I am loving doing these so if i haven't answered any you guys posted, send them my way!! As usual I'll be answering as Seren Jones, Aeryn Ryder, Zofie Orel and Kiara Black under the cut! Tagging @vorchagirl @despicablediet and @bearlytolerant @staticpallour @fangbangerghoul

@atonalginger @eridanidreams @toxiclizardwrites @therealgchu @aro-pancake @a-cosmic-elf and open tag to anyone who like to answer these questions three as their OC- 1- If you could time travel without consequence what moment in the past would you visit? 2 - Do you have a favourite food and drink? 3 - What do you think about the supernatural and magic?

Now to answer the questions given me - 1-have you ever wanted to stab someone? 2-what's your worst memory? 3 -what are you hoping to avoid? First up Seren Jones ( My Starfield Coemancer Starborn)

Have you ever wanted to stab someone? "Wanted to? I have, multiple times, with my beloved Va'ruun painblade 'viper's fang' - Spacers, Crimson Fleet, Fanatics and other Starborn. Damn I sound bloodthirsty don't I? Just the Settled Systems are the frontier, It ain't safe for an explorer and especially a Starborn one. You got to know how to defend yourself. But In truth, the only one I've ever really wanted to drive my blade into would be The Hunter for who he is, what he represents...what he did and could do again." What's your worst memory? "...Oh void, I hate talking about this, but... seeing Sam dead in front of me on the floor of the station. The Hunter had killed him, but I blamed myself for not being fast enough, for choosing to protect the people in the Lodge and not run to the Eye. It took me a long time to accept it wasn't my fault. But it hurts, especially when I see another Sam. I'm learning to live in the moment now, jumping through universes, taking a little happiness where I can until I find the right one. But that wound is still there on my heart and not sure if it will ever heal." What are you hoping to avoid? "Becoming like the Hunter in the amount of times I jump universes. Losing my humanity and compassion like he has to become this empty, cold and bitter creature. I... also really want to avoid dying before I find a universe to finally stop and settle down in again, like Aquilus has managed to do. Much as I don't subscribe to his faith, I admire what he's done." ✨ Next Aeryn Ryder ( My Mass Effect Andromeda Pathfinder )

Have you ever wanted to stab someone? "Yeah! That son of a bitch Archon would get the pointy end of my asari blade if I could get close enough to him. The rest, I don't want to do it, I just have to as they are trying to kill me!...well maybe if I ever find out who the Benefactor is, they might get to meet my blade too for what they did to Jien." What's your worst memory? "Dad told me that mom never wanted a funeral, that she didn't want people standing around her body crying, so we had a memorial service to celebrate her life and I remember just feeling so empty that she wasn't around anymore. That all I had were memories of her. That stayed with me. Close second would be waking up to find my dad had sacrificed his life to save mine after I'd...died. I didn't get to say goodbye or anything and then becoming Pathfinder, I haven't even really had chance to mourn or process the fact that I...died." What are you hoping to avoid? "Oh god, failure. Failure to live up to my dad's standard as Pathfinder. Failure to secure a viable home for everyone in Heleus. Failure to stop the Archon and the kett. Also really like to not die again." ✨ Next Zofie Orel ( My Deus Ex/ Assassin's Creed OC)

Have you ever wanted to stab someone? "I am an Assassin in the Coterie of Assassins. It's my job, so yes I have stabbed someone...many someones. Whether I wanted to, was very much up to learning what they'd done to warrant such an action. Sometimes it wasn't so much a want as a need. They were doing bad things, even if they thought they were doing good and couldn't be convinced otherwise. I took no pleasure in stopping them." What's your worst memory? "I could say it was the attack that caused me to be augmented, but truth be told, I don't remember it well. Being hit hard in the head has a tendency to do that. I think the worst, was waking up in the LIMB clinic and finding out Sarah, a fellow Assassin I was...close to, had died saving me, and my goshhawk Ghost had been killed too. That devastated me for quite some time. But I channeled that into my recovery, swearing vengeance for them both." What are you hoping to avoid? "Having to prevent Jensen from interfering with my mission. I'd prefer he was on board with what I have to do. So far the signs are good and I think once he finds out the full story he wont want to miss working with me." ✨ Lastly Kiara Black (My Dishonored/ Thief OC)

Have you ever wanted to stab someone? "Wanted to? No...maybe? Sometimes I saw an Overseer in Dunwall abusing his power, scaring someone, threatening them and I wanted to hurt them for it. But I don't really know how to fight. Garrett's shown me how to avoid fights and how to take someone down without them seeing you, but it's always no lethal. But there is a part of me that wants to see those who hurt people- be stopped for good. I have a feeling Garrett did that once, but he wont talk about." What's your worst memory? "...Finding out I might have caused my best friend's death. I was fourteen and Dylan was my only real friend. I thought I could trust him with a secret but he must have talked about it and it caused the Abbey to come to his family and try and take him...there was a fight, he and his family were killed by the Abbey and my family and I had to flee Caulkenny to Dunwall. I hated him for blabbing about what I told him, but I never wanted anything like that to happen to him or his family. That still haunts me." What are you hoping to avoid? "Getting caught. Either by the Abbey back in the Isles or by the City Watch here in the Eternal City. Both are as corrupt as they come, though if I had to choose, I'd take the Watch. least I know I could probably escape them. What the Abbey do to 'Heretics'... I think I'd rather die than be caught by them."

[thedragonagelesbian]

im still so weak about doing the wyrmway trials/fighting ansur the day after wyll breaks his pact & cyrus discovers that he helped orchestrate the absolute plan. they're both grappling with senses of duty-- to their fathers, to the people of baldur's gate and the sword coast, even (but always last, always least) to themselves. mizora calls wyll breaking his pact freedom from duty, but the moment that florrick reveals his father's last assignment for him, wyll immediately feels duty-bound to fulfill it, and for cyrus, the idea of finding a mythical dragon who could wipe his mistake from toril is both delightfully fantastical and relieving, so they go back to wyrmrock, passing the trials effortlessly (cyrus going down in the trial of courage doesnt count, does it, he doesnt count), wyll proving himself not only in the eyes of the city but of the memory of his father who raised him to be its champion

...and then it all goes to shit, and they're fighting desperately for their lives, and wyll is so heartbroken, devastated thinking that he, stirring up only an angry ghost, has failed his father and his city... but he finds it somewhere in himself, in his ever-valiant heart, to turn around and say we will be its saviors. help from gods and dragons and devils be damned, we need no pact or oath, just ourselves and our commitment and our love and support for one another. for the first time in his life, wyll is told follow your heart; i trust you to make the right decision, having a choice with no expectations attached to it, and he proudly proclaims i am the defender of the weak, i am the stalker of devils, i am the blade of frontiers!

and cyrus, who has been so low for so long, is immediately heartened. wyll's optimism and confidence are infectious, and in this moment, his past seems so very far away. all he wants to do is share in wyll's joy here in the present, regardless of what the past or future will bring him, to raise his sword to the man he loves and declare hail the blade of frontiers!

they have their feast in camp, everyone's bloodied and exhausted but enjoying themselves, though as the evening winds down, the fatigue makes the other emotions hard to keep at bay-- the grief, for ulder's life and for every life lost because of the absolute. when they find each other that night, holding the other close, cyrus is still trying to hide how much the conversation with gortash rattled him, but wyll insists: they never have to fight their battles alone again. they both get to decide for themselves who they are now, and they don't have to be defined by their fathers' or their pasts' expectations.

resting his head at the center of wyll's chest, listening to that heartbeat that has lifted his own countless times over, cyrus smiles, then kisses up wyll's chest to his neck, jaw, ear and whispers if you are the blade, i'll be your shield.

[amorficzna]

to love, to live

Rating: Teen (Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, Implied Sexual Content, Canonical Character Death, Developing Relationship, POV Karlach, Karlach Lives)

Relationship: Karlach/Wyll

Length: ~2.4k words (completed)

Red suited her, but gods did she fucking love red right back.

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Read on ao3 or below the cut

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Red suited her. She suited red. His blood cracked and spittled on her skin, dried with her weaponized body. It sank into the cracks of her pores till red was her and she was it. Couldn't even see the gore against the red of her skin. 

Something clattered distantly. Her axe, oh. Then her body followed, knees feeling like they’d break against the cold stone of Wyrm’s Rock. 

Enver’s dead, vacant face stared back at her. 

…

Forked tongue. Forked tongue. Forked tongue. FORKED TONGUE.

Well, she had a forked tongue too. But Wyll’s forked tongue?

Fire crackled and spit against her skin. Wyll turned his head, heavily, his neck creaking and his hand coming up to rub at the sore spot. Still not used to the horns.

“Sorry! Sorry, I -”

Karlach huffed. Wyll’s eyes didn't stray from her. 

“Nothing to apologize for.”

“It's just - you said that on purpose, right?”

“You might have to be more specific than that.”

The man’s voice was like honey. And he could kill her. Had tried to kill her. But didn't. But he could, and had chased her across the burning rivers of the Hells just to try. 

She was burning up hot and fast. 

“At the party. When I came over to ya. And you - well we talked about a lot of things. But the forked tongue thing. You said it on purpose… right?”

He smirked. Gods she was in trouble. 

“Even though my tongue may be forked I am still measured with it.”

“You must know how that sounds.”

He raised a brow, smirk still there.

“Of course I do.”

She was blushing, and it must've shown if only because she felt the hot sickly burn of it all across her face. She covered her face with her hands. 

“You're fucking killing me, Wyll.”

His eyes were sad when she peeked through her fingers, and she felt herself deflate. 

“Sorry, fuck, sorry -”

“Never apologize, Karlach. You make me feel - so alive.”

…

“Karlach -”

His hand was on her shoulder but she couldn't feel it, not really, not with the blood and the armor and the flames always the flames licking meekly at her skin.

“I'm so tired,” tears crawled down her face until they popped into little clouds of steam.

“I know, love, I know.” 

Enver fucking Gortash was dead and she was alive. So why did it hurt so much? 

…

There were callouses all across his fingers, especially along his thumb, dancing with the swirls of his fingerprints. She wanted to memorize each notch and crevice of his hands, those divine things, as he guided her through a soft dance made for a fucking princess. 

“Gods. I never thought hands would be better than sex, but here we fucking are.” 

A soft, surprised laugh escaped his lips. Eyes looked away. Blush crept along his neck. 

Delicious, surprising tingles ran up her spine that she, of all people, could pull a blush out of the Blade of Frontiers. Handsome and woosome and soft and - and loving. 

She wanted to devour him. 

At that he coughed. Oh, she said it out loud. His hand was gone long before she was able to etch its feel on her skin and mind. 

She pulled away from him, wincing, eyes closed from the disgust there, no doubt. Her body was nothing but fire and brimstone, a walking weapon and no more or less. Stupid mouth. Stupid hot ache low in her gut that flared any time he looked at her. Stupid Karlach. 

“Ah -”

His hands - even with her eyes closed she knew they were his - wrapped around the nape of her neck, thumbs brushing at her jaw. He was on his tiptoes, and she lowered down on her knees to meet him. 

“You are a force to be reckoned with. You drive me mad with my desire for you.”

Before she could reply with her numb tongue along the lines of ‘damn’ or ‘oh’ or ‘right back at chya’ his mouth was on hers; soft at first, like he always was, but he was quick to nip at her lips, quick to take her eager gasp and turn it deeper until he was towering over her, devouring her, her chin tipped up towards the sky. Imaginary stars appeared in the dark of her eyelids. 

She was small, safe, in the warmth of his hands and his mouth. Damned tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, steam prickling her cheeks. He pulled back, mouth trailing over hers, just enough to check on her, to wipe the dew from her face, to kiss it away. 

Damn. This was what it must have felt like to be loved.

…

Enver fucking Gortash was dead, but he wasn't sorry. Would never be sorry, now. Because he was dead and she was alive, alive with the weapon for a heart that would kill her.

She cracked her knuckles against the ground in a hard fist, felt the bones crack like dust, distant screams spilling upwards from deep in her gut, spewing magma against the cold dead body and the cold stone ground. 

…

He splayed his hand out against hers, locking them together, inviting her other hand across the rippling of his stomach, then flirting it lower still. 

“Are ya sure, Wyll?” 

She didn’t want to push him. She wanted to go at his pace. Knew he wanted to do things right, do things slowly, even if she knew she might not make it to ‘right’ or ‘slow’. He moved her hand lower in response, letting him take the lead, then feeling the bulge straining against his pants. 

He was warm, a velvet heat that no fire in all the Hells could match. It burned her, and she ached for him. 

“Of course I’m sure. Because it’s you, Karlach. Let me please you. Let me love you.” 

“You - you’re pleasing me more than enough already. Just being with you. Gods, I’m just so fucking happy to be near you.” 

She rubbed her thighs together, trying to ease some of the pleasurable ache building in her. His hand was at her hip, then at her waistband, working the ties of it open. 

“I love you.”

Fireworks exploded behind her eyelids, the ones she used to love to watch in Baldur’s Gate only a fraction compared to this. The delicate balance they were playing with snapped, her hands pulling at his horns, his moans swallowed by her mouth. 

“Gods, do I love you, Wyll.” 

“Then come here, and be mine.” 

And she did. 

…

The words scratched out of her throat, like they didn’t want to be said, which was probably true, “Think of all the good you could do, Wyll. You should do it.” 

She could still feel Enver’s blood on her hands, under her nails. Wyll’s brow furrowed. She picked at the blood that still felt stuck there, under her nails, even though they were already brushed raw. Anything to not look at him. 

“...Then I am the Blade of Frontiers no longer. I shall be Wyll Ravengard, son of Ulder, soon to be Duke of Baldur’s Gate.” 

Even as Ulder set his gauntlets on his son’s shoulders, pride oozing out of the smile on his lips, Wyll’s eye strayed to her. 

“Hail Duke Wyll Ravengard!” 

The leaden weight of her engine was infinitely heavy in her chest. Enver fucking Gortash was dead but she still lived, and the least she could do was fight till the very end, use that little bit of courage left to leave behind a better world for little street urchins like her. 

She knew Duke Wyll Ravengard would make that happen. 

…

The acorn was miniscule in her hand and she laughed, joy and bubbling melancholy lining her throat. 

“Eternity doesn’t feel like something real for me. I’m gonna die, Wyll.” 

His hand brushed hers, closing her fingers around the acorn all the same. 

“Then let us be together, now, and for tomorrow, and every day we have left. That will be my eternity.” 

She cupped the acorn carefully in both her hands, holding it close to her heart, some of her heat licking across it without leaving a single scorch mark behind. It was pristine. It was perfect. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

So many fucking things. All jumbled in her head. But it all came back to her, didn’t it? So she pointed at herself. 

He hummed, “Yes, you’re right, that is the person I want to marry. The person with whom I want to spend the rest of our time together. Is that so hard to believe?” 

She nodded.

“Then say yes, and I’ll show you all the ways I love her,” he teased, “Well, what do you say?” 

Pesky tears made themselves known in her eyes. She didn’t wipe them away, though, too scared to drop the acorn still cradled gently in her hands. 

“Of course yes, Wyll, of course. Because it’s you. And - and I can’t imagine it with anyone else.” 

His smile was brilliant. It could probably light up the whole night sky if he wanted it to. 

“Then get down here, you.” 

She didn’t need to be told twice.

…

She could make it through the night. One last day to live. To see the sun and the moon and the red of his eye. To meld her body against his, her thumb skimming his stomach, arm draped over the curve of his waist. To take in his smell, fresh and earthy, dispelling the last of the sulfurs of the Hells that clung to her, as she brushed her nose against the nape of his neck. To curl in on him and be his, for one more night. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

He turned in her arms, his eye shining in the dim light of the moon. 

Red suited her, but gods did she fucking love red right back. 

…

Pity draped over Dammon’s face like a veil and she fucking hated it. 

“I’m sorry, Karlach…” 

She knew what was coming next. 

“I know it isn’t your first choice and I won’t pressure you, but if you go back to Avernus… Well, it’s still an option that’s on the table. One that could buy me enough time to figure out your heart.” 

The acorn was a delicate, small little thing. She hoped it would survive once she went up in a hurricane of ash and embers. Her heart left behind, draped in her guts and innards. 

In that acorn she would live on. Her heart and her city and her Wyll would live on. It didn’t fucking help, not really, but it did push her forward, courage flitting through each of her steps towards the Absolute.

…

Her engine ached. Her heart did too. 

“I think I’m getting close. You should probably stay back.” 

But he didn’t. She watched the bob of his neck as he swallowed, watched the twitch of his eye, watched the way his hands smoothed over her stomach. Begged her mind to remember these little details of him, even when she was a million pieces of ash. 

“ Please, Wyll. You’re free now. Mizora’s got her hold on you no longer. You’ve - you’ve given me more than I could have ever dreamed of while I was in Avernus. So live for me, please? Just - just remember your dear old Karlach every once in a while, alright?” 

He shook his head. His back was straight and strong now, holding the horns on his head steady. He was beautiful, always was and always would be. 

“No Karlach, I won’t leave you. While the Blade of Frontiers is no longer, neither will the Duke Wyll Ravengard be born. I shall be the Blade of Avernus. And I shall hunt down Mizora and all devils that threaten the Sword Coast. But I can only do it if you are at my side. Come to Avernus, with me , and we shall free you from Zariel’s clutches.”

Hot lead slithered out of her engine and into her feet, her knees, her chest, her arms and head. 

“I'm so tired, Wyll.”

“Then rest on my shoulder and let me carry you, love.”

She snorted, “Don’t think you can handle that.”

“‘Course I can. Because it's you. ”

She sighed, deep rotting sadness taking hold. She pushed away from him, the flames licking higher and hotter still. Arms hugged ‘round herself in some sort of mock protection against the pit in her stomach. 

“I can't fight anymore. Don't want to, at least. Definitely not in Avernus.”

“Then let me fight for you. With me you’ll be safe. I shall carry your burden on my shoulders if it means you’ll cast one more smile my way.”

“You have a city to run. The city I -” died “- fought for. My city. Our city!”

The words were true but they rang hollow in her ears all the same. 

“It will mean nothing to me without you in it to laugh and to love and to live .”

“So what? You want me to fucking suffer under Zariel’s thumb just so you can prance around the Hells playing hero? While I live every day in fucking fear of her using me again? At least this way I can choose how I go,” she whimpered at the end, because she didn’t want to die. 

She wanted her life . But not if it meant bartering with Wyll for his. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t live with herself if she did. 

Fingers wrapped around the nape of her neck. She was running hot now, and could hear his skin sizzling from it, but still he didn’t pull away. His thumbs brushed her jaw and she acquiesced, getting on her knees in front of him as his lips grazed over hers. The sun above her was eclipsed by the outline of his head and his horns. 

“If you are tired, lie on my shoulder. If you are scared, let me protect you. If you don’t want to fight, let me be your sword and your shield. I fucking love you, Karlach. I love your strength and your tenacity and your courage. I love how fucking stubborn you are, even if it means you might die. Gods are you amazing. A one-woman wonder. But you don’t have to be. Let me take care of you. Do this one thing for me. Live with me.” 

The hard shell of her heart splintered and cracked. 

“You really mean it? Really really?” 

“Of fucking course I do. Because it’s you.” 

And she believed him. And they lived. And they loved.

[blackjackkent]

Poor Wyll. :(

"Gods damn her straight back to the Hells. Just look at me - I did what was right, and Mizora made me pay for it. I'd be hunting devils and demons, she said. Traitors and hypocrites, heartless evils of all sorts, but not... not Zariel's victims. Not innocent tieflings."

"The Blade of Frontiers has some explaining to do."

This is sort of an interesting growth moment for Rakha I think. (I'm trying not to completely speedrun her development bc I keep having to remind myself that we're still REALLY early in the game, lol, but there's a lot for her to absorb very fast.)

Wyll has already said a lot to her about putting himself at risk for the people who can't defend themselves, about it being his purpose in life. This is a very strong, sharp visual demonstration that his money is exactly where his mouth is on the subject. He has quite literally sacrificed his humanity in order to keep a single other person - Karlach - alive.

This is not a thought process that comes naturally to Rakha. In her current state of memory loss her primary motivation has been survival, answers, and vengeance. Altruism has not been a top priority.

But it is very important to Wyll.

The most interesting thing, though, is that Rakha is angry on his behalf. She joined up with this group of people because they shared at least some of her experiences with the worm, and because they all have need of the same things. But... perhaps somewhere, deep in the memories she has lost, she had a concept of loyalty, once. Because there is a difference in the way she thinks about them compared to how she thinks about those outside the group.

She was ready (ill-advised or not) to lash out at Mizora on Wyll's behalf. She still would, if the devil came back. And that anger is hers - it is not the Urge, though the beast was certainly ready to feed on it.

Perplexing. Difficult. So she focuses on demanding information instead, which is always easier. Facts are easier than feelings.

"I'll say what I can. But it won't be enough," Wyll answers. He's watching her thoughtfully, as if surprised at her interest. Perhaps he, too, would not have expected her anger on his behalf rather than her own. "It's Mizora who grants me the power to conjure armor and cast eldritch blasts. Before I was infected, I could even call hellbeasts and summon festering clouds. But I promise you - ever thrust of my blade and every flame I sparked was for the good of the Coast."

"How in the Hells did you get involved with Mizora?" Rakha demands. It is one of many things that do not seem to make sense about this situation. Why would Wyll make a pact with such a creature in the first place, given his nature?

He smiles - sadly, but he seems pleased, just a little, that she wanted to ask. "Ah. The one little question that put me out of house and home. I can't utter the terms or circumstances of the pact. I can tell you most all else - but the pact? I'm forbidden, unless Mizora permits it." He sets his jaw. "But I'll say this. The moment I pacted myself to Mizora I have not regretted for a heartbeat. It was my proudest deed. It was worth the sacrifice. All I can give you on that is my solemn word."

She shrugs. She believes that he believes it. But is it true? She doesn't know. She is all too aware of how bound she is to the whim and control of the beast in her head. And Wyll has made such a decision by choice, deliberately placed the voice into his head to tell him where and when and how to kill.

Bravery. Or foolishness. Perhaps a little of both.

[euryalex]

The tale of Wyll Ravengard, the Blade of Frontiers, and Tara Lunarsong, the Lily of the Valley. From the moment their stories started, to when their stories intertwined, to when the stories came to an end, and a new story began.

» Wyll reunites with an old friend, and old memories are brought up.

A/N: I write in Dutch, first, before translating to English, so sorry for any mistakes!

1 / 2 (You're here!) / 3

His horns itched, but he couldn't scratch. His claws would cut through his skin, and the horns themselves hurt enough already. He had the body of a half-human, half-tiefling, even though he was a devilspawn. The lack of a tail made it clear what he really was: a half-devil.

Behind him, behind the bushes, there was a feast going on — the tieflings celebrating that they were still alive, that they were safe. A few days ago, Wyll might have joined them, but Zevlor's reaction told him enough. The tieflings were afraid of him. They knew him as the Blade of Frontiers and now he was their greatest fear.

He heard them laughing profusely. Alfira loudly sang a song to get everyone in the mood, and he stood on the riverbank, lost in thought. Then he heard footsteps in the sand. They came closer and closer. When Wyll looked at who joined him, he was speechless.

When he first met Tara, she was wearing a bloodied blue dress that showed a lot of skin. Her hair was messed up and caked in blood. But after they defeated the goblins, Tara had clearly found a new dress.

Now she was wearing a dark purple dress, the skirt of which was torn above her knees. Her legs were covered by black thigh high leather boots with high heels. A black leather corset hugged her waist, and it looked damn good on her.

When he finished admiring her clothes, he looked into her eyes and saw a tattoo decorating her cheekbone: three bird silhouettes. The moonlight made her look even paler, but she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"Hells, I was hoping you wouldn't notice I was gone," Wyll admitted half-softly, and she threw him a nervous smile, "Of course I noticed. It's not a party without you."

"Really? I'm honoured," Wyll said, first with a small smile before getting serious: "Honestly, I don't feel like I'm in a party mood, and I don't want to cast a grey cloud over the night."

Tara frowned questioningly.

"I'm a devil," he explained, "I love the people of the grove, but I upset them, deep down. You don't want a devil at your party. Claws will pop the balloons, you see. And the sweet pies don't taste half as good as raw eggs with this cursed forked tongue."

His words were laced with venom. He hated what he had become.

Tara took a step closer. "For what it's worth, you don't upset me," she whispered. There was pity in her eyes — no, not pity. Grief.

Wyll shook his head and chuckled. "If only half the world had half of your heart," he sighed, "But away with you! This is your day. Dance, enjoy the music."

"Can't you tell why I wanted to find you?" she smiled shyly.

Wyll felt his cheeks grow warm, but he didn't want to cherish his hopes.

"You must have ended up here by accident," he joked, "Too much honeywine can do that. You have to watch yourself."

She laughed nervously, "No. Guess what."

"Let me think for a moment," he mused, "Why are you really here?"

She wasn't here for him. Why would she be, if she could seduce someone like Karlach or Gale?

"You must be Volo in disguise," he jokingly claimed, "Who is here to address me for stories about the Blade of Frontiers. What a cruel disguise! My nerves started hammering as soon as I thought she was the one looking for me."

Please let me down slowly if you don't feel the same. Please forget everything I said if your heart belongs to someone else.

"Surprisingly, you're getting closer," Tara said, before biting her lip nervously.

"It's a long shot," Wyll muttered, "But maybe you've... grown fond of me? Gods know I've grown fond of you."

Her eyes grew large with joy as her pale cheeks turned red. "Was I that obvous?" she blushed, causing him to laugh, "You have a lot of talents, but subtlety is not one of them."

Then he looked away and avoided her gaze, "I can't say I deserve the honour. I haven’t even manage to kill one measly devil. I'm hardly a prime catch."

He watched her swallow. She looked nervous, but that didn't stop her from taking another step closer.

"Perhaps I can prove my affection, if you'll let me?" she said softly.

He looked at her again. Her purple eyes twinkled.

"How do you want to prove that?" he asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

Slowly she stretched out her hand and cupped his cheek. Her skin was freezing cold, but he didn't flinch. If anything, he leaned into her touch. She looked into his eyes and then glanced at his lips.

The sounds of the party began to fade and the only thing he could focus on was Tara. He felt himself lean forward until their lips barely touched. She looked into his eyes for one last time, before their lips finally met.

He felt his heart start beating faster. As she kept one hand on his cheek, he felt her press the other against his waist. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to him as he deepened the kiss.

Wyll had had a lot of kisses, but Tara's lips felt like pure magic.

Despite feeling like the moment lasted an eternity, Wyll still felt it was over too soon, but eventually he had to pull away to take a breath.

"Well, you have a party to return to," he swallowed. He looked at her, his eyes full of promises, "There will be another time for us. I promise you."

Next part »

[thessalian]

Faerun!Alisaie vs The Trouble With Wyll

Approaching Karlach's hiding place

Karlach: Oh fuck you brought company.

Wyll: Die, you--

Mind-Sharing Thing: *happens*

Alisaie: ...Wait. Hang on. You're ... you weren't in this of your own will. You're not a devil; you're a tiefling that someone crammed a damn hell engine into. Wyll, why the fuck--?

Wyll: ...Oh by the gods, I still have to do this!

Alisaie: So ... no. Wyll. Seriously. She's just another refugee - like the ones you were helping protect at the Emerald Grove. Just in a way worse situation than the rest of them, because forced into war and also saddled with a hell-engine! Since when does the Blade of the Frontiers murder refugees?

Wyll: ...Oh ... fuck. I'm going to pay for this...

Alisaie: Wait ... so ... you were serious about having sworn your good eye that you'd kill her?

Wyll: ...Gods preserve me, I'll probably keep the eye. This is just going to be ... worse.

Karlach: So ... there's some paladins who aren't going to be as easy to talk out of shit as Wyll seems to be and I really want you to help me deal with them.

Alisaie: Oh, this is going to be a daaaaaaaaaay ... Shadowheart, go back to camp for a bit; you probably don't need to be getting any bad attention from religious types.

Shadowheart: ...Fine. Call me when you've rediscovered your good taste in company.

Several killed paladins of Torm later

Karlach: Right. That's them dealt with. I WILL NOT BE HUNTED ANYMORE!

Alisaie: Um ... yeah, no, and anyone who tries is getting my blade through their face, so--

Karlach: *goes into a massive rage-frenzy, accidentally burns Gale, destroys the ladder down from their current location, and then smashes up the tavern*

Alisaie: ...None of you ever gets to tell me I have a temper again. HEY KARLACH! I THINK I KNOW A GUY IN THE GROVE WHO MIGHT BE ABLE TO FIX THAT ENGINE OF YOURS.

Karlach: *apparently feeling better* Sweet!

And, back at camp...

Alisaie: Why is there a portal to hell opening up in our camp, Wyll?!?

Wyll: Oh fuck.

Mizora: *comes out of portal* Oh, Wyll. You've been naughty.

Alisaie: Okay, first - points for the entrance; that was epic. Second - who the fuck are you, why are you in my camp, and why are you talking to your friend with more condescension than I do my actual literal dog?

Mizora: Oh, you didn't tell them about me? I'm hurt.

Alisaie: *who is far and away from stupid* You're a warlock, this is your patron, and she asked you to kill Karlach and you didn't.

Wyll: She invalidated the terms! Only devils, she said!

Mizora: I did add "the heartless", Wyll.

Alisaie: Oh, fuck, you used the "she has a hell engine where her heart used to be" loophole, didn't you.

Mizora: And now he pays for it.

Wyll: *very painfully becomes a devil or a tiefling or something, I dunno*

Mizora: There we go. I know you promised the eye, but the pact still stands and you're going to need to see to hunt. Buh-bye! *exits*

The Entire Camp: .................

Alisaie: I will ask about this after I recover from fights with paladins.

Except sleep gets slightly interrupted by a hovering Astarion

Alisaie: *grabs him by the throat* Lemme guess. The boar with the puncture wounds and no blood left in it was your work, and I'm next.

Astarion: Look, the boar was days ago and I'm too weak to hunt and I just wanted a sip to let me hunt again! I wasn't going to kill you; I--

Alisaie: Unless you lost control completely at your first taste of blood that wasn't from animals or vermin in a couple of hundred years and yes I know I'm rummaging around your head tadpole-to-tadpole and I don't like it but you tried to bite me in my sleep and I need to be sure you're not fucking lying to me. Which you're not, so ... a sip. One. And I will have a stake on you at all times.

Astarion: Wonderful! Let's make ourselves more comfortable, shall we?

Alisaie: There are major arteries in my wrists, Astarion.

Astarion: And I might nick something tendon-like if I do that. I'm not crippling someone who fights in my defense. Neck tends to be better.

Alisaie: I'd suggest inner thighs for the femoral artery, but I'm not sure you'd know what to do with a woman down there anyway.

Astarion: .........You are determined to take the fun out of this for me, aren't you.

Alisaie: I don't want you enjoying this too much; I said once.

Astarion: Fine. You grudge me a little bit of blood while you give Gale useful items that he then drains the magic from. At least your blood comes back.

Alisaie: Can we just get on with this? And after this, you save your fangs for anyone we're fighting, got it?

Astarion: So long as you don't let anyone stake me when word about this gets around, fine.

Morning arrives

Alisaie: Okay, I have gathered you all here because I keep tripping over everyone else's metaphorical baggage. I get not trusting people you've just met, so if your baggage hasn't become an issue for the entire party yet, fine. But the minute your metaphorical Bags of Holding full of angst and problematic start becoming public knowledge, I want it all out in the open. Do you understand?

The Entire Party: *various degrees of grumbling*

Alisaie: ...Or I could just spend the rest of this month tripping over bullshit. Yeah, okay, fine.

And, true to form, at Waukeen's Rest...

Flaming Fists: Duke Ravengard is trapped inside!

Wyll: Father's in there?!?

Karlach; Gale: Father?!?

Alisaie: *facepalm* Oh godsdamnit, Wyll...

Wyll: He disowned me ages ago! I wasn't planning on seeing him again, given... *gestures at new horns* I didn't think we'd see him here, in the middle of a drow raid!

Councillor: Well, you're not going to, because the drow took him, but if you could get me out of the burning building, that'd be great.

Alisaie: Yeah, sorry; just having one of those "I was trying to do an altruistic thing and ended up hip deep in a friend's personal bullshit" days. Weeks. Whatever. Apparently Team Dangerous Company just continues to be dangerous on a whole lot of levels! *kicks down door to Waukeen's Rest* Come on; out before you become a briquette.

Karlach: I'm glad most of my bullshit is pretty much on the table, I think. I pity the next person who has to admit to not being straight with her.

Gale: Yes. Indeed. Um ... now's a bad time to mention that I need to absorb another artefact, isn't it.

Alisaie: Ohforfuckssake...

[internutter]

The thought would not leave me alone, so there is now fanfiction of fanarts I love [Under the cut for everyone's sanity]:

Disclaimer: Larion owns their IP and possibly my heart and mind regarding a certain pale Elf. Aldiirn belongs to @mistercrowbar on Tumblr. I barely own this.

The premise: Aldiirn needs some comfort after all that whump he's got. Also happens at some point after the creche shenanigans. I went into this with visions of the Dude Squad minus Aldiirn going out of their way to help the lad but the story and Astarion's ego yanked me in a different direction.

CW: Sickness, hurt/comfort, gay boi needs love, Astarion catches feelings at some point, blood, blood stuff, mentions of abuse and neglect

Dude Squad Detective Agency InterNutter

Astarion couldn't not notice, what with the well-upholstered half-drow being his pet bloodbag and bed warmer. What irked him was that he couldn't say anything. The boy was well cowed by the Gith, and obviously terrified of the flaming barbarian. Saying something about it would likely get Astarion cast out of the group, no matter how good he was in bed.

It still didn't alter the simple fact that that delicious fresh blood was slowly changing its flavour. And not just because of the wizard's cooking. Something else was going on.

Astarion did his utmost to provide value, within established limits of course. The aforementioned bedtime fun, the occasional lockpicking and trap disarmament. Finding buried treasures... or other treasures before they were lost. Riding the exact borderline between rakish charm and being too bothersome to keep around.

Best to remain aloof so that it didn't hurt when they inevitably abandoned him. Which might be happening a lot sooner since that plump bard started turning down Astarion's late night encounters.

Maybe he could lay off feeding from the boy. That flavourful blood of his was getting thinner, too. But how to fix his food source without drawing too much unwanted attention? Astarion knew damn well that his position in this group was tenuous. He couldn't turn to the Blade of the Frontiers. Asking a monster-hunter for help? HA! He'd be better off strolling straight into a Dragon's maw while singing, I'm so delicious.

The barbarian was as thick as too short planks. The Cleric... was perilously close to Dragon Maw territory. Fuck asking the Gith. 'Gentle' was not a word in her vocabulary. The Druid was singing the praises of the Underdark, but the Gith was already against that.

Gods. The last thing Astarion needed was playing politics.

Which more or less left the Wizard. Who, besides rambling for ages on end about his favourite topics, was rather proud of his ability to feed everyone. Were it not for the mage's sour blood...

That was a short path to a big fireball.

Maybe Astarion could convince the Druid to be his backup meal plan. But that might result in their fading leader's ire. Damnit. He had to think outside his own needs. Help their leader, help himself.

The Wizard might have a few helpful thoughts. Perhaps this was a nutrition thing.

And just as he was about to covertly enquire about boosting the bloodbag's constitutional issues, they found Elminster. Who wound up causing more trouble than the lot of them needed, right now.

"That's it for the cheese and the wine," mumbled the Bard, going through his accounts. "We have enough supplies for three days. Maybe four. If we devote some hours to forage... that's a gamble."

"You're summoned to dinner, darling," Astarion cooed. "I'm sure the supply situation will resolve itself in those days. I can always... drag in a find or two of mine. For the others."

The Bard stumbled as he got up. His eyes rolled back for a fraction of a second.

For that second, Astarion felt a pang of concern in his dead heart. He quickly rationalised it as alarm regarding his only protection between him and the monster hunter, the cleric, and the gith. Three out of five who barely tolerated Astarion's presence thanks to the half-drow lad.

Astarion couldn't quite rationalise steadying him. Nor how his own face openly displayed his irrational concern. He covered it with a cheerful, "Whoops."

"Uneven ground," lied the Bard. "Must have found an unexpected hollow in the terrain that turned my ankle a little."

"You must have," agreed Astarion. Time and past time for some higher-level flirting. He offered his elbow. "May I escort you to the dining area, my liege? Wouldn't want our glorious leader to turn any more ankles."

"Oh thank you." Did he lean a little more solidly on Astarion than normal? He was breaking out in another cold sweat.

The panting was always nice to watch, but... "Are you...?"

"Too many layers. I expected it to be colder all the way up here."

It was already a little on the refreshing side for the evening. Astarion knew the bloodbag was full of horseshit, but calling it out? Stake through the heart time. At best, chased into the wilderness for Cazador to scoop up at his leisure. Perish the thought. Astarion remained silent.

"You've over-extended yourself," said Astarion. "You sit. I'll get you something nourishing." What was that phrase the Wizard had begun employing? "For good health."

"Mm-hm," the Bard sank onto the chosen seat. Slumped, focussing on his breathing.

Still, it gave Astarion a decent opportunity to be covert. He sidled up to the Wizard and murmured, "You put a little something extra in our leader's dish, don't you? To -ah- fortify the fellow?"

For a change, the Wizard kept his voice low. "I've been sneaking a little extra salt into his portion, of course. Given your own -ah- special diet... I've also made sure to include a decent amount of healing herbs into his meals. Poor fellow. I don't think--"

"ALL RIGHT! DINNER TIME!" The barbarian charged towards the campfire. "I could eat a whole Dire Hog, snout to trotters."

And through the cluster of heads in Astarion's vision, one was conspicuous by its absence.

Aldiirn was slumped on the ground. Terrifyingly still.

Astarion almost dropped the bowl of his food. He pushed it into the Wizard's hands and uncannily dodged his way to Aldiirn. Breathing. Alive. "Aldiirn?" But definitively not well. "Darling?" He tried gently patting a chubby cheek.

Nothing. Something had to be dreadfully wrong with him.

"HALSIN!" Astarion couldn't let go. If anything, he felt compelled to grip his lover all the tighter. Cradling him carefully all the while. "I need healing over here!"

The big bear almost began healing Astarion. Corrected himself when he realised who the true patient was. The wash of green light should have been reassuring. The look of concern on the Druid's face was not.

"He's been neglecting his own needs," said the Druid. "There's very little I can do for the moment. He will need rest and revitalisation... and a resupply of his medication."

"Med--"

"There is no time to dally," snarled the Gith. "Cast aside this waste of resources and contin--ACK!"

The Barbarian had her in a searing headlock. The Wizard had a spell primed to cast. The Hero had the tip of his blade by her heart. The Cleric was trying to get her hand close enough to inflict wounds. Were Astarion not weighed down by cradling Aldiirn's form, he'd have been at the Gith's neck. Even the Druid had a hand raised to inflict something on her.

"One more word," challenged the Cleric. "Say one more word against him."

"You'd best sleep lightly," said Astarion. "I might feel peckish for Gith blood."

Where had all this simple affection for their plush half-drow Bard come from? The lad had gone out of his way to see to everyone's needs. Aiming to please to the point of putting his own needs dead last. Subservient to a fault. Diplomatic. Literally self-sacrificing. Letting everyone walk over him including...

Fuck.

Including himself.

Silly little fool. Where was his self-respect? Where was his self-interest? Where was his selfishness?

What the fuck was he taking for medicine? Astarion let the others browbeat the Gith into retreating to her tent, and faced the one person he could ask. The bear of a Druid. "What medicine?"

"I'd have thought you'd know better than I," said the bear. "You two have been sharing a tent and more since I joined the party."

"There is... something he uses. He's told me to keep away after he's put it on. Something about a potential bad reaction." The realisation hit worse than a hallowed light. "He's been very secretive about it."

The Druid murmured. "That would be a problem. If I take over your task... can you find its container?"

"Easily," Astarion bragged, then realised that he would have to surrender custody of Aldiirn to a relative stranger who may or may not cause some relationship trouble down the line.

Aldiirn had put everything on the line for Astarion. And... the others. Putting his own welfare at risk was going to be the bravest thing he'd ever done.

...and he was a coward.

If his breath hitched as he leaned Aldiirn into the Druid's arms, if he resisted letting go, if his touch lingered on that dear little face, if his fingers drifted through that cloud of white hair... the bear didn't say a thing. Not out loud.

His knowing brown eyes and half a smirk said it all.

Astarion put everything into seeming uneffected as he rose. He even negligently said, "Gale dear, I'm sure you could apply yourself at feeding our dear leader. It seems the effort's been a bit lacking lately."

"You should be a bit more polite to someone who can cast lightning bolt, Astarion," mumbled the Wizard, but he did get to work.

So did Astarion. He didn't even need to rummage through Aldiirn's belongings. The jar of potion -or whatever- was sealed and resting on the desk he kept in his tent. Remembering the warning, Astarion lifted it with a piece of rag between himself and the jar. Just in case.

The healers of the camp didn't need two cases of urgent care. Though Astarion personally doubted he'd count as urgent care. If anyone was getting left in the gutter... Astarion tried not to think about that. Forcing himself to maintain an air of uneffected aloofness when two other men were handling his pet Bard.

Even vampire spawn could get territorial. He had to tamp down those instincts, less anyone spuriously accuse him of being in love. Ha. As if a black and dead-hearted creature could feel such emotions. On the other hand, Aldiirn had gained three men looking after him.

The burly brawn of the Druid. A big tough marshmallow of a man. Big and strong enough to feel secure but gentle enough to be completely nonthreatening. He was gently cradling Aldiirn in those thick muscular arms. Just like any given etching in any tawdry romance. Albeit with a lot more clothes on.

And speaking of tawdry romances...

The Wizard was carefully spooning his preparation into Aldiirn's kissable lips. The very picture of a romantic nursing hero. And then there was a real-life hero. The fucking Blade of the gods-damned Frontiers. The exact kind of person Astarion would have wanted to marry... when he was fifteen.

The Blade was talking healing herbs with the other two. The Wizard was talking preparation methods. The Druid was providing what healing he could...

...and Astarion was carrying a jar.

It was extremely difficult to suppress everything he was feeling in that moment. Boiling rage and sickening jealousy warred with each other in the pit of his empty stomach. He could not bite, claw, or stab at these three. He'd drop the fucking jar.

"Excellent, well done," said the Druid. "You can take over here, as I need both hands to examine the jar. Thank you."

Astarion didn't need to be asked twice. "Thank you for your kind permission," he sniped. Arms properly around Aldiirn, he tried to resist the urge to shield him from all the interlopers. Mine. Mine. Mine! Nobody needed Aldiirn like Astarion did! The others had no right barging in and taking him away. MINE!

Breathe, you stupid Spawn. Calm down. Let him breathe. He needs to.

"Now," said the Wizard, "if you just let me in to feed him another spoonful..."

Astarion glared boiling venomous death at the competitor. He'd heard the tummy tickling thing. So he very exaggeratedly, pointedly, plucked the spoon from those soft fat fingers and proceeded to take over feeding duty as well. It was very difficult to resist growling and hissing like he might at a rival spawn. This wasn't petty bickering over the rights to a rat. This was completely different.

Protect his meal ticket, and thereby protect himself.

There. Perfectly reasonable.

"I'll just -ah- I'll just hold the bowl for you, eh?" managed the Wizard. "A simple cantrip to keep the contents warm and so on. Excellent help for our mutual friend."

"Hm," said Astarion, keeping an eye on the Wizard. In between watching and waiting for Aldiirn to swallow his latest half-spoonful of mashed vegetables.

"Vegetarians often battle with anemia," noted the Wizard, apropos of nothing.  "A reliable source of dietary iron can be difficult to obtain on the road. An abundance of spinach or kale might do our friend some favours. Since we lack that, we might have to resort to alternate sources. Some allow themselves seafood, whilst others consume certain insects but--"

The empty spoon, closest thing to a weapon in Astarion's grasp, was at the Wizard's jugular. "No. Fucking. BUGS!"

"...there's always... nuts... and... seeds... and things?" he warbled.

The spoon was a terrible weapon, but it was threatening all the same. Astarion lowered it slowly. Maintaining eye contact with the Wizard as he carefully retrieved more sustenance for Aldiirn. "Do we have many of those?"

He just sat there mumbling and fumbling. Then the voice from above shattered the tension.

The bear. "There's nothing left but the scent of it," he announced. "A balm made from a rare light-phobic fungus found primarily in the Underdark."

Small wonder that he walked up half the mountain like a man facing an execution. He had to be stretching his supply to the snapping point already, and then the Gith insisted on the creche. For the other half of the walk up the mountain, well... Aldiirn had been staggering more than walking. Holding on for one more day.

Just going along with what he was told, forcing himself through and then carrying on as normal.

That chain of consequence felt far, far too familiar.

Astarion focussed on Aldiirn. Making sure he swallowed. "And this is the part where you tell us it's next to impossible to replicate and we're shit out of luck," he guessed.

"Not quite," said the bear. "We can make a moderate substitute that can keep our leader in reasonable shape until we acquire the true medicine. And now we know his difficulties, we can provide palliative care for the interim."

"And the nature of the ailment?" said the Wizard.

"It's not something for open discussion," began the Druid. "Given how discrete he's been, it's not for me to disclose..." the speech went on. Sensitive nature. Personal matter. Blah blah blah blah...

Aldirrn had opened his eyes. Swallowed a little quicker. "...'r you feedin' me?"

"You fainted. And you're anemic. So... we had to try something." He helped wrap Aldiirn's fingers around the spoon. "Eat up, darling. Let us... look after you for a change."

"Thank you. I... I feel so much better for your help." There was that look of panic and alarm that he always got with foodstuffs. That raise of hearbeat and air of slight desperation. "I really couldn't eat another bite." He started to push the offered bowl and spoon aside.

His body gave him away, stomach snarling at its own emptiness.

What could be the magic words? "Gale made it special. For good health."

"Maybe a few... more... bites..." Aldiirn looked up and around. At the Druid and the Blade and the Wizard discussing plans and a fungus, replete with drawings in the dirt. The Cleric and the Barbarian were lecturing the living fuck out of the Gith. And Astarion was taking the liberty of running his fingers through Aldiirn's hair.

"Run yourself a little ragged, haven't you?" Astarion chided, deliberately using a little baby talk to soften the edge. Deaf gods knew that Aldiirn had too many anxiety issues. Astarion should have seen it. His beloved was fawning to appease literally everyone else in the hopes that it would help him survive.

...a lifetime of bad coping mechanisms...

This wasn't a shy and skittish mark to coax and lure into Astarion's goals. This was someone desperately terrified of being revealed as weak to people he was also desperately terrified of. Which may or may not include Astarion himself.

Best to appear as trustworthy as a monster like himself could achieve, then. But that wouldn't stop him sneaking a good cuddle while the opportunity presented itself. All under the guise of helping Aldiirn sit up, and helping him hold his bowl.

"Uhm. Maybe. I might have stretched myself too far." He was blushing, but he wasn't exactly trying to get away. "I should go apologise."

"Dear..." Astarion tutted. "You need to focus on doing what you can to get better. Apologising for things that can't be helped are..." what was a decent phrase to get into his gorgeous head? "...wasteful. We need your leadership, darling. And you need to be healthy to lead. Ergo, looking after yourself is a sound investment."

He could actually see Aldiirn reconfigure his priorities.

Astarion, master manipulator, shines again. As for the larger plan?

Well.

That could be other people's problem.

END.

Aldiirn's No Good No Fun Time in the mountains. Just not great at all for an underdark guy off his meds and in a hive of oh so many scary violent women.

More comics!

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

forced landing.

Gif credits to the author.

FRANCISCO ‘CATFISH’ MORALES.

TRIPLE FRONTIER | USEFUL LINKS.

❝ words: about 1.2k.

❝ summary: watching the sunrise doesn't go as you expected.

❝ a / n: according to Google, Triple Frontier was filmed in Hawaii. don't forget to comment and reblog if you liked it, i'd really appreciate it!

“Baby… Hey, baby”.

The soft whispers fall onto your ear being wrapped by two strong arms that squeeze you gently, as a pair of lips spread sweet short kisses all over the right side of your face.

“Amor, wake up”.

You grunt sleepy hiding in the gap between his neck and his shoulder, tangling your fingers in his brown curly hair, causing Frankie to giggle with that kind of laugh you'd kill for.

“C'mon, we gotta go”.

“It's still dark outside”. You whine wanting to continue sleeping under his firm grip.

“I know, but I wanna show you somethin'. C'mon, baby… I'm gonna make some coffee. Take a shower and get ready”.

As soon as he pulls himself away from you, you can't help but sob disappointed, sinking your face into the pillow to drown there another grunt before laying your eyes on your boyfriend dressed with a pair of dark pants and a mahogany shirt opened over a white t-shirt. Needless to say, he has already his favorite Standard cap on and his Timberland camel boots leading his steps downstairs. It should be illegal to look this good.

It's almost seven in the morning when you reach the airport, driving directly to the private runway where a Cessna Skycatcher is waiting for you. Turning at Frankie, who is focused on the road yet, you pucker your lips containing a joyful smile. He always knows how to surprise you and make getting up early worthwhile.

As usual, your boyfriend checks and makes sure that your headphones and your microphone are on point and working, before opening the door for you and helping you to jump in. Once everything is settled up, he starts to touch some buttons over his head before pulling back and to the left a lever to turn on the motor and the blades of the helicopter. There's nothing that Frankie can love more than flying with you by his copilot. You have the same adventure spirit he has, complimenting him to perfection. Following him on any crazy journey.

It's dawning over Hawaii when you reach the clear sky, fascinated with the views in front of your eyes. The sun seems like it is resurfacing from the blue dark sea, creating an orangey-pink horizon that has you totally captivated.

“This is Pilot from Cessna, four, six, one, to Launch Control, you copy me?”

Tilting your head to Frankie, watching him pressing a brown button close to your kneel, you can't help but raise an eyebrow quickly being pushed to reality when you don't have any response from the air-traffic controllers. You can see Frankie frowning, pretending he's not worried or confused. Actually, he's an experimented pilot, what could go wrong?

“Launch Control, this is Francisco Morales from Cessna, four, six, one. We're getting height, you copy that?”

He waits for a couple of seconds, clicking his tongue and closing his eyes for a second. You don't know too much about his job, but you know very well that he can't continue the flight without permission, or knowing if any plane is close. Turning the control wheel to the left to come back, much to his regret. Hearing him cursing in Spanish, the aircraft's wings stagger in the maneuver.

“Mierda”. He growls when a non-stop beep sounds flashing a red light over your heads.

You're losing height and the plane is about to dive.

“Fra— Frankie, what's goin'on?”

“Stay calm, baby. Stay calm”. He says squeezing your thigh for a second. “Listen, I need you to take the manual. It's possible we have to land in the sea”.

“No, no, no, no… You have to be fucking kidding me!”

“Baby, breathe”.

You're freaking out with your heart racing and your fingers shaking. He continues trying to contact the Launch Control, while you do your best to find the manual under your seat, bowing down as much as you can.

“Page two. Open it up on page two”.

You swallow heavily, scared like never before. It's not a question of trust, it's that you're too young to die.

“Don't panic, baby, okay? Just read me the manual”.

“Forced landing?” You babble about to cry, sniffing through your nose.

“Yeah”.

Frankie has never told you about his forced landings to not worry you, so you're guessing it's not his first time by the calm he's keeping. Or maybe he's just a pretender and he's more frightened than you are.

“Verify flight ring engagement?” You're reading automatically, without thinking or focusing on the words you're uttering.

“Got it”. He nods his head.

“Initiate Engagement Process, follow steps eleven to fourteen”.

“Okay, got it”.

“Fuel Selector Valve… check?”

“Wait, we're getting some response”. Frankie whispers, pretending to pay attention to something through the headphones.

“You're lying”. You reply breathlessly because no one is talking from the Launch Control, not being able to control the anxiety installing within your chest as you continue losing height. “The Pil—”.

You can't finish the sentence, as you have read what's next. Your eyes now are filled with other kinds of tears.

“Go on, baby, I need you to keep reading”.

“The Pilot in Comm— Command… God, I hate you so much, Frankie”. Cleaning your tears with the back of his hand, you wave it after to have some air. “The Pilot in Command will love the passenger forever”.

“Check”. Your boyfriend replies, turning at you for a second with a funny smile curving his lips. “Keep going, amor”.

“Will you marry the Pilot in Command?”

You can't help but leave the manual on your lap, while Frankie stabilizes the flight, covering your face with both hands breaking into a silent cry. A minute ago you were about to die and now you're about to get engaged. Feeling a tender kiss on your temple, you look at him running into a red velvet box opened with a gold ring on it. The small diamond on top of it shines with the dawn, causing you to laugh at the same time the tears fall from your eyes.

“I ha— hate you”. You chuckle cleaning again your cheeks and drying your hands in your t-shirt before taking the piece of jewelry.

Frankie watches you putting it in your finger, pouting straight to him, as his chest is swollen with pride and happiness. You cup his face onto your palms and crash your lips on his, peppering them once and once —until he gets too distracted and the aircraft makes a sharp move to the left.

“I'm… fucking done, Frankie! Land the damn plane!” You scream, panicking again, causing him to laugh loudly, having much more fun than he expected. “Jesus Christ… I'm not gonna fly with you ever in my life again, I swear it!”

Your hands now are firmly gripping your seat, as if in case of a falling to the ocean this could help you. What a clown.

“Hey, you…” Your now future husband claims your attention grabbing your hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss the back of it. “I love you, Mrs. Morales”.

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[hearse-song]

😳i wish you would uh😳write some😳some nice vivisection😳❤🤧

And will I! Since I've been wanting to play with a whumper with healing powers, and since Tanner's been the oc most taking up my thoughts currently, I now get to write a bit about what they get up to in their downtime (by which I mean just straight keeping someone captive as an unwilling reference for anatomical sketches, because you live on the edge of a frontier town and you can get away with it)

cw: vivisection, gore, blood, fingers in wounds, body horror, captivity, reference to begging, low-key defiant whumpee, whumpee who is way too used to the horrible things happening to him, low-key sadistic whumper, referenced forced drugging/sedation, noncon touch (nonsexual) implications of eye whump as a threat

Reid tried and failed to stifle a gasp as the knife first bit into the skin of his chest. It never hurt, exactly, not between the ether that was always forced on him and whatever unnatural thing it was that the goddamned monster that was keeping him captive did to stop him from dying on the table. He could still feel something, though, a far-off ghost of pain following the blade through his flesh.

The table was rough at his back, and despite himself he couldn't help but pull against the leather straps that held down his arms and legs. At least this time his head wasn't strapped down as well. He'd take that as a small mercy.

He kept his eyes locked on the barn ceiling above him as the knife continued its course down his torso. Tanner was singing under their breath as they continued to cut at him, bits of one of the songs he'd heard here over and over again.

"And it's cheer up my lads, let your hearts never fail,

For the bonny ship, the Diamond, goes a-fishing for the whale"

Even without having to look he knew that Tanner's gaze would be flickering expectantly between their work and his face. The first time he'd woken up on their table he'd tried to plead his way out, had screamed and cursed when they cut him even though he'd barely felt anything. But now he kept silent, jaw clenched shut so tightly he could hear it creak. He wouldn't give them anything more, no matter how much they'd taken from him.

Just be done with this, God damn you

After what felt like an eternity Reid heard the knife being set down on the table, and felt Tanner's fingers curl into his wounds and pull at the flesh. He closed his eyes, tried to push everything away, the tugging, and the wet sounds, and he wouldn't look, he wouldn't look, he wouldn't look.

He looked. He could never stop himself.

His blood was so bright, in the light of the lanterns set up around the room and the sun streaming in through the high barn window. His insides gleamed sickly in the same light, things he had no names for pulsing and moving against each other.

He'd never thought, in the time before the night he'd asked for shelter from what had turned out to be the wrong person, about what he might look like under the skin. But now, after all these many months later, he'd never be able to forget.

"Beautiful," Tanner breathed, one bloody hand hovering over his exposed guts, "absolutely beautiful." They turned to look at him, face shining with what Reid would only be able to describe as joy. "I'm just going to do a sketch, and then I'll have you put all back together."

"Whatever you're gonna do, just do it," he replied, not bothering to hid his anger.

They leaned in closer over him, hand drifting up to cup one side of his face. He tried to hold their gaze, but finally looked away as they ran a thumb under his eye, leaving smears of his own blood on his skin. Then, without another word, they straightened back up and turned away, humming to themself.

Reid laid his head back against the table, letting out a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding.

He was in Hell.

He was in Hell, and worse, he’d gotten used to it.

[timeforelfnonsense]

Lost and Found

Astarion x Dafni 

Rating: T

Hurt/Comfort

TW for depression mention 

Ao3

I’ve been working on this bad boy for a month and it’s done at last!

 An important note: There is some reference to the Lolth Sworn drow in this and I feel the need to clear the air and state that I have some issues with the way WotC characterizes the drow as inherently evil. My house rules are that none of the races are inherently evil because the broad strokes in the source material as problematic af. So while the followers of Lolth might be evil I want to make it clear that doesn't equal all drow are bad. Dafni holds all varieties of elves in tender regard. As an eladrin of the fey wilds and a follower of Corellon she understands that fluid and changing nature of all living things. Life is messy and people do not fit into boxes, very few folks are all bad or all god. Not every elf worships the Seldarine and that’s ok. A fundamental part of Corellon is freedom and choice therefore it would be foolish to insist her path is the only right one. Her issue is with Lolth not the drow as a whole.

The Underdark was a horrid and forsaken place. A shudder ran down Dafni’s spine as she rubbed away the gooseflesh cropping up across her arms. Lolth’s influence hung heavy in the stale air. She would have to step lightly. A cleric of Corellon would be a great prize to the followers of the Spider Queen. She missed the warm sun on her face, the feeling of grass beneath her bare feet. She could feel herself wilting under the oppressive darkness that surrounded them.

Anxiety was a strange and forging feeling. The majority of her 160 years had been spent embodying the playful delight of spring. Perhaps it was on account of her relative youth. Or, maybe it was the influence of Corellon Larethian, whose wild and wonderful influence she had felt all her life. He had looked out for her. Cared for her as a father would his child. Truly, Corellon felt as much a parent to her as her mother, Thesmia did. A meek half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He had given her a reason to leave home when the wanderlust became far too much for her to contain. If she was to flourish as both an elf and a divine servant, Dafni would need to truly know herself beyond being Thesmia’s shadow. Absentmindedly her fingers reached for the familiar crescent moon that hung from her neck.

Her feet skidded to a halt, her trembling hand pulled away empty. Her blood turned to ice. An agonizing dagger of guilt pierced her heart and she felt as though the ground beneath her would open up and swallow her whole. Part of her wished that it would. She had carried the holy symbol since she was a young girl. Though she knew in her soul it had been her’s even before that. It had served as her connection not just to her god, but her heritage and primal spirit- The very essence of her being. 

“I lost it.” Her voice was less than a whisper, stunned and distant. Tears began to well up in her eyes. The world around her was growing colder by the second. “My amulet is gone.” Her breath began to come out in heaves and she began to sob in earnest. “It- It must have gotten lost when the minotaur tossed me!” 

 Her sharp cry stopped her traveling companions in their tracks. Each of their faces dressed in varying degrees of confusion and concern. Gale began to speak but his words were drowned out but the low ringing in her ears. A dizzy, sickening feeling bloomed in her gut and the edges of her vision began to blur as the darkness she had so feared gripped her soul.

They had doubled back to the old Selûnite fort. The others were still there setting up a temporary camp. Shadowheart hadn’t been able to find anything physically wrong with her aside from the normal bumps and scrapes that were to be expected on an active adventurer. 

Astarion felt truly helpless for the first time since he’d escaped Cazador’s clutches. It had been an hour and Dafni had yet to wake. He clasped her hand in his. A soft blue had slowly been spreading over her sage-green skin, creeping its way from the tips of her fingers to the crown of her head. Her locks were shifting at the root from rosy pink to a frosty teal. The flowers that wove through her loose ponytail had all weathered into dust. 

He squeezed her hand, “Come on Daffodil…”

Gale had been fairly positive that this was, to some extent normal for the eladrin of the Feywilds. Something about a book he’d read by some notable wizard? Truth be told Astarion hadn’t been paying much attention. He was too busy staring down Lae’zel, who’s paranoia filled gaze had been locked on Dafni’s sleeping form from the moment they’d returned. 

He should have been annoyed at her. The loss of some silly costume jewelry had caused her to swoon like a high born lady. He knew she was made of stronger stuff than that. Her little spell had put them all behind and left them without a healer the whole trek back to the fort. Yet, try as he might Astarion couldn’t seem to conjure up the ire he held for those too weak to survive hardship on their own.

 He groaned, letting his head hit the wall behind him with a soft thunk. There it was again- That damn sentimentality! By the Hells, he was a vampire, not a nursemaid! What had gotten into him? 

“You should rest.” Wyll placed a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll keep an eye on her for a bit.” 

His eyes went narrow, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The idea of leaving her while she was vulnerable made his blood boil. 

I’ll watch your back and you watch mine…

Her promise echoed through his thoughts. Dafni had held her end of the bargain with unwavering resolve. If he left now it would feel too much like betraying the one person he’d allowed even a fragment of trust in the past two centuries.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t an appropriate reaction.” He muttered while he whisked away an icy tear from her cheek. “I’m just a bit... Out of sorts.” 

Wyll nodded, taking a seat on the dusty floor beside him, “Hey, she’s tough. She’ll pull through, whatever this is.” The warlock gave him an almost smug look, “You really care for her don’t you?” 

“I hardly see how that’s any of your concern.” He sneered with a wave of his hand, “Besides, my concern is simply a matter of pragmatism. Our little band of misfits can’t afford to lose our best healer-” Astarion hesitated for a moment before adding, “Don’t tell Shadowheart I said that. We need not add my body to the pile- Should things go poorly.” 

“If I promise not to sell you out will you take a break?” 

For the first time since she had fainted, he noticed the scratchy dryness in his throat. Astarion scowled, there was little in the way of appetizing food that he had seen but he would just have to make due. He was loathed to leave her side but Wyll was a good man, a better one than him in truth. He would keep her safe. 

“What’s this? The legendary Blade of the Frontiers, stooping to common blackmail.” He tried to keep his tone flat but he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips, “Fine, I’ll take a break. I’m a bit parched anyway. I suppose I’ll try to track something palatable down here. Unless…”

 He arched an eyebrow towards Wyll who moved away with an overstated scoot. 

“Not a chance, now go!” 

Cold. 

A crushing, all-consuming chill wrapped its arms around her spirit. Spring had left her. Now she stood alone in the isolating melancholy of winter. She reached out for the familiar warmth of The Protector but here- In this cursed place his influence felt far and foreign. If only she had her holy amulet. It could have served as a compass leading her back to Corellon’s embrace. She would simply have to press on. She had put them behind already and there was no time for sentiment. She wouldn’t be able to cast spells until she found a replacement and the chances of a spare symbol of her god in the Underdark were laughable. Dafni tried to sniff back the tears pricking at the edges of her eyes but it was no use. They rolled down her baby blue cheeks freezing before they could fall to the ground. She glanced up at Astarion, who walked a few paces ahead. While Gale and Wyll had spent the better part of a day coddling her, he had remained distant. 

Maybe he didn’t want her like this? Her sadness threatened to consume anyone near her and he had enough grief of his own. He had admitted once that he enjoyed having her near. Whispered in her ear that she was sunlight and happiness made flesh as he took her in a flower patch of her own creation. 

The feeling of a gentle hand pulled her from her thoughts. Gale offered her a small smile before speaking, “Are you all right?” 

“Oh-” She sniffed, whipping away another frozen tear, “I’ll be alright. I just don’t feel much like myself right now.” 

Gale nodded in response, “Yes, I can see that. Perhaps we shouldn’t have brought you here. The Underdark does seem quite at conflict with the very core of your being.”

A mournful laugh escaped her aching chest, “I don’t think we’d have had any better luck with that shadow curse above ground. No, my sorrow isn’t a good enough reason to risk the rest of the group’s safety.” She brought an icy hand to Gale's cheek, causing him to shiver, “I appreciate your concern but really I’ll be alright. We eladrin are ruled by our emotions, a shift of season was inevitable at some point or another. It’s unfortunate for the rest of you it had to be winter. Things are dire enough without my sorrowful presence bringing you all down with me. Perhaps it would be best for all of you to keep your distance.”

 She sighed, her eyes falling on Astarion, who lingered just on the edge of the bitter cold her sadness created. While it pained her to say it, she knew he was right to keep away. The others should do the same if they were wise. Gale gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“He’s a funny one, Astarion.” Gale mused, “Wyll told me he had to resort to extortion to pry him from your side while you were out. Yet, today he acts as if you have the plague.”

A small snort of laughter broke past her tears, “Extortion?” 

“I believe comments were made comparing Shadowheart’s healing abilities to your own. Wyll offended his silence in exchange for Astarion taking a break.”

“That’s not fair to her.” Dafni sniffed, “She’s not a life cleric, she does her best.” 

“You have a good heart, Dafni.” Gale said giving her arm a squeeze, “My point is I think he cares about you, in his own odd way. At the very least he’s far more pleasant when you are around”

“You really think so?” 

“I do,” Gale assured, “he’d have to be the biggest fool in Faerûn not to see how wonderful you are.” 

Dafni felt a bit of warmth return to her heart. Not enough to thaw her sorrows but it was a start. Gale’s words helped her sort through the chaos of her mind as they had so many times before. He was a loyal and kind friend, as was Wyll. Shadowheart too despite her evasive and secretive nature. Even Lae’zel had warmed to her as best she was able despite their differences. There was a solace to be found in the support of her peers. She wasn’t so alone after all.

The sound of her laugh hit Astartion like a battering ram. She seemed to be in slightly better spirits since arriving in the Myconid Circle. She floated about the fungus folk with an easy familiarity. It seemed being among the vibrant plants and creatures of grotto had offered her some sense of normalcy. He looked over his shoulder to see what had coaxed a giggle from her (no matter how pitiful and melancholy it sounded). A sharp twinge of jealousy ran down his spine as he watched Dafni stroke Gale’s cheek with a somber smile. 

He bit the feeling back. It was better for them both if he kept his distance. Gentle kindness was hardly his strong suit. Gods, he was a disaster. How many times had she offered him comfort even when he spurned her? She had given so freely to him, her kindness, the warmth of her bed, the very blood in her veins. And there he was relying on someone else to comfort his lover.   

 Dafni was a resilient little thing. So optimistic and sweet it made his teeth hurt. It was disorienting to see her so morose. He had learned the boundaries of her emotional aura rather quickly. He had noticed an unfamiliar warm feeling that first night at camp. He found himself lingering near her as often as he could after that. Savoring the tender happiness that radiated from off of her. She had told him it was simply part of her nature. A charming quirk he’d grown to enjoy a great deal. But now he could feel her heavy sorrow as if it were his own and he longed to make her hurt go away.  

Damn sentimentality.

He had his own worries. He didn’t need to take on hers as well. She didn’t need him to coddle her. And more importantly, he most certainly was not beholden to her contentment for his own survival despite his halfwit heart’s insistence to the contrary. She was making him soft. It was ridiculous! He was far too old to be fretting over her like a lovelorn sprat. 

It must be the tadpole. Her compassion must have wormed its way into his brain somehow. That was the only logical explanation.

He needed to clear his head and get some distance between them so he could feel more himself. He wandered aimlessly about the grotto as he attempted to show away any feelings of softhearted sympathy but it was no use. He rubbed his temples and let out a frustrated huff. He should never have taken that first taste of her. She’d become an irresistible craving from that moment on. It wasn’t just her blood, but every aspect of her that called to him. Inviting him to take refuge in her affections. He could feel himself lowering his guard a little bit more each day despite his efforts to keep her at arm's length. She’d flash him that beguiling little grin, her topaz eyes brimming over with admiration and he would find himself tempted to let her just another inch closer. He’d known she was dangerous from the moment he clapped eyes on her in the wreckage of the crash. He’d prepared himself for a stake to the heart but the infatuation she had inspired in him was infinitely more frightening and possible just as deadly.

He made his way to the alcove where the Society of Brilliance had set up shop. The strange hobgoblin had mentioned something to the party about being a collector of magical items and oddities. Walking had failed to rid him of his frustrations perhaps shopping would. 

A glimmer caught his eye as he approached the cluttered stall. There, on the table was a familiar silver amulet. He was going to get it back for her and pray the gesture was enough to curb his need to see her happy. He could swipe it easily enough but he didn’t want to draw trouble to Dafni if she was spotted wearing it. No, charm and a dash of intimidation would be his best shot.

“Excuse me,” He smiled wide allowing for a slight flash of his fangs, “I was hoping you would be willing to part with that necklace.”

“A vampire interested in the acquisition of a holy symbol?” 

“Yes, it’s very ironic.” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Now, how much do you want for the damn thing?”

“Well, first time for everything.” the hobgoblin shrugged, “You have a good eye, this is very unique. It’s forged from mithral and inlaId with sylvan moonstones. The holy symbol of Corellon is more commonly depicted as an eight-pointed star these days rather than the crescent moon. Meaning this item is very old indeed! It was brought in just yesterday. I would be hesitant to sell it but my research does require more funding. How does 900 gold sound?”

“I hate to be the one to tell you but ‘very old’ is a relative term when it comes to items of elvish origin.” He kept his tone flat and unimpressed, “Long-lived people do tend to hold onto things.” 

“Ah, but you’ll find this is more than your average antique! Judging by the craftsmanship I would say it dates back to the time of the primal elves.”

Shit. 

Of course, her necklace had much more than sentimental value. He had hoped for a quick haggle but it seemed he was going to have to work for it. He really didn’t have that much coin on him, nor was he inclined to spend it on something that was not rightfully the hobgoblin’s to sell. He raffled through his mind searching for a thinly veiled threat or convincing argument to lower the price until the perfect mixture of the two dawned on him.

Astarion let out a droll hum as he checked his nails with casual disinterest. He spoke in a low, blasé voice, “You said before you weren’t much for combat? Don’t you think it’s risky, carrying around a holy item of Corellon in the den of the Spider Queen? It would be such a shame if something were to happen to you at the hands of a zealot. Really I’m doing you a favor by purchasing it. I’ve crossed swords with the Lolth sworn before they are merciless and skilled fighters almost as dangerous and bloodthirsty as vampires.”

He let a wicked bark of laughter. A bemused expression flickering across his face. He could smell the fear stirring in the timid merchant. It would seem he hadn’t lost his edge after all.  

Blurg swallowed hard before mustering a response, “ Ah- I hadn’t thought about that...”

Dafni sat cross-legged on the ramparts of the fort fletching a new batch of arrows. She’d need more to compensate for her lack of magic for the time being. She’d spent the whole trek back to their camp scanning the ground for her necklace but it had all been for not. She’d just have to accept the fact it was gone no matter how much it broke her heart. 

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

 The sound of Astarion’s voice caused her to jump, tossing her arrow down with a start. Dafni clutched her chest shooting him a sharp look. He only laughed, his infuriating gorgeous face fixed in a grin that reminded her of a satyr who stumbled upon a river of bathing nymphs. He dipped to his knees placing a hungry kiss on her scowling lips. He couldn’t be serious. All-day she had been desperate for his attention and he was completely uninterested but now that he had an itch to scratch he was searching up and down for her. Unbelievable! She shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn’t as if he’d ever promised her his undying love and devotion. Still, she had thought him tactful enough not to proposition her after the hell she’d been through that day. 

“I’m not really in the mood right now.” She scolded, “You’ll just have to entertain yourself tonight, you egotistical lecher!”

“That- Isn’t why I sought you out. But, if you truly don’t want my company I’ll leave you be.” He shrugged his tone flippant despite the flash of vulnerability in his ruby eyes.

“I- I’m sorry that was really mean and uncalled for. Please stay.”

Stupid impulsive girl.

She slumped forwards, hiding her face in her knees. She could feel the icy tears threatening to spill over for the hundredth time that day. He’d come to check on her and she’d cut him down because of her own insecurity. The bitterness had gotten the better of her and she had unwittingly discouraged his attempt at compassion. 

“If you think the accusation of being a rake is the most heinous insult that’s been hurled at me I’m afraid you’ve missed the mark by quite a lot.” 

He sat down beside her, placing a hesitant hand on her back. She could sense his uncertainty. He was nervous and clearly out of his depth but he was trying. His cautious fingertips moved slowly across the expanse of her back, tracing nebulas shapes and patterns as she drew short, shallow breaths. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She just knew he was staring at her with the same wide, gentle eyes he had when she’d offered her neck to him that night in the woods. If she saw him like that the dam would break and she’d be an utter mess. 

“I still shouldn’t have said it.” Her voice came out shaky and quiet as she peeked over the top of her knees at him. 

“I think I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you.” He leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “I have something for you. Now, stand up and close your eyes.”

She arched a questioning brow but compiled, hopping to her feet. He pushed her ponytail to one side. His touch lingered on her jumping pulse causing a shiver to run down her spine. A warm chuckle falling from his lips in response. The cool feeling of metal draped across her throat, an otherworldly comfort hummed all around her as the delicate weight of a pendant fell against her chest. 

“Where did you find it!!” Dafni gasped, “I thought I had lost it forever! You can’t fathom how much this means to me.”

“It’s a gift, to repay you for all the ones you’ve given me.”  

It probably seemed a small thing to him but he’d returned a missing piece of herself. Words felt woefully inadequate to express her gratitude. She threw her arms around his neck, sending him staggering back a bit. She hardly noticed. She stood on her tiptoes placing gentle kisses all over him. First over the bridge of his nose and then his cheeks and down his neck. Her fingers laced through his soft curls tugging him close, her lips brushed against his. Astarion’s hands fell to her soft waist, his mouth ever so slightly parting for hers. Dafni sighed, running her tongue along the warm seam of his lip earning her a satisfied purr. His hand ventured to the small of her back gently coaxing her closer. She took in a deep breath, the dizzying blend of leather and patchouli making her weak at the knee. She could have stayed like that forever, pressed safe and content against his solid chest. The feeling was big and terrifying but magical and perfect all at once. 

Drat...

She was falling in love with him.

[breelandwalker]

THE FINAL UPDATE:

Y'all know that feeling when you get onto a rollercoaster and you think you're ready and you're all braced for shit, and then you just get thrown around and windwhipped to hell and back and you scream your head off, and then suddenly the ride is over and you're sitting at the depot like tf just happened.

That's kind of how the last stretch of missions went.

With as few spoilers as possible, highlights include:

closure and reconciliation for Wyll and his dad (YES. ULDER. YOUR SON IS A GODDAMN HERO. SHOW SOME RESPECT.)

meeting Voss' dragon pal

finally beating the shit out of Gortash (good GODS if ever a man needed his entire ass kicked up and down the entirety of the Sword Coast TWICE)

sobbing my entire heart out over the ensuing conversation with Karlach (my sweet bestie, the narrative did you so dirty, you deserve the fucking world 😭)

classic puzzle-solving dungeon crawl under Wyrm's Rock with a rotating crew bc different things need different skillsets and maybe i wanted to pretend the whole gang was there don't judge me (but we are judging the SHIT out of Astarion for apparently being a REAL asshole in his previous career, you sure your last name is Ancunin and not Turpin? no more gavel for you)

DRAGON DRAGON DRAGO-....oh. that's gonna complicate things.

WAIT NEVERMIND

....i'm sorry, the Emperor is WHOMST??????

welp.

props to Wyll for coming into his own and also Blade of Avernus sounds way more badass than Blade of Frontiers (also I see you and Karlach vibing back there, don't think we didn't notice 😏)

So then there was nothing left to do but one last supply run, one last round of hugs and kisses in camp, and then off to fight the big brain. (For those wanting to know, my final fight team was Karlach, Astarion, and Shadowheart.) We got thrashed for a bit, then it was into the prism to regroup. We did choose to free Orpheus, which didn't go over well with Tall, Dark, and Squidly.

From there, we portaled back to the Gate for one last rally, walked into the High Hall like Aragorn returning to Edoras, and....wow, I had no idea we had so many allies. Like I knew we'd helped a lot of people but DAMN. The entire room was full!

AND MY BABY OWLBEAR WAS ALL GROWN UP AND ARMORED! Omg my sweet floofy boy, all ready to rip and tear. Mama's so proud! Also SO much tiefling solidarity. All my peeps from Arabella to Zevlor turned up and I know it's game canon but my girl couldn't help having a moment of I Think I Have Done A Good For My People Here.

Then it was all a blur of stairs and fighting and dodging artillery and calling on allies and okay can we BREATHE for five seconds? Angelic Reprieve, Hero's Feast, and....here we fuckin go.

The last fight is BRUTAL. Even in Explorer, it pulls no punches and it took me a few tries. But in the end, WE WON. The big brain went squish, the floating mind palace fell into the river, and we all washed up like half-drowned rats to find a whole lot of dead mindflayers and a city that is once more safe...for now.

The Aftermath: (Spoilers for endgame)

Orpheus asked for an honorable death and bequeathed his dragons and his mission to Lae'zel, who promptly took off for the Astral Sea to liberate her people. Cue my tiefling waving goodbye like, you're still an insufferable cunt, but I respect you.

Gale decided to be a bit of a dick about the crown and sort of just...walked away to become a god. (And then was even MORE of a dick at the reunion party later.) So much for that. Guess my tiefling made the right choice after all.

With the tadpoles out of commission, Astarion became allergic to the sun again and had to SCAMPER away from the docks before he burned up. We'll catch up with him later.

Karlach's engine finally gave out and as she was starting to burn, Wyll stepped in and offered to escort her back to Avernus to save her life, promising he'd keep her safe from Zariel. Then we got a nice little cutscene of the two of them preparing to kick INFERNAL amounts of ass together. (I SHIP IT SO HARD. LARIEN YOU COWARDS, THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN AN AMAZING DLC.)

Once everything calmed down and the remaining party members retreated to the Elfsong for some heavy drink and a good night's sleep, we got our romantic epilogue. And of COURSE, my tiefling is staying with her bitchy feral tomcat of a vampire, who is SO much happier now, and they'll be setting out on a quest to find him a way to walk in the sun again. And is it a coincidence that the Til Death Do Us Part ring is on her finger? No it is not. 🥰

Six months later, we catch up with everyone at the reunion party, learn some fun new developments (AGAIN, MISSED OPPORTUNITIES FOR DLC), read some grateful letters from the people we helped, and rest on our laurels for the time being.

Bit of a shame we have to wait until the party to find out how things went for Halsin, but as predicted, Papa Bear (DADDY HALSIN gfdi devs you did that on purpose) has built a refuge in Reithwin for anyone who needs a place to go and is raising several dozen orphaned children as a single dad. And yes, he will be seeing his tiefling honey there very soon to help with storytime. Among other things. 😏

So that's the end! We saved the world, we saved everyone we could possibly save, the whole party made it out alive and they lived happily ever after. What a glow-up it's been. My tiefling started out with nothing, just a broke homeless druid from the Gate, and wound up becoming a hero, saving the realm, making some amazing friends, elevating her people, and finding love not once, but twice.

Fabulous game, 100/10, will play again and again and again. Feel free to drop questions in my inbox if you have them.

Until next time!

Tfw you're nearing the end of Act II in your BG3 run and you realize you've fallen into the exact trap you said you were going to avoid FROM THE BEGINNING.

The devs knew exactly what they were doing, didn't they.

[sol1056]

hey! i noticed that you’ve written a lot about how voltron fails as a mecha series, and it got me curious about what a GOOD mecha series looks like. do you have any recs for someone whose only experience with the genre, quite literally, is voltron?

note: that is NOT where I wanted the cut. who knows what the devs are doing over there at tumblr hq.

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Welp, there’s more than one kind of mecha. There’s super robots -- where (in general) the robots are ultra-powered and relatively indestructible. Then there’s real robots, which will break down and/or run out of ammunition at the most dramatically critical moments. And then there’s a category that at best might be nearly-sentient robots, which have minds and motivations of their own -- but I wouldn’t say that’s a true category (in terms of the genre) so much as a distinction I've noted.

I’ve never been big into the super robot series (with a few exceptions), and I mostly find the combining robot genre to be frustrating. Former mechanic and engineer who currently works with AI, so a lot of the hand-wavey aspects are frustrating for me, especially in super robots where things mysteriously repair themselves and there’s never a struggle to upgrade/repair. (And don’t even get me started on the idea of controlling a bipedal reactive machine with only two foot pedals and a damn joystick.)

Which is all to say, I suppose I should recommend that you watch the classics, except I’m not really sure what they are because I’ve forgotten most of them. And frankly a lot of them are really shoddy animation by today’s standards, and life is too short to waste time on that. I’ll need to refer you along to other mecha fans to add their recommendations, instead.

Well, I can at least recommend Gundam and Macross, but that’s kind of like saying I recommend Doc Martens and Aididas -- that barely narrows it down, since there’s so many options within each brand. Everyone’s got their favorites in each, as do I, but any mecha series that’s stayed with me is one that found a way to either twist the core trope, or explored implications that other series glossed over.

Note: I’ve never seen any version of Eva, and never felt the urge to, either. Sorry. Ask someone else for input on that. Plus there’s also ones I’ll leave off here ‘cause they’re veering over into AI/robots/tech and less what would usually be called mecha, but they’re still worthwhile: Battle Fairy Yukikaze, Ghost in the Shell: Standalone Complex, Broken Blade, Last Exile, and Voices of a Distant Star all come to mind.

Gundam

For me, I adore the technical geeky touches in Gundam F91, but the story is total spaghetti, so you might want to skip that until you’re more familiar with the gundam tropes. (It was meant to be a series, iirc, got shut down, and they took the pieces and made a movie from it, so it’s... kind of compressed, to put it mildly). 

Gundam Wing and Gundam 00 are considerably less geeky on the technical (though they do satisfy the mechanic itch, with a bit more real robot, at least on the technicalities). I like the international core cast, and the way each series explores geopolitical dynamics. (That said, skip the second season of Gundam 00. It just goes totally off the rails into some really wild and wacky directions.)

A long-running concept like Gundam is recognizable across the series thanks to core concepts, and in Gundam’s case it’s the conflicts between imperialism and colonialism, war versus justified rebellion, and pacifism versus a first-strike as self-defense. What I liked with Wing and 00, in particular, was its central pilots felt more tied to (and aware of) the political ramifications of their actions.

I did watch about half of Iron-Blooded Orphans, which struck out in a new direction by having Mars as the colony instead of the lagrange points, but didn’t bother finishing. From what I hear, watch it with a box of tissues, as it’s a return to the classic kill-em-all perspective of the original Gundam series.

Macross

I’m sure someone else will tell you to watch the original Macross (the american version being Robotech, albeit highly edited). I know lots of people adore the first Macross series, but it’s just too late-80s for me. (The hair, my god, the hair.)

Personally, I prefer Macross Frontier -- the amination is much improved, though the fact is I also adore the voices of Yuuichi Nakamura and Aya Endō. Macross has some politics, but it’s mostly internal -- that is, the opponents aren’t human, so whatever debate there is about who’s right or wrong is mostly one-sided, since we only ever see humans doing the talking.

I tried to watch Macross Delta but it just didn’t do it for me -- and therein lies some of the issues (for me) with both Gundam and Macross. Because both have some core elements that they tackle in every series, it can start to feel a bit repetitive.

For Macross it’s always music, Valkyries (the mecha type for Macross), and a love triangle -- which sometimes isn’t even resolved. (I’ve read all kinds of debates about whether Alto ends up with Sheryl or with Ranka, but the series leaves it open.)

A good writer can explore these themes over and over, but between the two, I personally think Gundam has done a bit better of pivoting to take a new angle with each series. But at the same time, Gundam is pretty consistent about not building on a previous series -- with a few notable exceptions, most of its series are alternate-universe stories to each other. In Macross, they’re all continuations of the previous -- so if you’re not into its setup about aliens and weird diseases and whatnot, you’re only going to get more of the same in the next series.

Everything else

So here’s the series I like, but I’m not sure all of these would be counted as ‘true’ mecha by other fans (a debate I mostly ignore, so I’ll leave it to others to argue about that).

Escaflowne -- one of the rare breed of fantasy-styled mecha (Broken Blade being another one that comes to mind). The animation is strongly 80s, but the voice acting is superb, the story (originally meant to be longer, then budget cuts forced a much longer story to squeeze into half the episodes it really deserved).

[It’s also a series I’d call a harbinger, similar to tripping over little-known movies from twenty years ago and realizing every single actor including walk-on parts went on to be massive names. Escaflowne’s got that, but that also extends to its animation team, its director, its composer, on and on. All of them went onto work on some of the greatest hits of anime. That makes Escaflowne immensely (if quietly and somewhat subtly) influential, both for the genre and animation overall.]

Eureka Seven -- another not-on-Earth story. At first the mecha movement -- almost like surfing in the sky -- was odd, but they took some interesting physics concepts and made them not just worldbuilding, but integral parts of the story. Okay, I’m not keen on how the female lead gets successively down-graded as the hero ramps up, but there are some emotional implications of Massive Destructive Machines where Eureka Seven lingers that a lot of other series gloss over.

Fafner in the Azure -- another aliens-against-humans, but first off, I’m gonna say it: you either love Hisashi Hirai‘s character designs or you want to torch them with total prejudice. If you can get past that, Fafner is brutal to its characters well beyond most other series, excepting the earliest Gundams. Although (of course) the pilots are all kids, there are in-story reasons, and there are still adults running the show. And there are consequences, small and large.

Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion -- because what would life be if we didn’t have at least one mecha series with character designs from CLAMP. (Which, admittedly, I loathe, but somehow it worked here.) Can’t speak for the second season, but the first season played up something a lot of mecha bypass for just plain banging on each other, which is strategy. It caught me at the time, at least.

Full Metal Panic -- watch this after watching Gundam Wing and/or Gundam 00, to get the tropes they’re playing on with Sousuke Sagara (the ostensible protagonist who just cannot seem to relate to real human beings). I saw one description of him as “about as well-adjusted as a feral child” and that kinda fits. It’s more real robots, and of course parts require some hardcore suspension of disbelief (the commanding officer who looks 14, sounds like she’s 12, and has boobs that never occur in nature on a frame that teeny). But all told, a lot of fun and plenty of explosions.

RahXephon -- this is another oddball one, because the mecha aren’t mecha, they’re golems (as in, creatures made from clay). For all that, there’s a lot of significant mecha influence and tropes at work. It’s held up pretty well, animation-wise, considering its age (from 2002). and while it’s the same ‘strange aliens attack earth’ plotline, it spins all that off in a completely different direction.

Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann (aka Gurren Lagann) -- don’t watch this one until you’ve seen plenty of others, though, because it’s a fondly affectionate send-up of nearly every possible trope from combining to super to real robots. Cranked up to eleven.

Knights of Sidonia -- of all the ones on this list, KoS is possibly my most favorite. It was an early all-CGI series, and a lot of people were turned off by that, but once you get used to it, the story can carry you along. Like Macross Frontier, it takes place in deep space, where a colony of humans fight for survival with an incomprehensible (and nearly unstoppable) alien foe. But KoS is true science fiction, with a lot of solid science driving its dramatic points. Also--unlike most of the others series--although the characters are technically human, they’ve also evolved as a result of their time in space. For one, they have three genders, for another, they don’t eat; they photosynthesize.