#instead of running straight back to baldur's gate

[anywhore]

it's a crime that dark urge isn't given the opportunity to tell ketheric and/or gortash about chicken chasin'.

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

[a2zillustration]

Farewell

Not "farewell," but "see you later."

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[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

...Time to blather on under the cut. I've got thank yous, some notes about potential future comics, and if you scroll to the end of the post, I've decided to compile Croissant Adventures into a physical book. It's mostly for me, so I can hold all TWO HUNDRED AND FIVE of these strips in my hands, as a brick, but if you'd like to own a copy as well, I'll have a link to the preorders down below. If this is where you're going to stop reading, I'll extend a quick heartfelt thanks to you for joining me on this adventure!

Thank you, reader.

This is undeniably the largest project I've ever tackled in my art career; it was never supposed to be this big, and I expected maybe a handful of people to read it, at most. Instead, it became this massive project that I've been working on for ten months straight, and in the end these characters meant so much to me. I'm incredibly grateful for everyone who's bothered to read my little comic strips, whether it was just one or two, or if you've been here since the beginning, following Croissant's adventure from the minute they plummeted off the nautiloid. Thank you so much for being here and supporting this project. Thank you to everyone who left kind words and comments, sent me asks about Croissant, liked or reblogged these posts, or just read these and enjoyed them! While I was determined to finish this project no matter what happened, you certainly made it all the more fun and kept me excited to tell you the next part of Croissant's story.

Thank you, Larian.

If by some chance someone at Larian ever happens to see these, I also want to give an immense thank you to everyone who was a part of making this game. I don't play that many games these days, but BG3 rocketed to the top of my all-time favorite games almost immediately. (It was also the game that made me feel the most out of anything I've ever played; I got legitimately depressed for a few days during my run don't worry I'm fine now we're all good haha). You can tell there was so much work, and so much love involved in this game's development, and I'm so happy the studio has been rewarded with multiple awards in recognition of that dedication to making a fantastic game. Thank you again for sharing this story with us, and I can't wait to see what the studio does in the future.

Is this goodbye?

I'm hoping this is less of a "goodbye," and more of a "see you later." I'll probably take a bit of a break, since I've put off other projects for months, and art fight is happening, but I have many more things I'd like to add to Croissant's story! I have yet to play the epilogue, and I intend to illustrate parts of that depending on what happens. I also have a handful of comics for post-game Breadweave, in addition to some scenes I thought would've happened in-game but weren't canon so I left them out of the original story. (If I haven't gotten to these in a few months and you find yourself wondering about Croissant again, my ask box is always open, feel free to give me a good kick to get me back into their story, lol).

...A book?

I said I never intended this project to be so large, and I meant it. But now that I'm sitting here with two hundred and five Baldur's Gate 3 Tav comics, I really wanted to compile them into a physical book for me to hold. This is mostly for me, but if you'd also like one, I'll have a preorder available in my shop until the end of July.

✨✨✨ Croissant Adventures Preorder ✨✨✨

If you made it to the end of this post, I can only thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. I hope Croissant's story brought you joy, and if you're able to play BG3, I hope that you're having just as much fun in your own tavs' stories.

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Thankful

A/N: Everyone wanted more soft Astarion, so how's traumatized instead? Tags: Astarion Ancunin, Astarion, BG3 Astarion, BG3 Imagines, Astarion x OC, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-typical blood, mentions of grieving/loss. ACT III/ 'THE PALE ELF' QUEST SPOILERS Summary: You comfort Astarion and talk about emotions after the events at Szarr Palace.

Word count: 2.1k+ (GIF credit to @silverformymonsters)

Leaving Szarr Palace is both a weight off your shoulders and the biggest burden you’ve carried since this adventure started. Cazador is dead, and Astarion is free as last. No master, and no more being used as a means to an end.

 But it’s never that simple, is it?

Shadowheart and Lae’zel, mercifully, take Astarion’s second wave of heart-wrenching wails, after all the spawn were set free, as their cue to leave. You give him space as he cries and wait until it’s only a soft whimper to approach. He’s on his knees at that point, Cazador’s bloody body inches from his. The daggers still sticks out of the vampire lord’s chest, begging to be used once again. 

You come to a stop behind Astarion’s left shoulder and let your fingers barely brush his skin. For once he feels warm, filled with anger, denial, fear and vulnerability. When he doesn’t brush you off, you press more firmly, moving to the front of his body. Astarion’s hands creep up to your hips and use them as leverage to stagger to his feet. It isn’t until he’s upright that he makes eye contact and breaks your heart into two. 

Blood runs in macabre trails down his skin and clothes, puddling on the floors around him and his fallen master. His eyes, normally alight with mischief and mirth, are downcast, swollen and dripping with tears. The pain is apparent, tied together with confusion and grief for the end of an era, even if it was depraved and lonesome. 

“... I should be happy.” He whispers, pinching his eyes shut. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Oh, Astarion.” You murmur, reaching to envelop him in your arms. 

Your vampire crumbles, arms wrapping tight around you to the point you’re fairly certain you’re not getting enough oxygen. Astarion clings to your clothes, to any concrete fragment of reality that can ground him from what he’s been through. His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, hiding the tears from your prying eyes. One hand comes up to cup the back of his head and strokes his blood-stained curls. 

“I-I… I feel numb. Empty.”

Keeping him close is the only thought in your mind. It’s not the time to delve into the implications of grieving an abuser. You decide it’s best to get back to your lodgings above the Elfsong Tavern to let him have privacy instead of being surrounded by the exact place causing him so much pain. 

And a long journey it is. Past the Gur leader Ulma waiting at the dais, and through the bustling streets of Baldur’ Gate.

Astarion barely makes it into the washroom before he collapses, and you just do your best to keep him on his feet. 

“Here, here. Sit down and I’ll draw you a bath, yeah?”

Astarion drops on the floor where you’re lowering him. You think he nods, but don’t stay long enough to confirm it. The other members of your rag tag team are dotted about the lounge area when you walk in and beeline straight towards Astarion’s chest of clothing. 

Karlach is the only one brave enough to approach you, tapping long talons nervously against her leg. 

“Well? How’s he doin’?” 

“As well as can be expected…” You sigh and sit on his bed, fresh clothes in one hand. “It’s a complicated situation. He hated Cazador, but the man was also some of the only constant interaction Astarion had in damn near two centuries.”

“Sometimes I fell empty, not having orders and all. Not having something constant that tells you where to go and what to do.” Karlach rubs her arms and shrugs. “Then I remember freedom and how much that means. I’m done being bound to some wretched leader. But there’s still a spot that feels empty. It’s healing, but it takes time. Hells, mine’s gotten better just having all of you around.”

Her words kick your brain into gear. “Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks, Karlach.”

Much to your surprise, Astarion’s already in a warm bath upon your return. You close the door behind you and slide the lock over, ensuring privacy for you both. The vampire’s eyelids only lift slightly when you drop his clothes onto the fireplace hearth and drag a wooden chair close. 

“That was fast.” You observe and nod towards the water. 

“Mhm. I caught Gale on his way up from supper. He waved his fingers around and made it work.”

You’re thankful for Gale’s presence and quiet affinity for the vampire, as it would’ve taken you twice as long manually. 

“You don’t have to sit here, you know. I’ll be alright.” Astarion says quietly. 

“Is that you nicely asking me to leave?”

His answer comes quickly. “No. I just don’t want to be a burden.”

The words are like a shot through the heart. “You could never burden me. No matter what.”

Astarion opens his eyes then. “Not even with a century of fucked up emotions? Trauma, as I’m sure you’re thinking?”

Ah, he needs the direct approach. You begin undressing, tossing your belongings in a messy pile on the floor. 

“Fuck off and move over.”

Astarion stares at you and blinks comically before sliding over. 

Once naked, you climb into the still-steaming water. There’s not an over-abundance of room in the tub, but enough that you can both put your backs against opposite sides and face each other. His long legs stretch to either side of your bum while yours remain crossed beneath. With both of you inside, the water easily rises above your chest, licking gently at sensitive collarbones instead.

“Talk.”

He sulks, but you can see the redness in his eyes and the swelling beneath. “And what should I talk about? How I’m not feeling as free as I should despite killing my slave-driver? I don’t need a psychic to tell me something is wrong with me.”

Astarion’s anger is familiar and raw, defending the vulnerable emotions swirling like a whirlpool in his gut. You don’t flich at its bite, nor retreat from its bark. It only rolls off your shoulders, dripping like rain right back into the bathwater. 

“Yes, exactly that. You’re allowed to be upset. To be sad. Cazador and his necromancied skeleton guard were the only constants in your life for a long time. And now they’re gone. You’re allowed to grieve that loss. Even if it feels wrong.”

He draws in a breath, water rippling around his bare chest. “It feels atrocious. After everything he’s done - I’ve done- killing him should be a relief. Joyous, even. And instead I feel like this.”

You reach a hand onto the table to grab soap. Its smell is a pleasant break from blood and gore, and you start towards Astarion with it in hand. 

“You’re still in shock. Everything we saw and did in that dungeon, all those people you knew. It’s natural to be sad and feel guilty.” You lather up your hands and bring them up to his neck, starting a slow and cautious massage. “Releasing them into the Underdark was the best chance they had to survive… and the best way to redeem the sins forced upon you.”

He leans into your hands as they rub the soap into his chest and shoulders. “I suppose it was.”

“Turn.” You tell him softly. He complies, drawing his legs to sit cross legged and face away from you. 

Knowing it might be easier to hear your sentimental words while facing away, you lean into his ear. “No matter what, I’m proud of you. You’re a hundred times the man Cazador ever was.”

Astarion heaves a breath at your words, scarred back rising into your hands as you continue to spread the lather across his skin. You pretend the horrific rune isn’t there, doing your best to prevent another angry outburst His shoulders hitch when you start scrubbing at his hair and gently cupping water to wet his curls. 

“I think I’m glad it’s over. I just….” He’s at a loss for words and flounders. One hand waves aimlessly in the air. 

“Need time?” You supply, gliding your hands across his trapezius. 

One of his strikes upwards like lightning, grabbing onto yours and squeezing. “Yeah. Time.”

You use a small cup from the tray to rinse his snowy curls without getting soap in his eyes. He hums at the warm water rolling down his scalp, and spins to face you as soon as you’re finished. 

“Tav?”

You’re leaning to grab the soap when you pause to look at him. “Astarion?”

“Will you come to bed with me tonight?” Astarion stops and corrects himself. “Just to keep me company.”

“Of course I will.” 

Much to your surprise, Astarion pushes himself through the water until you’re chest-to-chest. The liquid swirls and sloshes, splashing onto the floor and no doubt dripping onto a table at the tavern below. He draws your close, arms winding around your waist and pulling you into his lap. 

You smile and wrap your legs around his middle, ignoring the discomfort due to limited space. Astarion’s head finds its place on your shoulder, nose brushing against the delicate side of your neck. His cool skin is a reprieve against the steamy bathroom. You nuzzle his damp curls and rub his back softly. 

“I’m glad you didn’t stick to your original plan when we slept together that first night.” You hum, “You’ve become quite important to me on this journey.” 

“How could I have? You’re too perfect.” Astarion’s breath sends goosebumps shooting in all directions from the joint of your shoulder. The feeling is similar to that of his bite, but less intense. 

It hits you that he’s probably famished, not having fed on you the night before and being partially drained by Cazador’s profane ritual. Not to mention the amount of strain that’s been put on him both emotionally and physically in the last few hours.

You brush your hair away from your neck. “You need to feed,”

Astarion lifts his head. “That wasn’t what I was-”

“I know. But you’ve been through a lot.” You insist, rolling your head to the side. “Humor me.”

“I suppose I could be tempted.” Astarion’s eyes darken, and he shift back in towards your neck

His cool breath washes over your skin, and combined with the water it’s so chilly that it’s almost numb while he prepares to sink his teeth in. You feel his nose brush your skin, seeking out the delicate vein carrying the liquid he needs so desperately. He marks his target with a gentle kiss, and one hand holds your hip as he bites down. 

Ice shoots through your veins, spreading slowly from collarbones to belly button, and eventually your toes as he drinks. The freezing quickly turns to ecstasy, shooting arousal into every corner of your body though you know it's not the time. Your hand knots in Astarion’s hair, unconsciously encouraging him to keep going. Somewhere in your brain, you realize this is how people fall so easily to vampires. With a blissful numb that rivals the best Opium and a feather-light sensation overtaking all your limbs, what wouldn’t someone fall for?

But luckily, your vampire would never let you fall.

Astarion’s fangs pull away from your skin but his mouth remains on your neck, lapping at the weeping blood until it stops. You’re woozy for sure, and allow yourself a few moments to be dead weight in his embrace. 

“I apologize, darling. I got carried away.”

You shake your head and press a kiss to his chin. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Are you going to be able to navigate back to bed?” He asks, tipping his chin towards the shared space. “While you understand me, I’m not sure the others will be so friendly about my choice of dinner.”

“I’m willing to pay the barkeep for the private room across the hall for tonight.” 

And you do, without thought. Anything that provides Astarion with comfort is worth the price for you. So you both trek across the hallway, leaving the bathroom mess for morning. Exhaustion has completely taken over after Astarion’s bite, and you take a moment to wrestle with the sheets until you’re able to climb under them.

“Comfortable, darling?” Astarion asks as he lays down. 

“Delightful.” You reply, “Now get some rest.”

Astarion does as you say, but keeps you within arms reach at all times. He might be having trouble with his feelings towards Cazador and the missed opportunity for power, but he’s thankful. 

Thankful for his choice, and thankful for you.

As always, if you enjoy please like/reblog and check out my links for more :)

Masterlist | Send me ideas

[eclecticmiasma]

Down Comes the Claw Ch. 1 (Raphael x GN!Reader)

Doomed, detected, and caught.

SFW (For now)

[Warnings/tags: gn!reader, not much in this chapter for warnings just general Raphael scariness, noncon/dubcon, ownership, imprisonment]

[Ch. 2]

Artist credit: @wrroniec on twitter

The Archivist’s curiosity isn’t well hidden underneath his thin veil of distrust. A mortal, alone, simply wandering the halls of one of the Hells’ most powerful Cambions because they wanted to...peruse his private collection of artifacts? Even a troll would smell treachery miles away.

Were it any other being, the Archivist would have had you sent screaming to holding cells until the master of the house could decide what plane of torment to shuttle you to next, but Korilla had been rather forceful in her instructions not to intervene.

“He’s got a plan for this one,” She’d grinned, the gleam in her dark eyes devilish in its own right, “Let them play while they can.”

Your lips are split from worrying them between your teeth. As if the Hells aren’t hot enough, the Archivist’s gaze has you sweating buckets. He alone could rip your throat to shreds with those fangs the minute your presence has been deemed unsavory, you’re sure of it. As a gleaming ruby locket catches your eye, you try to regard it coolly. You are nothing more than a purveyor of incredibly rare goods, and not at all trying to make your way toward the glittering contract sat front and center of Raphael’s trophy room. The phrase is a mantra you desperately wish to believe.

“Worn by Lumi, a cleric beholden to twilight…” Gods, is your voice trembling? You repeat the name again as if you’re trying to search your vast religious knowledge for the origin of this treasure. Not a single snippet of information comes to mind. Internally, you brace for the house itself to eat you alive.

Instead, Korilla barks out for the Archivist’s attention. Something about another contract ready to be sorted. The man regards you with a final furl of his brows before turning his back to you and attending to his duties. Adrenaline floods your veins and your fingers flex with anticipation. Get the contract, smash Hope’s chains, and get out.

Hope herself appears out of thin air and parrots your thoughts giddly, “Get the contract, smash Hope’s chains, and get out!” before nipping out of existence once again.

You don’t give yourself another chance to think. Without a sound, you prowl towards the center of the grand room and beeline straight for the contract. This is why they agreed to send you alone- Karlach, Shadowheart, the others. Years of prowling the streets of Baldur’s Gate made you nearly undetectable when you wanted to be, so much so that you had even startled Astarion for a laugh on long boring treks. Sure, Gale and Lae’zel nearly came to brawl over the decision, but after two days of quarrels the answer was final.

It could only be you.

The contract before you almost hums with power. Anxiety gnaws at your stomach as you check it over thrice for traps. Nothing. It seems wrong, somehow. A piece of parchment that potentially dictates the fate of Faerûn itself guarded by nothing but a few words. Something tells you to leave it and run, perhaps remnants of the Emperor’s hold on your psyche. Images of your companions, the Hammer, Hope’s face quickly override your doubts and you close your eyes, prepared.

“Give me my heart’s desire,” The words fall from your lips with ease, but nagging trepidation constricts around your heart. Without a sound, the glittering sphere surrounding your contract dissolves away. Before the Archivist can sense what has occurred, before you can convince yourself to turn heel and dash away from all of this, you snatch the page and tear it in two.

Everything plunges into silence. The eternal screams of the damned beyond the gilded walls, cries and whimpers and babbling of long-gone debtors, Korilla’s nagging- all of it gone in an instant. The air around you becomes oppressive, constricting, increasing degree by degree. Ashes fall from your fingertips as the shreds of your contract disintegrate. Get the contract, smash Hope’s chains, get out. You repeat it again and again in your head until your mantra is a scream, but your legs will not move.

“Fools...fools...how hard you have fought,” A familiar baritone echoes out across the empty archive accompanied by slow clapping. It can’t be, you want to shriek. Hope said he was planes away, that you had time.

“Brave, brave, but it's all been...for naught,” You can’t tell from where his voice is coming. It sounds both far and near, across the hall and right in your ears all at once. Even his footsteps, slow and commanding, don’t betray his location.

“True Souls that couldn't be bought,” He’s mocking you now, a gleeful lilt in his otherwise menacing tone. True Souls...the faces of your companions flip through your mind’s eye like pages of a tome. This isn’t how it’s all supposed to end, is it? Your lungs start to burn, unable to expand or contract to the fullest.

“Doomed...” Raphael himself is in the room now, you feel it. As he takes his sweet time sauntering up to you from behind, the magic that holds your limbs in place begins to be revealed. A holding spell, tendrils wrapped around your legs and snaked up your torso through your fingertips. It pulsates with a blinding purple glow. Sweat drips down your temples as the heat of the Hells becomes sweltering, as fear settles in your bones.

“...detected…” Gods, you will. Tyr, Mystra, Shar for Hells’ sake, you pray to every last one. Anything to bid your body run. As the screams of the damned filter back in, growing louder and louder with each step Raphael takes, it becomes devastatingly clear that not a single deity can hear you.

Raphael’s hands land on your shoulders. His fingertips, though gently splayed, might as well be digging into your skin. If you could move an inch, you would have jumped ten feet in the air. Instead you tremble like a rabbit held in the canines of a much larger beast. He leans down and aligns his lips with your ear, breath ghosting across your flesh, “...and caught.” If you could sob you would, but the fear won’t allow it. Instinct of prey that’s well and truly done for. Instead you tense, bracing for the impending pain of retribution.

“So,” the Devil muses, mile wide grin easily detected through the undercurrent of excitement in his tone, “this is the path you have chosen. Anything you and your group of sorry souls could have wanted would have been yours. Your names would have gone down in history as the heroes that saved Faerûn. Yet, you squandered it with a flick of your wrist. What do you have to say for yourself, oh fallen hero?”

Your mouth opens, but not a sound escapes. Nothing that surfaces in your reeling mind feels like it could ever be enough to reverse the tide of ruin you’ve brought upon yourself. Raphael waits patiently as you flounder. Your terror is a wine finer than any bought, and he has all of eternity to savor it.

“Please…” The pitiful, squeaking word escapes your throat more so than it coming out on purpose. Raphael chuckles darkly and moves to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind your ear.

“Oh, I do so love to hear you beg, little mouse. However, I think we can both agree that ‘please’ isn’t an answer. Perhaps if I tell you a story, you’ll be more inclined to...talk.”

Raphael pulls away from you and steps lithely to your front. With a snap of his fingers and a puff of flame, he transports the two of you to his dining room. Roaring flames lick the inside of the fireplace before you, silhouetting the Devil as he prepares to speak. The holding spell wraps tighter.

“You see, the Devil is a rather busy man. When I’m not gracing your merry band with my presence, I’m often attending long meetings with prospective clients, or checking up on those that have already promised me their souls. Perhaps I’m even doling out a punishment or two to a cheeky human that thinks it’s found a loophole. It’s all very important work, and requires quite a bit of cunning and concentration.”

The oppressive heat is getting to you. Raphael’s deep voice sounds like it’s ringing in your head, almost akin to the Emperor’s presence. He paces back and forth before you, gesturing his arms in theatrical movements as if performing a monologue. Each word sends your psyche farther into disarray.

“Hero,” Raphael claps loudly, bringing your attention back to him, “Since my tales seem to bore you, I’ll get straight to the point. I had a fairly important event to attend right before your flagrant disregard for our agreement. Now, imagine my surprise when right in the middle of securing a rather rare and valuable contract, I feel a...shudder, wrack my entire body.”

Glowing eyes level with yours as he leans in close. His brows are furrowed now, genuine anger contorting his features, “My skin began to feel hot, clammy. My concentration waned. Before I realized what was happening sheer ecstasy pooled in my abdomen and then-” He’s so close to you that you hear his breath catch, “It became apparent that someone was using my body.”

Your heart drops. It was the only way. The Archivist had given you access to Raphael’s bedroom with a little cunning, and the only thing standing between you and the contract was a rather familiar looking incubus. What harm could there have been in trading your body for the fate of your companions, your home? The incubus had warned you, though, in its own way. If everything it did with your form meant you would feel it on a different plane, it should have been obvious that Raphael’s form would feel it too.

“I...I didn’t-”

“I knew you would betray our agreement,” Raphael spits, lips hovering just in front of your own, “I knew that eventually I would find you here in my home, remnants of your misdeed in hand. Korilla and I machinated thousands of ways to tear you asunder, to torment you for breaking my one, most cardinal rule,” Raphael catches himself in his rage, and pulls back. He looks to the fire, light reflected in his eyes. Inhale, exhale. When his gaze meets yours again, all remnants of fury are gone.

“I was ready to kill you in an infinite number of ways. But I should have known better. The moment I met you, I knew you were...special. Of course you would throw a wrench in my plans, and do so beautifully. I almost commend you.”

As he smiles, your skin crawls. He moves in circles around you, thinking, plotting. After some time he comes to a stop, once again behind you.

“So, I propose a better solution. I’ve decided that I rather...enjoyed indulging in your body,” You swallow a protest as his chin rests in the crook of your neck, his left hand sliding down the curve of your waist and along the front of your thigh, “Form a new contract. Submit to me, and I won’t touch a hair on your companions’ heads. As much as I would love to take the place of that poor spawn’s master, I can control myself- for you.”

He squeezes your thigh and drags his lips across the straining muscles in your neck. Your sweat slicked skin sticks to his own, and you feel a deep rumble at your back as he revels in the sensation, “For all they know, the contract is still intact. I’ve captured you here,” He kisses your neck and you squirm, fighting back a gasp, “and their only option is to use the hammer,” another kiss, “or you perish.”

“No…I won't...” The answer comes as a piteous whimper. Raphael cackles against your skin, squeezes your body tight to his own, and tuts like he’s caught a naughty child with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Wrong answer, little mouse.”

[Chapter 2]

*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide more mature content!

[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]

[loviatarsluv]

chapter ii. cracked ceilings

pairing: Gale x f!tav (my own oc, Elara)

(takes place mostly after the events of the game with some flashbacks sprinkled throughout)

rating: mature

CW: strong language, slight se*ual harassment (just a drunken oaf making nasty comments), blood/injury, light violence, angst

in summary: After the fall of the brain, and her home having been destroyed in the chaos, Gale offers Elara sanctuary with him back in Waterdeep. She struggles to deal with the feelings she has been harboring for him and the guilt that she’d been the one to prevent either of them from taking the relationship any further a few months prior. Yearning and pining ensues

a/n: thank you to those who were so sweet about the first chapter, it really means so much to me 🥹 i hope you enjoy this one just as much ♡︎

word count: 6.8k

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ii.

She had finally begun to understand why they called Waterdeep ‘the city of splendors’. 

Since coming to stay with Gale, Elara hadn’t left the tower much. A part of her feared running into any further trouble when she’d just experienced more chaos and turmoil than most would in their entire lives, especially now being known as The Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Despite being here rather than back home, she knew word had likely spread as far as Neverwinter by now. 

Gale had been incredibly patient with her, despite his desire to show her around his beloved city. She was boundlessly grateful for that fact despite her guilt for becoming a hermit when he was likely just happy to be home and wanted to enjoy it in its entirety.

She would tell him not to hold back on her account and to do all that he desired with his newfound freedom from the fear of the orb within himself, and that she would be fine right where she was. But she could see in his eyes that he wanted company. Her company. 

So, this time, she relented. A simple trip to the market surely couldn’t hurt, right? 

She caught the end of a familiar tune as she approached the large open window in her bedroom— a song that she remembered her mother humming absently throughout the day, and then singing to her before bed. One of the last vivid memories she had left of her. 

Elara hoped maybe they would pass the bard on their way to the market so she could toss them a few gold pieces. 

She gazed out over the expanse of the ocean and hummed along to the song until its eventual end, smiling somberly to herself. 

She glanced at herself in the mirror and tried to remember her mother’s face— tried to imagine her own face, just older, but with bright blue eyes rather than dull brown, her hair long, pin straight and black instead of untamable, wavy, and garishly bright. 

No. If there was one thing she recalled about her mother, it was that she had the sort of beauty that words couldn’t describe. The kind that scribes and bards scribbled poetry about and sang ridiculous ballads for. 

A far cry from how she viewed herself, certainly. 

Her long azure waves flowed down her back, partially braided back near the crown of her head to keep some of it out of her eyes. Shadowheart had taught her a few hairstyles to manage and tame her hair, but most of the time she just couldn’t be arsed to put in the effort. 

She dusted off some of the robes Astarion ‘purchased’ for her while they were in the Lower City, muttering something about how she desperately needed a wardrobe change. A gift wrapped in a backhanded remark, as could always be expected of Astarion. She smiles at the memory, now suddenly missing him and all of his mischief and hoping he was doing well. 

Perhaps she could pay them a visit soon. 

The robes were rather lovely— a deep cerulean mixed with accented gold metal clasps and brown leather, the length of it just right so that it doesn’t drag the floor. It suited her well. Astarion really did have a good eye, unsurprisingly. Perhaps in another life he was a tailor. 

She takes one last long look at herself in the mirror, the anxiety evident in her eyes as well as the dark circles under them. She’d barely gotten a wink of rest as her mind turned over every possibility of what could happen the moment she steps foot outside of this tower. 

Nothing that made any sense or seemed feasible— but then again, a year ago, the thought of a mindflayer invasion seemed like a fever dream. 

Now was not the time for what if’s. All would be well. She would have a nice outing with her good friend. 

Great friend.

Friend.

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Gale had mastered the art of keeping himself occupied. 

He somehow always had something he could be working on or a book he could be reading or a subject he could study further, especially in times when his mind required redirection.

Or distraction, rather.

Spending an entire year in solitude with only yourself, your books, and four walls to keep you company teaches you many things about yourself. 

Spending months surrounded by who very likely could be the love of your life without the ability to act on that feeling also teaches you many things about yourself. 

There had been many days spent holed up in his library, trying all that he could to keep his mind of anything other than her and her eyes (one a deep, rich brown and the other a much lighter, honey-like shade) and her dazzling smile that made him feel like if the orb were still present in his chest, he would be at risk of implosion just at the sight of it. 

Now, to have a proper outing that would finally be just the two of them after months of dropping hints— he was feeling quite restless. 

So much so, that he basically leaps to his feet at the sound of her footsteps bounding down the stairs, standing quickly and straightening his clothes before she appears from the staircase, adjusting himself and ensuring nothing was askew or out of place. He smooths his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear and adjusts his sleeves just before she emerges, his heart skipping a beat as he sees her.  

He had to remind himself many times that this excursion was nothing more than a quick trip to the market— but it did little to quell the sweat beads rising in his palm and the buzzing in his stomach. 

He hadn’t spent a lot of time with her that felt like they were both choosing each other’s company. It almost always felt like they just happened to end up in the same room as each other by chance, or if they did, it was merely to complete a task. To do research, to eat breakfast or dinner, to exchange notes.

If it were up to him, he would remain at her side every moment that her eyes were open and if he were allowed, even those when they were closed. 

He was only waiting for the right moment, or any sort of notion that she had perhaps changed her mind— then, he would— well, do something.

Uncharacteristically enough for him, he hadn’t really thought that far yet. 

Now may be an apt time to start, though.

“Sorry I took so long, I had to make sure I had everything so we can stock up and last us a little longer.” She says with a huff, gesturing to the two wicker baskets draped over her arms. 

He stares at her for longer than was necessary, mouth slightly agape as he took in the sight of her. It wasn’t unusual for her to look anything short of breathtaking, but this had been the most put together he’d seen her since bringing her back to Waterdeep. She looked—

“Radiant,” he mutters, not realizing the word hadn’t remained only in his mind. 

She smirks at him awkwardly, looking down at herself. “What did you say?” 

He shakes his head, clearing his throat. “I said— I just meant— you look lovely today.” 

She chuckles, averting her gaze sheepishly. “Funny.” 

“Not at all. I meant it, Elara. You look… you are radiant.” He says, his voice low and reverent, as if he were admiring a painting hung in a gallery. 

A blush rises to her cheeks as she tries to fight off what would probably have been the widest she’d ever smiled in her life. “Oh… well, thank you, Gale. You look… dashing. As always.” She replies, the dimples in her cheeks visible as she grins shyly. 

“Why, thank you, my lady,” he says with a bow, then holds his hand out as an invitation for hers. She timidly places her hand in his, and he presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Shall we?” 

She’s taken aback by the gesture, her already intense blush only becoming ever more prominent and persistent, the heat in her cheeks beginning to feel as though she may burn up before they even make it outside. 

She nods slowly, then follows his lead out the door, her hand lingering in his until they reach the front door steps. She takes a few steps ahead of him and attempts to steady her breathing, as he quickly casts Arcane Lock on the door before rejoining her.

Everything seemed to come alive with a brand new vigor— the streets were full again, the sounds of children running and playing as well as the Waterdhavian locals just existing and enjoying the sunshine for the first time in months echoed off the sides of the stone buildings that lined the streets. The faint melodic strumming of a lyre could be heard not too far from the Dekarios residence, as a bard occupied a spot just outside one of the nearby taverns and busked for coins throughout the day. 

They walk side by side in silence for a little while, both of them happily drinking in the sights surrounding them. Gale points out places and bits of interest as they walk, telling her stories of his life growing up on these very streets. 

She listens to him, but her mind fills any empty gaps with his voice echoing in her mind again and again. 

You are radiant. 

Gale was not averse to a bit of flattery, it wasn’t an uncommon behavior for him to compliment her or offer her or anyone else a kind word when it seemed they needed it, and even times when they didn’t.

But something about the phrasing of it struck her. Almost in a way that nearly made her believe it. If Gale Dekarios thought she was radiant, then by the gods, she must be. 

No one had ever seemed to look at her twice before in her life— none had ever seen her in that light or verbalized such a thing to her before. Not like that.

But Gale— gods, she’d write it in the stars if she could. She would paint the night sky with each syllable in only the most dazzling of stars, the brightest she could find— so that every night she could remember the way it sounded dripping from his tongue like honey. 

A single word had never filled her entire body with a warmth that the sun’s rays could never provide.

Radiant.

“I’m not sure if I’ve asked you yet, but how have you enjoyed Waterdeep thus far? Despite not having seen much of it yet,” He asks, slowing his pace slightly to accommodate her, her legs being shorter than his so her shorter strides made her fall behind. 

He had asked, a few times. But that was months ago when it was all still new. Plus— her answer had changed considerably since the last time he asked. 

“Hush, you,” She pushes his shoulder playfully, a soft melodic giggle following. Gale’s heart flutters. 

“Not to worry. We are remedying that from this day forward. By the time we’re done, you’ll never want to go back to Baldur’s Gate, I guarantee it.” He says proudly, a dash of hope in his eyes as he does. 

“I don’t know. Does Waterdeep get invaded by tentacled monsters and completely ravaged by cultists and corrupt politicians and their armies regularly? Might not be my speed,” she teases. 

“It is not without its strange happenings, I can assure you. Nothing quite so severe, I am regretful to say.” 

“A shame.” 

They smile at each other for the length of the lull in conversation, their banter bringing memories of their adventuring days back to the forefront. The gleam in Gale’s eye causes her to look away as if she’d looked at the sun for too long. 

After a beat, Gale continues. “But, there is nothing quite like witnessing the changing of the seasons in Waterdeep. I’m happy to provide that experience for you, at long last.” He replies, punctuating it with a wink. 

She rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulder to his, averting her gaze to the cobblestone beneath her feet as they continue to walk. “Thank you, for that, by the way. For… letting me stay with you. I know it’s not ideal. I’m sure you would’ve liked to enjoy some peace and quiet in your home after everything… and I don’t know if I have properly thanked you for allowing me to stay with you, so,” she rambles, the heat in her cheeks only increasing. 

He places a soothing hand on her arm, his fingertips featherlight as he slowly runs them along the length of her bicep before returning to his side. 

“After a year of complete solitude outside of my cat and hundreds of books whose pages I am all too familiar with, your company is more than wonderful and most welcome. No thanks necessary.” 

When she meets his eyes, the warm and mirthful smile that greets her nearly turns her legs to jelly, but she would happily melt under the sunshine that was his gaze. 

Before she can attempt to craft a response to him, a commotion is heard ahead, and both of their attention snaps to it.

A crowd has begun to form near the front of the nearby tavern, and not a single intelligible word could be made out of the raucous whooping within the crowd of presumably day drunk patrons and bystanders craning their necks to watch whatever was taking place at the center of it. She furrows her brows, shooting Gale an inquisitive glance.

She watches closely for a moment before she feels Gale’s guiding hand on her back, urging her to go in a different direction, any other direction. 

“Come, let’s push on. There is no shortage of drunken tomfoolery around here, it’s nothing to concern ourselves with. Besides, Tara will be waiting for us, and trust me when I say she is not the most pleasant when she’s been kept waiting,” he says, his voice low next to her ear. It was a throwaway excuse to pull her away from the ruckus and to safety to avoid potentially getting swept into a hysteria she needn’t get swept into. 

If her mind hadn’t been so preoccupied by whatever was happening in front of them, she’d have been blushing furiously at the position of his hand, just above the small of her back. Something to try not to think too much about later. 

Her eyes flick to him for an instant before she hears what sounded like a lyre being smashed against the side of the bricked building. Her head snaps in that direction, and the crowd parts in just the right way for her to see a young tiefling crumpled to the ground with his face in his hands, and an older human man above mocking him, gripping part of the smashed instrument in one of his fists. 

Her face twists to a deep grimace, and before she can stop herself her feet are carrying her forward, her pace quickening. Gale calls to her from behind, his voice distant and nearly inaudible over the loud pounding and drumming of her heart in her ears. 

The crowd has begun to disperse only slightly, but a handful of people still linger and are either cheering on the older man or encouraging the tiefling to stand and fight. The tiefling’s shoulders shake and tremble as he cowers away from the inebriated brute towering over him bellowing nonsense.

The man stands above what she can now see is merely a child, no older than thirteen, shouting taunts of profanity and cruelty that she tries her hardest to disregard before the lightning crackling in her palm can (very easily) send him onto his ass. 

She calms herself as she shoves her way through the crowd, taking a breath before she approaches the child and kneels before him.

“Hello,” she says, her voice soft so as to not startle him. She places a gentle hand on his arm, coaxing him into looking up at her. “Are you okay?” 

Before he can respond, the booming of the perpetrator’s slurred mockery echoing throughout the small alleyway interrupts them both. 

“Oi, missy! Careful, the little foulblood’ll snatch yer coin purse when ye ain’t lookin’!” 

The tiefling peers at her with desperate eyes, his flickering flame-like yellow irises beginning to gloss over again as new sobs begin to wrack through his fragile looking body. “I didn’t— I swear, I didn’t do a-anything!” 

She searches his face for any sign of deceit, noticing the faint scar that ran along his cheek from his eye to the corner of his lip that looked like it had only healed somewhat recently. His body language resembles that of a frightened pup in a cage and his tears seem genuine, so she offers him a reassuring smile. “I believe you.” 

“‘M talkin’ ta ye, missy! Ye got shit for manners too?” The man yells again, the sound of the broken instrument clattering to the ground following it. 

She continues to ignore him, entirely unfazed by his drunken tirade or his hulking size. She’d fought monsters far more intimidating in the last year, he would be quick work if it came to that. 

“‘Ye think yer too good fer ‘vryone, too good ta’ listen when a man talks ta’ ye.” He rants, her last few strings of patience beginning to wear dangerously thin.

“No, I just don’t care to listen to drunken oafs.” She retorts, her tone nonchalant and almost cocky in a way that sets the man over the edge.

The man launches into a blind rage, and she barely has a second to comprehend the situation before she hears a grunt of fury and large hands crash into the side of her body, surely bruising her ribs with the force it took to shove her to the ground, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs. She yelps as stone scrapes across her bare arm and the side of her head collides with the ground. The tiefling jumps backward and out of the line of fire of the older man’s warpath, eyes wide and boring into hers in terror. 

“Elara!” Gale calls out, pushing through the now dense crowd frantically. 

He finally makes it through, and the very second his eyes lock on her as she attempts to sit up, fire burns through his veins and concentrates at the center of his palm.

He notices a small trickle of blood running down the side of her face, one hand clutching her ribs as the other presses over the tender spot where her skull met stone. He’s at her side in an instant, gathering her up into his arms and holding on to her tightly. 

“Are you alright?” He asks her, his voice cracking with concern. 

She bristles, fury flaring within her. Before she can stop herself, her once brown eyes glow blue, the lightning coursing through her burning its way down to her palms. Gale’s eyes widened before scrambling to calm her before causing even more of a scene, despite her ire being well deserved on the drunken man’s end. 

“Not here, Elara. Let me handle this, please.” 

He places a hand on her cheek, his palm catching a drop of warm blood that makes his boil. 

After a moment of contemplation she nods, the anger still evident in her furrowed brow. She glances between him and the child backed against the wall, her main focus still on ensuring his safety. She motions to the child for him to stand with her, and Gale steps in front of them both protectively as he turns to face the drunkard. 

“‘S that yer boyfriend, eh, girly? Wanna know how it feels t’ be with a real man?” The man cackles, stumbling forward as he belly laughs at his own vile taunts. 

Gale’s own composure is slipping as he feels the heat from the fire itching at his fingertips as it begins to emit a faint and crackling orange glow. 

“It may be wise to walk away, friend.” Gale’s voice is threateningly calm, soft with a not-so-hidden edge to it. 

The man balks at the wizard, much smaller in stature than himself yet somehow still intimidating in nature. Likely more so intimidating once he realizes who he was up against. Not intimidating enough not to egg them on, however. 

The man’s yellowed teeth show in a crooked smile. “Aye… I know the two of ye. If it ain’t the cunt of Waterdeep and the so called Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Softened up since the squids left town, have ye?” 

Elara dashes forward before Gale’s arm comes out to stop her, magic surging between both of them like a thunderstorm brewing in the heavens. 

“Piss off, ugly. Lest you leave with a scorched hide.” Elara hisses, pushing against Gale’s arm that served as a barrier between them. 

“Didn’t think th’ mighty Hero of Baldur’s Gate wa’ just a common whore off th’ streets. Funny, that is, innit?” 

Gale’s shoulders tense and his jaw clenches, gritting his teeth to bite back the storm of curses burdening the tip of his tongue. “Walk away. Now.” 

His fingers twitch against the effort it takes not to hurl a fire bolt right at the bastard’s cocky face, but it seemed he wouldn’t have to as the man notices the faint glow of fire in Gale’s palm as well as the lightning crackling in Elara’s and begins to back away, apprehension etching into his weathered and sunburnt features, fear visible in his eyes. 

“You lot ‘re just as uppity as I thought ye’d be,” he mutters as he raises his hands in surrender, then quickly rounds the corner and dashes down the alley without another word, and the wizard relaxes his hand, dispelling the cantrip from his palm. 

The air is still crackling with tension as the three of them try to steady their breathing, Gale in particular finding it difficult as the sight of her on the ground and her sweet face that, prior to this entire encounter, had been adorned with a smile that could stop a charging Minotaur in its tracks, twisted in pain and a gash on her forehead. Not to mention the disgusting comment that foul—

Deep breaths. 

The crowd slowly begins to disperse, some eyeing the two wizards wearily as they begin to back away, some pointing at them and whispering to their counterparts, some recognizing them and some inquiring to who they were or what their significance was. 

Eventually they, too, depart, leaving only two of them and the tiefling who was still cowering behind Elara, gripping the back of her robes as if he would fall through a crack in the ground without her anchoring him. 

Gale spins around and cups Elara’s face gently, his umber eyes teeming with distress and a bit of anger as they scan her face for any further signs of injury or harm. Her eyes still glowed blue despite the situation stabilizing.

“Elara,” Gale whispers soothingly. “It’s over.” 

Her eyes meet his as she blinks a few times, until they return to their natural deep earthy tone, sparkling as water burgeons at the corners. 

Gods, she has the most beautiful eyes. 

“Are you well? Did he hurt you? Is your head okay?” He asks frantically, the words tumbling from his lips in rapid succession as he gently turns her head to check each side of her face. 

She swallows hard and tries not to get lost in the way his strong but elegant hands feel on her burning cheeks as he fusses over her, and places her hand over one of his in an attempt at calming his distraught babbling. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she shushes him, placing her other hand on his arm. “Everything is fine.” 

Gale frowns. “It is most certainly not fine, you hit your head and you are bleeding. We should head back and clean that up, I’ll just run to the market tomorrow—”

“Gale.” She coos, cutting his rambling short. “You act as if you haven’t seen me in much more dire straits. I will live.” 

He stops, his entire body stilling and a heat creeping to his cheeks. Reality washes over him again as he blinks out of his worrisome daze, and realizes his hands still on her cheeks, and her hand over his— oh, hells, her hands are so soft, so warm— and slowly begins to pull away. She nods her head in the direction of the child attached to her hip, reminding him that they had company still. He takes a deep breath and glances around, likely looking to see if he catches a glimpse of that bastard and hoping that he was still within range for him to send a witch bolt his way. He’s unable to hide his disappointment when his search is fruitless. 

The child’s eyes widen when Gale turns once again to face them and sighs deeply, his shoulders sinking low when all of the air exits his lungs, his body seeming to shrink with his posture. He slams his eyes shut tight, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking slow and steady breaths to calm himself. 

“Mystra, give me strength.” He murmurs under his breath.

Elara ignores the disgruntled wizard at her side, leaning down slightly to be closer to the smaller tiefling’s height. 

Elara smiles reassuringly and places her hands on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry about that. Are you okay?” 

The child stares up at her, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the man brooding behind her. 

“He’s with me, it’s alright.” She says, making her best attempt at a soothing and calm tone despite her voice wavering. 

The tiefling’s eyes dart to the wreckage that is left of what was once his instrument, and his frown deepens. “My lyre…” 

She follows his gaze, wincing when she sees the extensive damage. She could tell instantly upon inspection even from a distance that there was no repairing it, and it would simply need to be replaced. She offers him a sympathetic smile and a pat on the shoulder. What was once what appeared to be a beautiful instrument, was now shattered into several jagged pieces, sprawling across the ground around them. She frowns, feeling regretful for its owner but also for herself— an echo of a memory from this morning when she heard her favorite song being strummed by it reverberating in her mind. 

“What’s your name?” She asks him. 

He bounces heel to toe, his hands behind his back timidly. His peach-tinted skin contrasts the dark mop of curls atop his head, with two small horns peeking out of them. He’s quite slender, but still has the tiny bit of pudge that a prepubescent child would have, his cheeks round and youthful. He reminds her of the kids from the Emerald Grove. She smiles sadly, hoping the ones that made it were doing well. 

“Dex.” He says meekly, his face downcast and defeated as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Dex. I’m Elara, and this—” she motions to the man behind her. “is Gale.”

Gale’s attention snaps to her at the sound of his own name, clearly having been mentally elsewhere during the entire exchange. He meets the uncertain gaze of the child, and bows slightly, offering a warm smile. Dex smiles back, a small chuckle leaving his lips at the gesture. 

“Thank you, for helping me. I’m s-sorry you got hurt,” he points to her bloodied forehead and forearm, reminding her of the stinging sensation biting at her nerves shallowly within her skin. Her head was pounding and throbbing, her vision not entirely steady, but she tries her best to disregard it for the moment.

“I think I’ll live. I’m sorry about your lyre.” She says, motioning to the scattered wooden debris and frayed strings. 

He shrugs. “I’ll live.” 

She chuckles, her smile widening. Gale watches her with this unfamiliar child that she had no real reason to be so kind to, other than just out of the boundless kindness of her heart, and feels that warm twinge in his chest he’d grown all too familiar with since she made her grand entrance in his life. He’d seen her with kids many times now, whether it was with the tieflings or with Yenna, but each time his heart skips several beats and the urge to whisk her away and kiss her on the stoop like he’d previously imagined becomes harder and harder to resist.

“Well, Dex. I think you’d best get going home. It’ll be dark before too long and I’m sure your parents will be worried. Hm?” She tries on her best schoolteacher voice, placing her hands on her hips. 

Dex sighs, his entire body shrinking at the mention of his parents. “I don’t want to go home without my lyre… they’ll be furious at me.”

She pauses for a moment, then shoots Gale a pleading glance, hoping he has any bright ideas that could magically fix everything for this poor child. She looked at him as if the child were a lost kitten that she was begging him to let her bring home. 

He looks toward the sky pensively for a moment, appearing as if he were doing calculations in his head, then wordlessly and effortlessly waves his hand in a flourish, whispering an incantation that reassembles the lyre with a purple hued fog of weave. 

Dex’s widened eyes sparkle with glee as each of the fractured pieces of the instrument rejoin as if they’d never been apart to begin with. The lyre floats toward the child, basked in violet and sapphire light, landing gently into his still shaky grasp. Gale smiles and nods at the boy as the light fades, his eyes gleaming with a hint of pride. 

“Weeping bleeding hells! How did you do that?!” He chirps, turning the lyre in his hands and inspecting each and every inch of it in search of any cracks or imperfections, then smiling a wide toothy grin, his pointed teeth peeking over his lips when there is not a single dent or scratch to be found. 

Gale chuckles, then pats the boy on the shoulder. “Stay out of trouble, young man. Hopefully next time we meet will be under better circumstances.” 

She turns to Gale, impressed. “You have got to teach me whatever the hell that was.”

The young tiefling glances back to Elara, the exuberant expression on his face contrasting the tear stains still present on his cheeks. Before she or Gale have any time to react, he throws his body between them, wrapping his tiny arms around the both of them as best as he could manage, and nuzzling his face into Elara’s arm. 

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” He says as he pulls away and turns to leave, glancing over his shoulder and waving to them one last time before scurrying off. 

She watches the boy disappear into the distance, skipping along the cobblestone streets with a childish glee that fills her with a wistful sensation— to be that young and for everything to be so new, for something as simple as a fixed lyre to make her completely forget any hurt or pain that had befallen her. She envies him, silently, as she watches him run home to his parents surely to regale everything that happened to him today, just as she wished she’d been able to every time something exciting happened to her during the day. 

Gale notices her sudden shift in demeanor, then places a hand placatingly on her uninjured arm. 

“Elara?” His voice is gentle and tepid. “Allow me to help you with this,” he says, motioning to the still bleeding cut on her head. “Let’s head back.” 

She sighs, turning to him but unable to muster a genuine smile, still taken by real memories and those that never came to pass. Her lips curl, but her eyes remain glossy and sullen. She nods, the motion small and nearly imperceptible. Without another word, they head back to the tower, her arm never leaving the comfort of Gale’s hand as they walk. 

Something so simple, something that could mean nothing. But to her, it meant everything. 

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The scent of balsam and sandalwood fills the room as Gale’s adept fingers gently dab at the small cut on her forehead, his eyes narrowed and his brows knitted together in deep concentration.

He pestered her until he could coax her into sitting in her favorite spot on the chaise where he could tend to her, much to her protest.

Stubborn wizard, she grunted as he gently guided her to sit. He did not regard any of her disgruntled murmurs, nor her insistence that she was fine and not to worry. 

Just as she’d helped that boy on the street, he felt the least he could do is take gentle care of her the way she would anyone else. He recalled noticing her attempting to heal herself or patch her own wounds when no one was looking while they were on the road, before eventually having to ask Shadowheart for a quick healing spell, much to her dismay. Had she always had to pick herself up? Had no one ever swept in and dusted her off when she fell before? 

He would. From now forward. Even if it were something as small and simple as rubbing balsam on her wounds, however small, and wrapping it with the softest cloth he could find. He would be that for her. He would be anything for her, should she ask. 

It wasn’t lost on him how intimate of a gesture it was, to treat another’s wounds, either— he couldn’t deny that he simply just wanted to care for her in a way that felt deeper than just cooking for her and providing a bed for her to sleep in. 

“That was incredibly admirable of you, back there. Stepping in like that. That boy won’t soon forget what you’ve done for him.” He says, his tone reverent and almost thankful on the child’s behalf.

She smiles a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Guess the hero gig is one I haven’t quite given up on,” she half-jokes. “He seemed like a sweet kid. And I would hope someone would do the same if it were me, in his shoes.” 

She says it, but she realizes that Gale sort of had done the same for her, many times— especially the way he stepped in and deescalated the situation today. The way he stood in front of them protectively, blocking them with his body as if he were willing and ready to take whatever blows were aimed at them in their place. 

“He’ll remember you, too,” she continues, her breath slightly catching as he rubs balsam on the still raw and tender spot just above her eyebrow, and wincing as the fabric of the cloth brushes against the raised skin. “You saved him twice, in a way. Saved him from a drunkard and an angry lecture from his parents.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head causing a stray strand of hair to fall into his eyes as he does. “I suppose so. You took care of all the heavy lifting, though. I just helped with the clean up.” 

She fights herself and her need to push that hair out of his eyes. Would that be too intimate? Would that push things too far? 

Her eyes lock on the strand as she speaks. “You did your own heavy lifting, for my sake. Thank you. For stepping in. And for this,” her eyes dart up to his wrist, just as he finishes. “Even though you didn’t have to.” 

He places the soiled cloth aside then sits back slightly, where he was still able to see every detail of her face as clearly as he could see his own in a mirror when he was close enough, and eyes her for a moment, a smile ghosting on the edges of his lips. 

“To do something for someone doesn’t always have to be borne of necessity or desire for reciprocity. I wanted to.” 

His face was so close, she could nearly feel his breath whispering across the flushed skin of her cheeks. She wants to say thank you again, but finds that every single word in her vocabulary has escaped her as she basks in this closeness and the way she can see the reflection of the flickering candle beside her in his dark eyes that still managed to seem so bright with the way they twinkled as he looked at her. 

“Can I ask you something?” He breaks the silence but not the tension as their gazes stay locked. 

She nods, dazed by the closeness, intoxicated by his presence.

“Back in the Shadow Cursed Lands… when you said that our relationship couldn’t go any further… did you mean that?”

She swallows hard despite her throat feeling dry, her entire body tensing at his questioning. The emotions of the day had fluctuated so immensely and the mention of the thing that had been weighing so heavily on her mind for so long only served to bid them to return in full force. A pit forms in her stomach and she feels the urge to retreat. 

“Gale...” She tries to maintain composure, despite her words wavering upon delivery. She offers Gale that same smile from before— the one that never quite reached her eyes. He frowns, but nods. 

“Understood.” He says simply, their faces still dangerously close.

“No, no— I don’t mean— I am just not sure if I have the proper words to convey to you. I—” He moves one hand to comfortingly cover hers as it rests on her knee, patting it gently.

“Perhaps it was too bold of a question after such a harrowing day. Disregard it.” 

The warmth of his hand and his words radiates throughout her entire body, down to her bones. She notices the strand is still hanging in front of his eyes. She doesn’t hold herself back from brushing it away this time, her fingertips lightly graze his forehead as she tucks it behind his ear. Her hand lingers near his face for a while, but not nearly long enough, before she drops it back to her side.

“What if I said no?” She utters fearfully, her voice betraying her and her moment of courage. “Does that change things?”

Gale balks at her, taken aback by the gesture and her words, quick flickers of shock, trepidation, then elation flashing across his expression. He smiles a smile that sends a shiver through her, his eyes dropping to her lips and the gap between them suddenly seeming so much smaller. 

Oh. 

It was getting smaller, as she realized that the magnetic pull between their lips was getting stronger as they both began to lean in, her body taking the reins as her mind tried to make sense of what was happening and determine if she were dreaming or not— had she hit her head hard enough to hallucinate?

“Mr. Dekarios?”

The sound of Tara’s voice calling from down the hall cuts the moment short, both of their heads snapping in the direction of the sudden intrusion. Gale sighs, his head falling in evident disappointment. He glances at her, her eyes wide and her cheeks a bright rosy red that makes his heart flutter. 

“Gods damn it... I should—”

“No worries, go ahead. I’m going to go rest, my head is killing me.” She waves him off, her voice strained and brimming with disappointment.

Gale stares at her for a moment, the desire to kiss her still lingering but ebbing as he sees her pulling away, suddenly feeling as though he’d done something terribly wrong. He opens his mouth to ask, but before he can she’s standing and quickly darting across the room and into the hall, stopping just at the doorway and peering at him over her shoulder. 

She sighs, placing a hand on the doorway and using it for support, her legs feeling as though they may give out on the spot. “Thank you, again.” 

He watches helplessly as she disappears into the hall and the sounds of her footsteps fade slowly, preceded by the sound of a  bedroom door clicking shut. His eyes pinch shut so tightly that he sees stars amidst the inky blackness behind them, and he sinks back into his chair, wishing a blackhole would form underneath him and swallow him.

He could conjure one, if he wanted to. 

He heavily considered it. 

“Mr. Dekarios, fix your posture! Your back already aches enough as it is,” Tara admonishes him as she strolls into the room, blissfully unaware of the havoc she’d just wreaked on his sanity. 

As per usual. 

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There were a surprising amount of cracks in the ceiling above the bed in the room that she stayed in. 

Everything else in this tower seemed nearly pristine aside from appearing well lived in and well loved, Gale evidently cared greatly about his surroundings. The home was cluttered but organized to his exact liking, perfectly tidy apart from books and papers and scrolls strewn about but still cozy and comfortable. Anyone who entered would feel at home. 

She felt at home, more than she wanted to admit to herself. She tried to continue to remind herself that at some point she would have to leave and move on. But as she lay in this bed— this large, ever so comfortable bed— gaze trailing along the strangely cracked ceiling of her bedroom, she wondered what the ceiling of his bedroom looked like. 

She was certain there were no cracks in his bedroom ceiling. There couldn’t be. 

Today had been immensely overwhelming in terms of her feelings toward Gale that had once been burning embers and were now alight in full force— him having stoked the flames tenfold with his seemingly innocent touches and his ardent care for her that he put on full display multiple times throughout the day, all culminating in an almost-kiss. 

They almost kissed. He almost kissed her.

They were so close. She could still feel the heat of his breath against her cheeks and the skin on the back of her hand tingled with the sensation as if his hand remained there still, his thumb rubbing languid circles against her wrist.

In fact, every part of her skin that he’d touched today still felt as if it had been electrically charged, still buzzing and alight with energy that had nowhere to go. She missed the feeling of him already and it was only a mere whisper of a taste rather than an entire bite. 

It wasn’t entirely her fault, obviously, that it never came to pass— Tara had a way of having serendipitously terrible timing. She wasn’t always sure that Tara didn’t know exactly what she was doing, and she wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case this time. 

It was endearing, most of the time. 

But even if Tara hadn’t interrupted— would she have really kissed him? Would he have really kissed her? Or would some other force of nature and horrible timing pluck them out of each other's grasps yet again? 

She thinks maybe he would have. She hopes. 

Now, she’s not sure she’ll ever get the chance to. 

Guilt began to gnaw and claw at her insides furiously as she remembered the way she’d exited the study— hurried and curtly— and the way hurt and confusion etched into his features as he watched her leave.

She loved him. She knew that she did. There was no way around it. She loved him and it was killing her.

But something always stops her in the moments when she longs to tell him, to finally let him in.

It wasn’t that she was inexperienced in the romance department— she’d had a few partners here and there, nothing substantial and all quite short lived— and if she’s being honest, she had never felt strongly toward a single one of them. Most were kind, loving. She enjoyed their company. But she’d never felt comfortable enough to open up to another person and allow them to see the less than savory bits of her that she kept to herself.

And strangely enough, she felt very comfortable with Gale most of the time— she had to, during all those months traveling together. They all saw each other at their worst and lowest moments, but they supported each other through it all. Gale had been particularly helpful to her amidst her own personal struggles she faced in that time. He had been the closest to her, aside from Astarion and Shadowheart.

He’s an easy person to just exist with. That is, if you aren’t hopelessly enamored with him. 

Gods. 

She clenches her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose— another habit of Gale’s that she’d picked up— wishing the large quilt and plush mattress beneath her would just swallow her. Just take her away from it all and save her from having to deal with the consequences of her own idiocy. 

Knock knock. 

“Elara?” 

The sound of Gale’s voice on the other side of her door lurches her from her thoughts and her body up from the mattress. She quickly hops off of the bed and approaches the door, her hand hovering shakily over the handle. 

“Yes?” She asks, turning her head so her voice appears further away than it actually was. 

She hears what sounds like feet shuffling aside from a brief pause, before hearing a long and defeated sigh. 

“Can we talk?” Is all he manages, dejection evident in his tone. 

She reaches for the handle again, turning it slowly and pulling the door just enough to see him through the crack. 

He looked the way he did when something was weighing heavily on his mind or vexing him— she could tell he’d been raking his fingers frantically through his hair as it was uncharacteristically messy and unkempt, his robes were nowhere to be seen, and he stood only in his white wrap shirt that was tied dangerously loosely and tucked into his breeches. 

Not now, brain. Not now. 

“Everything alright?” She asks, trying to hide the sound of her swallowing the massive lump in her throat. 

He shakes his head, placing his hand against the wood grain and gently pushing it, opening it further. 

“The very question I came to ask you,” he retorts. “May I?” 

She nods, backing away from the door to give him enough room to push it the rest of the way open, her heart thudding a million a minute.

He stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his expression nearly unreadable. For as expressive as his eyes were, she had such a hard time understanding him or trying to sort out what mental storm was brewing in his head sometimes.

“I could not bear resting my head upon my pillow and or fathom sleeping a wink tonight without knowing whether I’ve done something to upset you or not. If I crossed any lines today, please do tell me, and allow me to offer my most sincere of apologies for—”

What? 

“Gale—“ 

“—ever making you feel uncomfortable or uneasy in any way, I would never want to jeopardize the friendship that I feel we have formed over the course of this past year and—”

“Gale, hold on—”

“—if I’ve done something to potentially sour anything, just know it was never my intention—“ 

“Gale!” She raises her voice in a final attempt to catch the rambling wizard’s attention, crossing the space between them and placing her hands on his shoulders. 

He takes a deep breath, his shoulders tense and she can feel the way his body trembles slightly. 

“Relax, please. You haven’t done anything to make me uncomfortable. Ever.” She coos, rubbing circles with her thumb into his shoulder. 

A few days ago, a gesture like this would’ve made her entire being feel as though she were on fire— but after today, it felt right. After receiving such care and comfort from him, the least she felt she could do was to return it in kind. 

He stares at her incredulously, as if he simply just doesn’t believe a word she’s saying. 

“You don’t have to spare me, Elara. I saw that look in your eyes. I never want to make you feel that way, ever again.” His face softens as he speaks, the pain of potentially slighting her in some way weighing heavily on his chest. 

She blinks a few times, then that gnawing guilt returns with even sharper teeth, maybe some claws too. She pinches her eyes shut and releases a long breath from her nose. 

“You— you think I didn’t want to kiss you?” She murmurs under her breath.

“I feel as though I keep pushing you and all I’ve done is push you further away.” He responds, the hurt evident in his slightly quivering voice.

Her eyes had begun to burn at this point.

“Gale… it isn’t you. Truly,” she cringes at her own words, realizing how it sounded. “I just— there is a lot on my mind right now, and I don’t want to burden you with any of it. That’s all.”

It wasn’t a lie, at least not entirely. There was a lot on her mind— even if most of it pertained to a certain brown eyed wizard who happened to be standing in her doorway, looking like that. 

His eyes find hers in the dim candlelight, searching them for something, anything that could answer at least one of the myriad of questions he wanted to but couldn’t muster the nerve to ask.

The pale blue moonlight filters in through the large window on the other side of the room, almost haloing her and basking her in an ethereal glow. 

“It’s not a burden if it’s taken on willingly,” he contests, taking one tentative step toward her. “I care for you, Elara.”

If the room had been any quieter, she swears the sound of her heart booming through the smaller space would be deafening. “It’s not important. You have many other things to concern yourself with, I don’t expect you to—”

“The only thing concerning me presently is—” he pauses. You, is what he wants to say, but can’t seem to wrench it out of himself. “What is important to you is important to me. I meant it when I said that we work better as a team, you and I.” 

How this man has not been wed yet, is beyond madness to her.

“Gale…” it comes out more as a plea, as she feels her resolve to maintain composure weakening bit by bit as the conversation continues. She was exhausted, physically and mentally, and her heart had been through enough strain in one day. 

His shoulders sink. This was one of several attempts now that he’d made to break down the walls she had built up, and he was beginning to feel more like the villain rather than the hero coming to rescue the trapped maiden from her tower. 

“I do apologize. I fear I have overstepped once again. Here may be a good place to leave this conversation for now. I’ll let you rest.” He resigns, his words betraying the sullen expression he held. 

“Gale, no, I didn’t mean—” 

He holds his hand up to stop her. “It’s quite alright. Get some rest. Goodnight, Elara.” 

Before she can stop him, he turns to leave, pulling the door shut behind him. 

The room suddenly feels several degrees colder than it had prior to what had just occurred. She feels as though all of the oxygen had been sucked from her lungs and every bit of strength had been sapped from her body within a split second— emotional fortitude included, as tears that had been begging to be shed that she had been neglecting for longer than she could confidently say finally began to fall, slipping down her cheeks and wetting the collar of her night shirt. 

Her head falls back as she makes eye contact with the ceiling once again, gaze finding a large crack just above where she stood. It looked fresh, almost. Like it had occurred within the last day or so. 

She wondered if he noticed it while he stood in the doorway. 

She wondered if he was in his room, staring at the ceiling of his own bedroom. 

“Goodnight, Gale.” She whispers into the darkness of the night.

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previous chapter ❥ next chapter (coming soon) ❥ masterlist

(lmk if you’d like to be tagged in the coming chapters :3)

[sametsyun]

Magical problems require modern solutions

Baldur's Gate 3 x modern!teen!Fem!reader with guns(COD)

Should i make this a series lol?

Warnings: Blood, gore, corpse, murder, deranged homicide, deranged teenager, cussing, guns, sexual innuendos and jokes, no smut, murderous urges.

Perhaps messing around with an unknown portal scroll that opens to hells knows where in a battle with hundreds of goblins, is a bad idea. Well, for them of course but for this feral young lady? It was the best fucking thing she's ever experienced. As the group of adventurers stare wide eyed at the portal before them, a figure stumbles in, falling straight on their face. The portal shuts, leaving nothing but this mortal. "Fuck! I landed on ma' tits!"

The figure shouts, but the mask(?) helmet(?) on their head muffles out the sound. They, with a bit of a struggle, tugs off the mask, revealing a rather young girl. Her face scrunches in disgust once she realizes where she's landed on. "For fuck sake, Ghost, if your gonna throw me somewhere in the battlefield then throw me where there isn't a bloody corpse in here- Is that a bloody goblin?"

The girl quickly observes at her surroundings, realizing she's nowhere in the warzone where she was, just a few minutes ago. Instead of ruined concrete buildings, she finds herself in a middle of a battlefield between, 6 tall humans/creatures and short garden gnomes. She turns to the weird looking humans and asks, "Who should I kill, you or them?"

Then one of those nasty goblins charges, sword poised up to swing at her. She merely takes a glance at him and blankly points her gun and shoots. The loud bang reverberating around the goblin camp. The adventurers looks at the girl and the goblin, wondering what the fuck just happened and why the globin was just standing there mid-run, until they saw blood trickling down its forehead and it fell to the ground.

"Alright, garden gnomes it is" She tucks in her smaller gun and reaches for the two assault rifles hanging on her back, but not before throwing a protective barrier at the group. " Might wanna cover your ears" she says and laughs maniacally as she pulls the triggers. The bullets shot all over the place, embedding themselves into the puny flesh of the goblins. "THIS IS BETTER THAN PORN!! AHAHAHAHAHA!!" The group watches in horror as this girl singlehandedly massacre a whole clan of goblins, aside from a certain spawn who watches in glee.

✨ Astarion Approves ✨

Soon the battlefield is covered in dust clouds, obscuring the groups vision as the loud gunshots fades into the nothing. As soon as it clears, the protective barrier retracts back into a ball and the others can gawk at the numbers of bodies on the floor. In mere seconds, this girl has taken down every single goblin that they've been fighting for at least an hour.

A crisp sound brings back their attentions to the teen standing confidently as she cocks her guns. "Magical problems require modern solutions" she turns to them, sassily resting her guns on her shoulder.

"Which one of you ass fuckers portalled my cute ass in here?'

[gale-dekarios]

What is Rose's biggest flaw?

Hi anon!! Thank you so much for asking :3

Rose's biggest flaw is probably how he retreats when he's feeling any strong negative emotion. He really has no concept of how to deal with emotions like anger or sadness or hurt, so he has a tendancy to just... not. Usually by fleeing, or deflection, or denial, depending on the context. In his mind, life is perfect and he's happy all the time with no room for anything else ever, because if he admits he's not okay then he has to deal with all of the bullshit he's been surpressing, and it's just too much to handle at this point.

This ended up being really long, bc asking about my ocs is very much a "give an inch, take a mile" sort of deal, so I'll leave the rest under a readmore x) SO sorry anon

It normally doesn't impede him too much, Rose is actually a pretty positive and happy guy, but when it matters, oh boy.

He's still very much in denial about how much his best friend Milo's death actually impacted him. He'll admit to being sad about it, sure, but he's barely processed it and the way he talks about it, you'd think it happened years ago, not a few months. He has this detachment between himself and that event, barely ever speaking about it unless prompted, perpetually stuck at the denial of his own feelings about it, or how traumatic it actually was. She didn't go peacefully into that gentle night, she died when Elturel descended into Avernus, on a day Rose was supposed to be with her if he hadn't decided to take that damn extra run of gigs at a local tavern that paid pennies for the amount of work he actually did. All that stood between him and never being able to say goodbye to his friend was pushing back a trip to Elturel for a week. Gale didn't even know about Milo until he met Rose's family for the first time. He just. Doesn't bring her up. Doesn't want to deal with the fact he lost her.

Another example is probably Gale and Rose's first proper argument. This was well after they moved to Waterdeep, but before they got married. They'd had minor arguments before, but they were resolved pretty quickly and without much hassle. Gale had gotten into a really busy period of life. Between work and some research projects he had going on, they barely had time to speak to each other. Rose was beginning to feel a little lonely, but was managing okay for the most part. Then when they were finally getting little moments to talk to each other, the conversations would be short and quite clipped. Rose was feeling the stress of them being so disconnected and was being petulant about it, Gale was too distracted and exhausted to actually consider how he was coming off, that sort of thing. And it. Just. Kept. Happening.

At this point Rose is totally in his own head. He's managed to fully convince himself, without ever once actually communicating with Gale how he was feeling, that he'd made a massive mistake moving to Waterdeep, that Gale was getting bored of him, and that they were completely incompatible with each other.

There was a massive blowout argument. About anything except the fact that Rose's feelings were hurting. And instead of dealing with those emotions, those insecurities... Rose straight up left. Packed a bag whilst Gale was out and got a room in a tavern, waiting to board the next ship heading to Baldur's Gate the next morning.

Obviously that didn't happen. And Gale very much did force Rose to articulate what he was feeling like a goddamn grownup. And he did. Clumsily, but he did. And Gale apologised. And Rose apologised. And they had the very sweet make-up sex that accidentally whoospie-daisied them into having their firstborn son because Rose forgot to take his birth control in the weeks that they weren't talking to each other. And Rose never became perfect at communicating his negative emotions, but he worked on it, and he never fled like that again.

Speaking of. When their son is born, he has Gale's nose, Rose's chin, and the sparkle of something magical in his eyes from them both. They name him Milo.

[thekinkyleopard]

Caught’cha

A Zilya x Tassian Canon Snz Fic

⚠️Content Warning⚠️

Snz Fic, Forced Induce, Dom/Sub, Bratty Sub,

Edging, slight CNC

Description: Tass has been invited to stay in the Vampire’s den. Zilya is trying to remain a good host, but they find the little Jackalope snooping in places he doesn’t belong, and something inside Z snaps.

Based loosely off a prompt by Mochisnz

Author’s Notes: oops another ship. Can you tell what inspired these two ? 🫠🫠🫠 It’s Baldur’s Gate. Ok. Zilya is a product of my unhinged addiction to the new RPG. I needed a vampire OC because god damn does my blood kink run deep. Anyway! I hope you guys love these two 🫠 @aller-geez owns Tass and did the art as usual!

In the night, crept a tall figure, pale salmon eyes scanning over the landscape as if it had a deadline to meet. They did. Zilya was on the hunt, starving after neglecting their thirst for an extra day. It was hard to go out and hunt between campers and nearby hikers. They often found the best times to hunt were the colder months, when people were less likely to be wandering their property. There was a scent, one they’d been trailing for a minute, stalking through the tall unkempt grass of their land.

Under the glowing moonlight, they stay silent as they crept through the brush, eventually the smell of irresistible crimson liquid was getting closer and closer. Then, they spotted them, horns in the distance. More than likely a young buck of sorts. Zilya licked their lips with anticipation, if they lucked out, it would be practically bursting with blood. Almost salivating at the opportunity, the vampire squatted down, keeping those diluted coral eyes locked on target.

Waiting a few moments, making sure the creature wouldn’t stir, Z leapt from position their hands immediately grasping hold of the velvety antlers that essentially was their target. They both collapsed to the ground in a struggle.

“Hey what the fuck?!” A voice cried out upon being tackled. Zilya, realizing sooner rather than later, they were gripping a…hybrid creature of sorts? They scrambled backward, eyes widened with shock.

“Thee…is no buck? What’s this?” Tilting their head with confusion, scanning the creature in front of them. Seemed human, but adorned long ears like a rabbit, and horns like that of a deer. Zilya was properly perplexed, having never heard or seen such a being.

“Yeah, no kidding, I’m a fucking person, you creep! Why’d you do that??” Brushing the dirt off his sleeves, and rear end from having been tackled into the ground, he narrowed his eyes sharply at the practically frozen being in front of him.

“If thee a person why does’t thou look like an animal?” Looking at the other up and down, his dialect threw the jackalope off but he instead crossed his arms over his chest and looked back at the other with a questionable expression.

“You sure ask a lot of questions for someone I don’t know,” throwing out a bit of attitude as a deflection from how absolutely terrified he felt inside. Who was this person? Why were they out here? Why were they manhandling deer at 1 in the morning?

“And thee sure aren’t keen to answering thy questions of thine owner to this property,” Standing straight again, Z also crossed their arms in reflective defense.

“W-what?” Blinking with surprise, it was news to him that anyone owned this hunk of junk land, he couldn’t even remember seeing a house nearby just an old abandoned creepy castle.

“This is my field, I own all 28 acres of this land around the Castle…what? Did thy think it was just free ??” Zilya scoffed at the other, rolling their eyes a bit at the audacity of this land intruder.

“Kinda yeah….well, my bad, I’ve been staying in a tent nearby I hope that’s….cool?” Scratching the back of his shoulder nervously, looking around for an easy escape INCASE the other wanted to turn violent upon learning of his squatting. Never letting his guard down.

“Cool? Thee sleeping outside?” Zilya raised a thin white brow, almost unnerved to hear that someone was just, sleeping outside in the grass.

“Yeah, it’s no big deal though right?” Tassian shrugged his shoulders, it hadn’t been the first time and it wouldn’t be his last, he was like a traveling nomad! Yeah! Not homeless, that sounded….well, pathetic.

“Well if thee need somewhere to sleep, and swear not to drive a stake through my chest…might I offer a stay in the castle til thee find other arrangements?” the tall figure spoke with elegance, almost high society with a slight accent.

“You’re the stranger offering me a place to stay, usually isn’t that the first warning sign that YOU’RE in fact gonna kill me? Also why a stake? That’s oddly specific…” he stepped back one single step, squinting his eyes again.

“Uh, no reason just a metaphor,” Z quickly recovered. If they told the man now, it was bound to scare him off and truthfully, it would be so nice to have company for once. “Zilya Fae, nice to make thy acquaintance,” sticking their hand out for a proper greeting.

“Tass,” the dark haired male responds apprehensively taking the other’s hand in his own. The strange being’s skin was cold to the touch, it caused Tass to shiver unexpectedly, pulling away he looked the other up and down.

“Okay….let me just grab my things and I guess you can just lead the way?” Already starting to walk in the direction of where he was camping out at. Z following close behind.

“Sounds swell, shall I help thou carry thine things? I do have some decently working hands,” they came across a small clearing of grass with a tent, and backpack set up in the middle. Tass walked over to it and began to deconstruct the tent, slipping the parts back into his bag. Rolling up the tarp, and clasping it to the bag it self via straps and buckles.

“No need, it’s all made to be carried in one heave,” Tass shrugged his shoulders simply, he had made sure his setup wasn’t too complicated, or risk losing things when having to leave in a hurry. Together the two walked in awkward silence before reaching the front of the castle, they stopped. Tass was feeling apprehensive, unsure of this decision with how darkened the area was. Clearly no electricity.

This place was strange, completely out the ordinary. Half of the large “abandoned” castle was dilapidated, crumbling at the seams, and the other half was almost unscathed. Possibly a fallen tree or bad storm had taken down the left hand side. Tass looks over at the tall, dark, looming presence in front of him. Does he accept the invitation into the other’s home? His down stretched pierced rabbit ears twitched with caution, it had been so long since he hadn’t slept on the ground….it might be nice.

“You’re sure you’re not going to rip my skin off and wear it like a Halloween costume later?” Raising a questioning brow, taking one step back, with the strange, almost grey skinned, being leering at him. Zilya couldn’t help but let out a genuine chortle of laughter. Almost unsettling how quickly, and exponentially the sound was that escaped them.

“Of course not…I don’t celebrate Halloween,” their attempt at a joke that only caused Tass to hesitate within the doorway as they were making their way in.

“Alright well….can I use the bathroom? It’d be nice to shower,” trying to brush past the awkwardness of the entire conversation, and situation, he figured he could at least get clean before settling into the scariest place he’d ever stepped foot in.

“Sure but, let me start up the broiler, least thee want a cold sho-…” already making their way toward the large hall before he was stopped with Tass’s sudden response.

“I do,” Zilya paused, he turned and looked at the Jackalope with a puzzled expression.

“Thy guest…wants a cold shower?” Nodding in response before they could finish the thought, Tassian interjected.

“Yes, I do,” repeating himself once again, orange eyes looking Zilya up and down for any more context clues of what kind of person he was up against. Truthfully, the Jackalope just didn’t want to burden the other more than he was, but also, couldn’t be left alone in this place nor have the courage to follow the stranger any further into the darkened domicile.

“If that is what thee so wish, I shan’t be the one to cease thine actions…do as thy will, please,” they nodded toward him now. Tassian thought this whole gentleman’s tone was strange, also probably full of shit but they hadn’t seemed to drop the act yet, so he couldn’t help but wonder if this really was just who they were.

“You’re a weird man….” Shaking his head slowly back and forth in bewilderment. He’d never met someone so, peculiar before.

“Oh, I am not a man, but thank you,” Zilya responded almost too casually. Tass couldn’t put his finger on it, there was something off about this person, and not how they identified, everything they were.

“You’re not?” Asking for clarification on what exactly he was confronted with.

“No, I do not identify neither male or female, I simply am Z, or Zilya, nothing more or less,” Tassian nodded with understanding, Zilya just seemed to intrigue him more and more by the minute they spoke. He’d never met someone who didn’t resonate with either male or female before. How interesting.

“Noted, alright then Z, you strange…being you,” floating his hands around like the other was made of magic or from another planet, which made the vampire’s lip turn up into a delighted smirk. “I’m gonna go take a shower,” setting his stuff lazily onto the ground, he rustled through it, picking out a pair of pajamas and his toiletries bag.

“Enjoy!” Neither of them acute enough to realize Tass had never been here before, and it was a relatively gigantic place to be inside of. Tass turned around and waltzed his way through the hall way. After a while of walking, Tass only started to realize, he’d forgotten directions.

He’d also, already made a few turns in hopes his instinct could find where he was going. It couldn’t. Well, he WAS inside a giant cool castle, why not explore then? Creeping around the halls silently the Jackalope turned a corner and noticed a very large stone chamber. “What’s this?” He wondered out loud, stepping through the intricately carved archway. Ivory vines and roses littered the surfaces of trim along the walls of the area, and one large black coffin that stood out, in the middle of the room. “…a coffin?” At first, Tass didn’t think much of it, maybe Z just slept in a coffin. The other was off putting, awkward and weirdly beautiful. It didn’t make sense, until it did.

“Mother fucker….didn’t invite me to be nice, they’re trying to eat me!” He stumbled back, but found himself hitting a wall. Or was it? Zilya quickly brought their hands up to his shoulders and gripped them tightly.

“This doesn’t look like the bathroom to me,” a much darker, and deeper voice than the one he’d met before, echoed from behind him. Tass froze immediately within the other’s grasp.

“I uh…I…you…” taken completely off guard he could speak, like the cat had gotten his tongue.

“I, uh, me? What?” They chuckled after mocking the stuttering jackalope. “That I’m a Vampire? Yes, I am, and thou also, snooping where thee don’t belong,” clicking their tongue with disapproval, there was one thing Zilya didn’t like, was those who couldn’t ask or mind their own. So much for secrecy.

“N-no! You didn’t tell me where t-to go!” Trying to excuse himself of blame. It was true, he didn’t know where to go, but also, there was an easier way to fix that problem besides venturing further into the unknown.

“Thou didn’t think to turn around and ask, hm?” Z turned their head to look up at them now, fingers gripping the prey’s chin tightly.

“I-…..got lost,” his legs buckled, this strange new aura, almost like he was conversing with a whole new person. Was this Z? Or was this the vampire? Were they one and the same? Or was he just manipulated?

“No, thee went SNOOPING,” snapping from their once calm and cool composure, their fingers curled inward as they clasped around the other’s delicate jaw, squeezing it with the intention of showing the other they could easily crush his jaw into dust. Though they wouldn’t. There were two sides of this creature, one they weren’t so proud of, and who they presented to be. They couldn’t control the rage, the bloodlust, the power.

“Get off my ass will you?” Trying to brush the incident off as an accident, and trying to appear tougher than he really was. Truthfully, it was a no big deal Oopsie poopsie moment, but Zilya wasn’t going to let it go. There were morals, principles one should stick by. Snooping someone’s home in the guise of not knowing better, as an adult, was crossing a line.

“No, you need to be punished,” Z stated firmly, towering over the slightly shaking Jackalope.

“W-?! PUNISHED?” What did they mean by that! Surely not….killing him right?

Without a word more, Zilya gripped the other’s throat tightly in their grasp, dragging him over to the coffin, shoveling the lid aside. It crashed to the floor with a loud “Bang” as Zilya crawled inside and forced the male into his lap.

“H- Hey!” Blushing profusely, his heart racing and his body reacting the opposite of which he thought it might be, ya know, being forcibly grabbed by a monster and what not. “Let go! St-stop! Don’t suck my blood!” Protesting loudly.

“Hah! Suck thy blood? I don’t need to do that to teach thee a lesson, please,” ridiculing the other for even suggesting such a low level way to show who’s in charge. “I have other ways of making thee squirm, hm?” With their free hand, Z pulled a single feather out from the inside of their jacket. The feather was black, sleek, that of a raven or crow. Tass watched as it slowly came to his face. “Now thy is going to count to ten, hm? Don’t fuck this up, or thee will start from the beginning,” they gently brushed the softened material against the other’s nose, already twitching and twisting to fight off the sensations it cursed him with.

“N-no! Stop it!” His face tickled, he tried to squirm and fight it but being trapped within Zilya’s grasp was unmatched. His nose already flexing and stretching against the feather.

“Count to 10 without exploding,” Z responded calmly, ignoring the other’s fussing and fighting as they dragged the feather across his ticklish flesh.

“Hnnn…n-no!” Swiping his face back and forth but only making his situation worse by helping the feather move across his nose to a faster pace. He could feel the walls of his nostrils filling up, that familiar itch in the back of his throat, the tingle of movement as it threatened to overflow.

“The faster thee cooperates, the sooner thy will be out of this predicament, now count,” the vampire commanded sternly, never letting up on their affairs. Eyes fixated on every twitch and jerk of Tass’s defiant nose.

“……O-One h-H…” it built up, Z continued to tenderly brush the feather underneath the smaller’s twittering nostrils. His breathe caught in his throat, and he swore it was going to be the end of him, but he had to hold up. He sniffed softly, trying his best to contain any mess from escaping down his face.

“Now two,” Z’s velvet like voice almost brought a sense of comfort now as it softened with each accomplished count. It was a double edged sword, while he hated it, he also found himself reacting positively, his mind frenzied with lust. Yet, he would die before admitting it. He continued to fight.

“T-..hAh-…Hi’—…Two…” he struggled against that one, the feather splitting and tickling upward the little hairs living inside those holes. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to make it.

“Three,” the other continued to encourage him through it, hand delicately wafting and swiping the feather over the very tip of Tassian’s struggling face. All the while, their whole body turned hot, enjoying the sight of this far more than he would have drinking the blood of some random animal tonight. No, he could hold off a few more hours so long as this could satiate something inside of him.

“Th— TS’GKNT!!!” There it went, decorating the vampire’s busy hand in glistening droplets of projectile saliva. Zilya swallowed the urge to moan by biting their lower lip.

“Start over,” clearing their throat, Z’s eyes narrowed, and that domineering attitude was back, almost impossible for Tassian to get a grip over.

“Pl-please…” he tried begging. He couldn’t do it, there would be no way to survive this. He snuffled loudly. “Sndf…”

“No, I didn’t ask thou to beg, I asked thee to count,” again, they were stern, the words harsh as they spoke them. Tass sighed, trying to catch his breath, before soon he found Zilya returning to their motions. It drifted over his nose, cheeks and chin, only for it to get dragged back up, and under his tormented, leaking nose across the top of his shuddering lip. A glimmer of moist sheen reflected off the edge of the feather now making them both aware that Tass was unable to keep up the act much longer.

“Nnnnh..O-One,” Tass tried once more, he would at least put his best foot forward.

“Good, now two,” Pressing him further, Zilya rapidly flittered the top of the softened object against Tassian’s nose, fast and uncalculated.

“Tw-………..” he paused, his breath caught and he hicked slightly before catching himself. His jaw slung open in response but quickly he snapped it shut and swallowed the feeling of it about to burst from within him. “Two,”

“Three,” impressed by the other’s will and strength to keep himself at bay, but Zilya was determined to get him to crack again. Their groin burning from want and need at the sight of him struggling against it.

“Thre-..three Hh’ih…” the sweet sound of each hitch and hick was only furtherly driving them mad, the silence between each one filled by their labored breaths.

“Aht don’t crash now, come on, four,” Pushing the other further down the rabbit hole.

“Fah….fahwr SNndf,” maybe if he could just inhale some of that ick that threatened to leak out, he could manage to get himself to the count of ten. A loud snort emitted as he tried to clear his sinuses, but only managing to stop himself from pouring out all over his own mouth. He was still determined, he could do it.

“Five,” Tassian heard the next number and then his resolve faulted, wavering in uncertainty that he could manage, because as the word fell off Zilya’s lips, the jackalope found his body trembling just trying to keep himself from erupting loudly.

“Fiiiiii-..ve..” struggling to get through it, he managed, releasing a breath that wasn’t almost a sigh of relief.

“Almost there, half way, come on,” Zilya was feeling prideful in between the carnal lust they were also feeling for the sneezing hybrid. Look how far he had come, just 5 more to go.

“S…sih’ S’ih…S’HI’TSCH!” So close but yet so far away as the jackalope felt crushed under the weight of his own inability to just hold it in. He sniffled loudly, rubbing the back of his nose with his hand trying to erase himself of this painfully ticklish predicament.

“You were so close….come on, start over,” Z clicked his tongue, shaking his head back and forth before commanding the other to continue.

“Please…I’ll give h’Hi..you anything…” the vampire laughed, fully, it boomed and bounced off the stone walls. The little jackalope just didn’t get it.

“This is what I want, to see thee suffer under the fate of my hands….watching thy face exhaust itself as I relentlessly tickle it…marvelous and delectable, the perfect punishment,” pink eyes seemed to shimmer with lust, almost mistakenly similar to how someone could look when they were starving. Was this really the same person he’d met outside?

“How?!” Tassian furrowed his brows, sick of the shenanigans and riddles.

“I’m a vampire, little one, I crave the power…” Z’s lips pulled into a cocky smirk, one that made Tassian a mix between extremely turned on, and outwardly annoyed.

“You’re si— H’GXNT!” Bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, this one came out unexpectedly, so half way through, Tass just tried to simply stifle it from happening, sick of the other having this type of control over him.

“Tsk tsk, don’t hold them back like that little one, you’ll only prolong your punishment, now get back to it…” their voice dropped and suddenly Z was incredibly serious once more. “One,” the word dripped off his tongue like a shard of ice.

“One..” Tass repeated without hesitation now, the sound of Zilya’s voice not giving him much an indication he could win the argument he wanted to start. Determined to best the vampire at his little game.

“Two”

“T-two,” the Jackalope continued to count along, orange eyes staring dangerously back into stone cold pink ones. His body shuddered involuntarily.

“Three,” Zilya continued.

“…….”he paused, Tass physically swallowing the saliva that built up under his tongue that was desperate to release. His sinuses so incredibly full from being played with.

“Three??” Zilya furrowed his brows, gaze darkening as he forced the feather to tickle the inside walls of Tassian’s nostrils, a line of snot embarrassingly trickling down his lip.

“Three….” His voice shook in response, half because he needed to sneeze so incredibly bad but also from trying to avoid consuming his ick. Zilya’s eyes fluttered, noticing the mess enough to grab at their own sleeve hem, and wipe the glistening substance clean for him.

“Four,” voice gentler as they started to coax the other through it. They also, wished to see the little Jackalope beat the odds. It was fun, was it not? They were having fun.

“F-f-Four…” Tassian closed his eyes momentarily, just trying to focus on the in and out motion of breathing deeply, hoping it would get him through the rest of this god forsaken punishment.

“Five,” Zilya noticed the other was powering through as much as he could manage, and that could only mean one thing for Z. Up the stakes. They needed to see more suffering, Z brought the hand that wasn’t busy tickling Tass’s nose, to his thigh. Gauging the other’s response before sliding upward with his slender fingers, gripping the area.

“F-Fih…ve….” Tassian’s breath became more unsteady as Zilya’s hand started to creep up his leg. A mixture of pleasure and discomfort now, shit, he’s gonna be so embarrassed when Z finds out how hard he is. He blushed, bright red.

“Six,” Z’s volume steady, consistent, while they reached, and unzipped the jackalope’s jeans. Soon after, Tass’s pants button was popped open and a cold hand slipped inside. He gasped.

“H-Hah…Si…x” he stuttered and whimpered, his eyes glazing and glossy as he struggled to get a hold of himself. His nose and throat tickled, burned and agitated his comfort, body writhing and wiggling beneath the hypnotic vampire. Why didn’t he just run? Simple. A fantasy come true, he never thought he’d have? No. Simply he wouldn’t allow the other to see him beg any further for mercy, lurching and twitching underneath the other. No, this was now a challenge between him and the beast. One he thought if he could win, would humiliate the vampire from ever trying to best him again.

“Seven,” Zilya’s silky tone caressed him, his palm gripping hold of Tassian’s hard, leaking length and began to pump inside the space of his boxers.

“S’heh’ven,” he almost lost it there, if he wasn’t concerned with how good Z’s hand felt on his cock, he might be able to push away the insistent urge of needing to sneeze. It wasn’t so lucky. He was faltering, bursting at the seams trying to keep himself steady. He just needed to get to ten. His eyes teared over, drops trickling down reddened cheeks.

“Eight,” Z’s movements turned fast, fingers squeezing tightly around the other’s throbbing shaft, slipping the pad of their thumb carelessly around Tassian’s tip.

“Ei—ght,” his eyes squeezed shut, trying desperately to focus through the force of the next two numbers. That was it. Just two. He could make it through two more numbers.

“Look at you, you’re almost there, ready?” Z praised the man for his resilience to get through it. Upping the ante, Z gently wafted a soft breeze of air from pursed lips, allowing in a cooling sensation to stiffen, Tass’s numbing nostrils. This was the edge needed to get those sensations back. All the while being stroked and edged.

“H’ah!!” Tassian almost forgot he was in the midst of a punishment, it felt so good. He hadn’t been touched in a very long time, and something about the forcefulness of this creature only made his cheeks hotter. He was losing. In a matter of minutes he went from determined to putty in the creature’s hands.

“Not yet, hold it back…Nine,” Zilya commanded, their own voice turning strained as they had to fight the gnawing desires to swallow the jackalope hole, or at the very least pierce his fangs into the flesh of his softened neck and have many different ways with him.

“Nih….Nine….” Almost there, then he would be rewarded, yes? For being so good, for being so brave?

“Goooood boy…now Ten,” the long drawn out praise, like music to Tassian’s red tipped ears. His body shuddered, his glistening maw open wide. There was no chance of catching even a single atom of oxygen through his stuffed up nostrils. Who was this? Who had he become? The pleasure was too great.

“T-t…Hi’h…TEN—K’TSCHIEW!!” He almost completed his mission, almost reached a perfect ten, but the feather assault proved to be too much as it teased and tickled him. Out shot a loud sneeze in place of a cry for pleasure, his body shaking violently. He spritzed the vampire across their face, whom could only roll their eyes in lust as they felt the cooling sensation across their flesh and watched the other release all their pent up energy. Zilya squeezed their palm tighter around Tassian’s now leaking member.

“Ohhhh, y’know? I’ll give thee that…thou at least made it to ten, before breaking apart,” Z chuckled with a toss of their head, hand never ceasing to please the little hybrid. Bodies smushed up tight within the space of the coffin.

“Hnn..hah~” he moaned with labored breath, it wafted across Zilya’s intently watching features.

“Does that feel good?” Licking their lips predatorily, yet with a softened tone of voice. His eyes glancing swiftly between the other’s face and bare open neck. It wasn’t something they could help, just pure instinct, but they fought it back.

“S-so…hah~ good…” Tassian peaked open with those gorgeous orange orbs and Zilya almost felt themselves soften, almost. The instinctive animal inside of them, burned hotter.

“Good…” watching the other get closer and closer to the brink of losing it before, right there, Z could see it. Swoop, just at the moment Tass thought he could blow his load. Zilya had stopped all motions and allowed the other to suffer at the loss of a much needed and long awaited orgasm.

“H-hey! Wa-wait! You can’t just….” Suddenly cut off.

“This was a punishment, remember? Thee wish to cum? Then earn thine reward with good behavior,” Zilya smirked, confident, smug. That fucking bastard.

“Good behavior? Earn it? You asshole!” Shoving the other away from him, trying his best to scramble out of the coffin. “No! I will do no such thing… I don’t need a reward from you!” Sticking his tongue out and clasping his hands at his hips.

“We shall see then, won’t we?” Z sat against the edge of the coffin, confidently licking the tips of his wet fingers, tasting the jackalope on his tongue, pink orbs watched the other carefully.

At a stand still, the two stared each other down, Tassian blushed profusely watching the other sip his pre cum off their hands. Neither of them moving from position. “So….I can stay here still right?”

“Would thee still like to? I am a monster, after all,” raising his brow in an almost challenging response.

“I never—“ cut off again.

“You didn’t have to,” Zilya almost looked hurt, looking to the side. This was why they didn’t say anything at first, about being a vampire. People always thought the worst of them immediately and never truthfully gave them a chance.

“Look, so long as you don’t go sucking my body dry of all its nutrients, I don’t care that you’re a vampire, okay?” Tassian clasped his arms across his chest, hip hooked with a hint of attitude. How dare the other think that he was immediately judging him!….well…he kind of did. It was fair. His demeanor softened. “And no more using that shit…” pointing aggressively to the feather. “Against me!”

“I can promise I won’t drink thine blood…..without thy permission…..but the other request? Denied, I’ll punish thee as seen fit,” winking at the other with a cheeky resolve. Tass rolled his eyes but couldn’t help feel his heart skip a beat with excitement. What on earth was happening to him? Was he seriously crushing on a creature of the night? This was a new low, even for him, but he might as well get settled with it. If he was to be staying with him after all.

To be continued….?

Author’s Notes: OOOOOOOO towards the end I decided I was gonna make a second to this. 🫨🫨🫨 so stayed tuned for that eventually. I have so much stuff I have to accomplish and post, I’m very behind but enjoy this of our new babies! 🫨🥰 @aller-geez owns Tassian and did the art!

[zeico]

Long post request: how do you feel about BG3?

I didn't realize a new patch came out on final fantasy for about a week because Baldur Gate o Baldur Gate

currently in act 3 and trying to stock up on shit since I recently cleared out the bank. I'm TRYING to hold myself to not starting a new character until I finish this one but I see so many monk items and i want themmmmm (I have a half elf monk open in character creator right now)

Since I played a lotttt of dragon age origins, parts of the structure of bg3 felt very familiar to me like the camp itself and like how u interact with the companions. Like coming home in a way.

I'm also playing 5e a lot so that part of the structure of it was very easy to adapt to. I do still have trouble with like certain interface things like oh man gotta select the version of the spells BEFORE TARGETTING NO GALE WHY ARE YOU RUNNING TO THEM GET BACK HERE WHY ARE YOU HITTING THEM WITH YOUR 8 STRENGTH BACKED STICK

But its great and I do like the changes made to better facilitate it being a VIDEO GAME. Like I'm a Divination Wizard. My main Thing is portent dice. (There's also detect thoughtsing my way through all social encounters which is SO GREAT honestly scratches an itch I've always wanted to do but it would be such a pain in the ass for tabletop. Like first first ever dnd character I cooked up was an illiterate mind reading sorcerer that like got by through just that. But that would be so annoying to do with like.... PEOPLE AT THE TABLE of like 'so im just constantly getting ur surface thoughts...... i can't entirely control this... i'm sorry....' )

ANYWAY portent dice!!!!! in bg3 they have it at level 6 you fulfill little prophecies to get ur dice back to make the big boss miss their BIG attack or make SURE you hit (or my favorite, make the rogue crit on a sneak attack) instead of having it that when u cast a divination spell u get a spell slot back. since theres so few divination spells especially like using IN COMBAT so I understand the change.

I also like the variety of shit you can do. like my partner is one to summon 9 creatures btw the whole party so theres a small army of creatures following their main party. (also several buffed with mage armor and everyone has a higher level aid cast on them so they also have a decent amount of health its really funni to watch) I like wrote off the summon guys moves because I just dont like to have extra guys usually.

Something I wish I did on my first playthrough tho was simply long resting more I think I fucked myself out of a lot of social link scenes in act 1 bc I straight up didn't rest enough. The game is like 'oh no time is ticking' but things aren't REALLY like that (cept for like... 2 instances I can think of) bc its a videogame and thats fine.

It WANTS you to use all your abilities and not be dum like me and just cantrip my way through most the first act 'just in case i need my slots later' why am i like this. both short and lone rest more and just use all your moves its FINE

speaking of social links and companions theyre all great. I love them all. I DO wish some things weren't like... romance locked it feels??? well more like you HAVE to reject them???? idk I had a scene with gale when he's like 'but we're not THAT close tho' and i felt bad bc like... I want to be wizard friends with you. I'm SORRY I'm so weak to both vampires and elves.

heard some shit about astarion having like so much content compared to all the other companions and man imma feel so spoiled on my playthroughs where i dont smooch the vampire. I do wish everyone else had more scenes too its a shame.

something about bg3 thats HILARIOUS to me personally is that its all like 'recruit allies against the cult' and in another irl campaign im in thats been in hiatus for years but I still hope to come back its REALLY similiar. Oh no a huge looming death cult threat to the city. oh no the city has its own fuckmess of bullshit to deal with. OH NO a shapeshifting killer. Anytime theres strong parallels to that campaign it sparks joy.

A few technical problems I've had tho were around switching characters in and out of the party. like in a building and I wanna run back to camp to tag in someone. Wait why are they on the roof????

Or I tag in someone and WHY ARE YOU CLIPPING THROUGH THE FLOOR? Tbh the game is so enjoyable I just sigh and say "Video. Game." out loud and load a save. Like the last time that was REALLY frustrating is when it just would NOT let me out of a restricted area like please I persuaded u 3 times let me go I was on my way OUT.

Also why do all these 8 strength men have abs. This is Wrong. I'm bad with figuring out the technical shit of modding but holy shit I need them to not have abs.

Anyway I had this and the character creator open for like 2 hours now so Imma start that now.

[melkyt]

I love Gale Dekarios because he proved me wrong. I came from Dragon Age 2 crowd, who saw Gale and knew nothing about him but that he was a wizard and had a bomb in his chest. Imagine if in DA2, Ander's did not need us to get him a bomb, and instead of Justice he had the netherese orb be the 'problem'. That man even before he met us probably would just go straight to whatever institution is unjust be it the chantry in DA2 or Moonrise Towers/Gortash's Keep and blow it to nothing with like a .005% chance of being talked out of it.

I wonder how he would be in dnd world where mages are more respected, would he calm down and sit in his tower. One day I just want to read an au where there is a role swap for the BG3 Companions ending up in Thedas and causing chaos, while the DA2 companions end up in Fae-run and are not sure what to do, as all the problems they encounter are fixable by just killing the right person. Since their war was against a system and tradition I think they might flounder more when they have a specific big bad, trying to find what makes everything work the way it does and what system they need to fix underneath all the chaos that is Baldurs Gate.

Tav being left behind with them is just "I am not looking to start a political coop against ever noble in the city right now, we need to fight the brain, the big thing over there" and Ander's and Varric are just "Yes, yes and *then what*"

I bet they felt most in their element is when going to Avernus, say they all get trapped in Faerun post game, Tav decides to go fill Karlach in, see if she is still there or if the spell effected her. At least they think they will be but the hells of Avernus are much different to the Fade, and the demons more forthcoming and obvious.

Meanwhile in Thedas, Astarion and Gale are livid and annoyed at what is happening to both elves and mages. Neither unfamiliar with slavery but this whole system is somehow worse, and Hawke who is functioning on no sleep and full of trauma, does not know what to make of them. For a long time they just get all the information from Varric's journals and when are caught up, run off to murder some people. Don't think this would go much differently then the main plot of the DA2 games, the chantry would 100% get destroyed. Then they would focus on getting back to Tav CX. (These are my opinions, I have not played DA2 in a long time but these are the head-canons i have in my head, and im sticking by them lol)

[dwarfsized]

leetleblue fanfiction masterlist

hi! you might also know me as leetleblue over on ao3

thought it was time to collect all the links in one place, so ta-da! find my fic below the read more! as i update this i'll only indicate if something isn't bg3 because at this point it's all bg3 babey.

series:

the transformed tiefling (astarion/kira)

true colors shine in darkness and in secrecy (ongoing), the more straight-forward longfic, the game-events-rewrite except we get very involved in druid politics

Astarion grabs a fistful of her robes and hauls her closer, the full brunt of his terror and rage slamming back into the front of her mind. He demands, snarling, “Why didn’t you let me kill him? What have you done to me?”

eldath's mercy (ongoing), AU: different first meeting, Astarion stuck in a druid's grove

Astarion did have a plan to flee his Master. He'd take some gold and run for a merchant city and make a new, luxurious life for himself. Despite that, he ends up at the Circle of Calm Waters, surrounded by druids.

that's the kind of love ive been dreaming of (ongoing), dubcon, inappropriate use of the tadpole, dream sex.

At first Astarion was stuck in his trance, but Kira pulls him into a dream, instead.

waltz with five eyes, two hearts (karlach/shadowheart/wyll)

ease (oneshot, 2189 words) Wyll-centric character study, pre-relationship, examining how isolated Wyll has been because of the Mizora of it all before the tadpoles

Wyll has gotten so good at small talk that when Karlach says, “Copper for your thoughts?” He ought to comment on how lovely the sunset is shaping up to be this evening or grin and ask if Karlach thinks Gale will put any vegetables in their dinner tonight. What he does say is, “Mizora.”

new steps (oneshot, 5277 words) Wyll considering his history with his father as they get ready to enter Baldur's Gate, with some early relationship stuff in there also for the triad.

Wyll had believed, in the deepest and most secret parts of himself that he’d dared not even think about for the last seven years, that he might get to return home hailed a hero.

other fic:

troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match (ongoing), Modern AU, Astarion/Auri/Kira

Auri expects the Ironhand Warehouse gig to change her life, at least a little bit. The vampire is a surprise.

innatism (explicit, no ships, 1996 words) Second Person POV, You are the Dark Urge and you are giving someone a Very Bad Night.

When Minthara said she would meet you to burn the Grove, you wanted to tell her yes and bathe in the blood of all those wet-eyed fools you’d promised to save. The word had formed on your tongue and swallowing it down had been bitter.

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

Two weeks ago, on Monty:

Foxy walks in to see the Ruin DLC-looking Monty playing Danganronpa on his computer and Steam account. Because this Monty has literally nothing to do around here.

He also deleted Foxy’s Baldur’s Gate 3 save. Foxy kicks the shit out of him.

Ruin Monty’s kinda just been sitting alone in a completely white room this whole time.

Foxy tries to explain the Mimic, and convince Ruin Monty to track it instead of deleting his saves. He’s been fucking with all of Foxy’s saves.

Ruin Monty is currently passively suicidal, and completely lacking in self-confidence.

Ruin Monty starts crying about how shit his existence is right now. (No legs or suit, stranded in a foreign dimension, being made fun of and used, having nothing to do besides sit in alone in that completely white boiler room)

Ruin Monty resolves to delete Monty’s savefiles, too. And tells Foxy that he took his Baldur’s Gate character on a murder spree, killing the entire party and anyone he set his eyes on. Then he deleted every single save except for that one.

Foxy responds by deleting Ruin Monty’s saves.

Ruin Monty has a girlfriend.

Ruin Monty mocks Foxy for being lonely.

For some reason, one of the staircases yeets you off the edge when you get too close.

Foxy tries to make Monty beat Ruin Monty to death with a golf club. Monty refuses because they haven’t exploited him for views enough yet.

Foxy can yeet those golf clubs amazingly far.

Foxy and Monty do not know what the VRChat in the episode titles means. VRChat does exist in their world, but they don’t play it.

Foxy tells Monty about Ruin Monty somehow getting a girlfriend in the two weeks he’s been in this dimension. Monty hates that fact, and decides to look into it.

Ruin Monty’s girlfriend is Forkface.

Right when Monty imparts this knowledge onto Foxy, she appears behind him, breathing heavy.

Forkface can be in two places at once! Because Monty is still watching Ruin Monty and Forkface have their date.

Foxy promises not to do anything to Ruin Monty.

Forkface stares for a moment, before starting to walk away.

Foxy mentions the saves Ruin Monty deleted, and asks Forkface if it was her idea. Forkface, incredibly slowly, nods.

Foxy asks why Forkface hates him. She backs away, staring at him the whole time.

Monty tells Foxy to close his eyes so they can take him somewhere.

They lead him to a dead end wall and tell him to walk through the wall. Foxy runs into the wall, repeatedly.

Foxy thinks it’s a prank. Monty demonstrates that if he walked slowly, he would’ve gone straight through.

Foxy follows.

Ruin Monty: I’d become a better villain.

Foxy: Yeah, you would.

___

Foxy: You every just think that maybe your words hurt people.

Ruin Monty, no hesitation: Yeah. I’m glad they hurt you.

___

Monty: If that thing has a girlfriend, it has more rizz than me, cause I’m struggling to get Earth. What could possibly date that thing?

THE PLOTTWIST!! Forkface being his girlfriend is not what I expected at all

[fetabathwater]

Oh ho ho! Durge questions: 8, 15, and 24 👀

questions here!

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

She hates it. Like, genuinely, she hates the leaves and dirt and trees and bugs and camping and like sure. She was a bit of a loner in the city, but the wilderness has not given her a new appreciation for rangers - if anything, she thinks they're even more ridiculous. Walking in one straight line will not give her the comfort of eventually reaching the walls, instead she's walking. And walking. And walking. Blistered feet and aching muscles and uneven ground, in a line that isn't even direct, and doing roadside repairs to clothes and shoes sucks. Everyone is lucky she has experience with the finer details of needlework, but she has far less patience for it.

The only slight benefit to walking through the wilderness is it being easier to stash y'know. Evidence. Bodies. Loot. But also that her fondness for being able to take a dip in rivers/streams/etc does not come with the threat of Umberlee. She just has to watch out for a dozen other beasts or creatures.

15. What is your Dark Urge’s greatest fear?

Deep down, it really is becoming the... mindless Bhaalspawn beast that so many before her had become. Amma takes all the steps and plays along, as if she had a chance to do something different, but Orin's actions were a mixed blessing. It did not remove the fear, even if Amma took some time to realise why it ate at her until the truth was revealed, but she is still waiting for that moment. For when she lets her guard down, and her father returns to claim what is his.

She's afraid to seek him out. She's afraid to kill him. But she will, one day.

24. Does your Dark Urge have a treasured item with them? If yes, what is it and why is it special? If no, how do they feel about item sentimentality in general?

Amma has a very intricately designed pocket watch on a rather thick, silver chain (it's a bit burnished, however if one was to actually inspect the discolouring... it looks rather like old blood). The case of the watch is engraved with a worn away script, where only parts of the draconic are able to be read, but it's meaningless. This runs around the edges twice over, encircling a raised piece of deep red stone on a dark piece of metal. To most untrained eyes, it looks possibly like ruby, or garnet. However, it is a small fraction of solidified hellfire, set on infernal metal, and then seared to the silver. At odds with the draconic that surrounds it, definitely, but there is no clear way to open the watch. After all, why not take such a strangely crated piece another step further, to require a sacrifice to open it up.

However, Amma has not gone far enough into inspecting such an item, and never had the interest even before Orin scrambled her mind. It was left to her alongside a note from the Primistress she might've called mother, but the betrayal meant she only slung the artefact around her neck and never read the letter.

If Amma had possibly any interest to actually figuring out the puzzle, she would open it to find several things. The watch ticked along, despite there being no cogs internally. Hands were conjured by gentle magic, yet there were several, pointing in every which way. The way they pointed was part of the Primistress' obligation to her own patron, to hunt the enemies of Lady Saharel. The underside of the stone featured carved words, which mean nothing out of order ("blade reed belonging rust oblivion whole"), and there was a painting folded up neatly inside. A portrait of Amma, before her being fostered by a noble family in Baldur's Gate, sitting in the Primistress' lap. Smudged and dog-eared, but well loved. On the back is a poem and a promise, with where Amma may learn she actually held the repository of her mother's soul.

She doesn't know why she continues to hold onto it, and it definitely is a point of contention whenever she tries to throw it away.

[missizzy]

A Game Novice's Baldur's Gate Log, 83 1/2 Hours In: Enter Moonrise

Masterpost

(Note: this will definitely contain spoilers for all I've played through, and probably quite of a bit of the later stuff I've also seen.)

Throughout most of these posts, I haven't identified the various streamers I've watched play this game, and honestly, I haven't even always remembered who they were. This week, however, I must give a shout-out to @cypheroftyr, as when I reached the fight in front of the Shadowfell portal, I rather shamelessly stole her tactic of planting Shadowheart in front of it with Spirit Guardians up. (Man, that spell is useful. That wasn't even the only fight this week where it was the MVP spell.) Very grateful for that one.

Since we'd just gotten his old lute out of the hospital, the week started with us waking Art Cullagh, followed by Halsin leading us out to the portal for said fight. I had in fact watched two streamers do this fight, and the second one really struggle with it, so I was prepared for the hard one. I had forgotten, however, that these streamers tend to play on harder levels than Explorer.

I was reminded of that when the fight started with only five turns to go, instead of the ten they'd played through. I was able to have both Sara and Lae'zel hastened for more of it than not. I think there might've been fewer shadow creatures coming towards the shadow portal, too, though there were still quite a few. Indeed, the final turn, nobody even did much, because there was nothing left for them to hit. Only one shadow was there, declining to manifest, and when it did, it did so right next to Shadowheart...

After Halsin came out with Thaniel and headed back to camp with him, I decided to spent another day exploring the Shadow-Cursed lands, and possibly try the Githanki fight again with Lae'zel now in the party. But ultimately we didn't run into them that day. Instead we first managed keep Rolan from getting killed. Then we found the tollhouse, accidentally went up to the second floor when I misclicked, and started the fight with the tollbot, but when it dealt Sara a hundred damage and brought her down before we even got a turn in, I pretty much noped out of that one. On the reload, we went straight through the tollhouse without interacting with anything, and then stumbled into the waypoint for Moonrise Towers.

As an alternative for going in yet, we wandered into the Waning Moon next door. Which proved another fight, since while she could chug the stuff Thisobald Thorm gave her and just make the saving throw, Sara Tully definitely was not set up to make either of the charisma checks to avoid him attacking us anyway. Though at one point I thought that was yet another fight we'd have to reload on, especially when he proved immune to most of the damage either Sara or Lae'zel could deal him. But we survived, and I learned the value of unclumping the party during fights in the process.

I headed back to camp after that, with the hope that finding that waypoint might trigger Gale's invitation for our first romantic interlude together. Sadly, that currently has yet to happen, and I'm not sure at all when it will. Instead, that evening had bringing Halsin into the party and leveling him up (a surprisingly quick process, especially with my lag now reduced!), and the scene with Withers and Arabella. I had heard about her pestering him her first evening at camp, but I found myself deeply moved by the surprising and touching scene of him mentoring her in her new powers. Sara was not happy to send her away from camp in the middle of the Shadow-Cursed lands, but she ultimately accepted it.

The next day, we went to find Oliver. And for the third time in four days, Sara was very blunt with a Tiefling child, and said kid got mad at her as a result. He vamoosed, and I wandered around the surrounding area for a while, Gale with See Invisibility up, before finding the portal to follow him through. After we took down his shadow family (other fight where those Spirit Guardians proved so useful), she wisely let Halsin do the talking.

After seeing him off, I initially took us wandering again, and this time we did get ambushed by the Githyanki again. And once again the fight went badly, and I ended up reloading out of it. At that point I looked at our XP, decided we were too far away from level eight to quite go grinding for it yet, and after one last look at the map and quests, decided it was time to go into Moonrise Towers. Although I then had to go back to camp and swap Halsin out for Astarion, since of course he couldn't pose as a true soul.

This morning, after a last trip to camp from the entrance foyer just to see if officially entering the tower triggered Gale's invitation, we first went in and met Ketheric Thorm, then explored the tower's ground floor, before finding the stairs to the prison level, and exploring much of that, too, including the docks. There have been more horrors to behold, and having it confirmed the cultists are planning to invade Baldur's Gate might get Sara to listen to the guardian that much more. We talked to enough people on the ground floor especially for the cultists to be painfully humanized, only for them to then do things like kill the gnoll they were mind controlling, and then blithely say he wasn't the first.

But the thing that shocked Sara the most might have actually not been any of that. Instead, that might have been when Astarion refused to bite Araj Oblodra in return for her strength potion. She would've assumed that was win-win for him, especially after all his talk about using the tadpoles to take power. His calling her blood rank perhaps provided a bit of an explanation, but she might still be rather confused about it for a while.

Of course, she still only knows the very basics of his history. I don’t think she entirely comprehends how important it was, when she first indignantly told Oblodra he wasn't her or anyone else's property, then assured him the decision to refuse was his. Were she to think about his expression or gratitude, she might wonder what he even feels the need to be grateful for, but she definitely does not have the mental space for that at the moment.

I left off with us having just found Cal and Lia, and having failed in the deception check with the guard to let us speak to them. Thanks to the U.S. Open starting tomorrow, I'm actually not sure how much I'll play this week, but that might give me time to think of the next move. It's tempting to just attack, but if we're going to turn the entire tower against us, perhaps we should really make sure we're ready for that.

[je-suis-problematique]

We're into Resident Evil too actually, here's a comprehensive list of all the active story ideas and AUs that we keep in our pockets

Yes hello hi the Resident Evil brainrot is back and we wanted to take a break from the Baldur's Gate 3 posting to talk about our other hyperfixation. Unsurprisingly, it is all mostly Wesker-related because we clearly have a favorite and it is yet again the extremely fuckable villain character. Oops.

A post-apocalyptic world where everything is awful and Chris Redfield is Catholic for some reason (still faithful during his time in S.T.A.R.S., atheistic by the time RE6 happens). His name was also changed from Christopher to Christian.

Chris Redfield is compatible with Uroboros and becomes a Tyrant by accident during his fight with Wesker in the volcano. He heroically sacrifices himself while Jill and Sheva flee only to survive the volcano and now he's stuck tending to a severely injured and extremely pissed off Wesker while the rest assume they're both KIA. Shenanigans ensue.

An AU where bioterrorism isn't a thing and Wesker is a tattoo artist and body modder, Jill is his assistant, and Chris (a regular cop) is his husband. Everyone is alive and well and nothing bad happens ever.

Wesker was rescued from the volcano by Alex's people and he now works for Neo Umbrella where he picks up Piers post-RE6, brainwashes him into being his personal attack dog, and does fuck-knows-what-else with the rest of his time. Not our AU but we got roped into playing around with it and now we can't let it go.

Everything happens according to canon until the volcano fight in RE5 which doesn't happen in a volcano but rather in some abandoned village instead. Chris decapitates Wesker and just leaves his corpse there but it gets picked up by some organization that nurses Wesker back to health (from straight up death, yep, don't ask) and then experiments on him until he breaks out, strikes a deal with them, and starts working for them on their terms but secretly starts developing like, Uroboros 2.0. The rest of the story counts as System Lore™ because it happened in the Otherworld.

Everything happens according to canon only Wesker is being shipped with a man named Mordecai whom he met during his time in H.C.F. and then worked with ever since. During RE5 Mordecai leads his own little group of mercs and they all assist Wesker with the whole Uroboros thing. They also continuously disrupt Chris and Sheva as they fight their way to Wesker. It all ends in Mordecai rescuing Wesker's charred ass from the volcano and for one reason or another (can't fucking remember and we lost all of our notes on this story) Mordecai also gets infected with Uroboros to save his life or something and becomes a Tyrant. Wesker is nursed back to health and maybe even goes to therapy for a fucking change, who knows.

Everything happens according to canon except Wesker survives the volcano and gets picked up by Tricell. Unfortunately for him though Uroboros starts aggressively mutating inside his body, rendering him bedridden and terminally ill despite Tricell's best efforts to stabilize him. The rest of his story is System Lore because it happens in the Otherworld (he picks up a guy named Oliver who becomes his personal caretaker and then partner, kinda sorta gets cured, and decides to retire).

Wesker doesn't start out as a human but as a shapeshifting wolf, has a whole litter of pups with a guy named Osiris, lives on the run from the Agency and 90% of the game canon probably doesn't happen. We didn't explore this one all that much yet.

Wesker is trans (FtM) and only becomes a half Tyrant during the events of the first RE. Instead of going on a power trip and starting to cause problems on purpose he starts helping Chris and eventually joins the B.S.A.A. or whatever, guy's a mystery to us still.

Wesker successfully spreads Uroboros around the globe and Chris is evil and also his partner (basically Chris works for Umbrella the whole time and is Wesker's right hand in everything, goes by the codename "Cain" and the one helping Jill against the both of them is Carlos). Story follows their uh "reign" over the new world they created and has them both acting batshit.

Sort of a variation of the previous one but Wesker yet again successfully spreads Uroboros around the globe and is making everyone miserable, the main group of survivors opposing him is our own version of Daud's Whalers called the Staya while Wesker, you guessed it, keeps causing problems on purpose. Wesker has his own personal entourage of agents whom he abuses (especially Krauser) and the whole story counts as System Lore because the whole thing revolves around Chris' subsystem.