#wyll deserves better than this shit

[eff-plays]

I just watched the latest animated BG3 short ...

A horny pic of Mizora? That he keeps?

Literally who thought that was funny lmao

[maegalkarven]

Family matters.

m!(trans)Dark Urge x Enver Gortash.

Brainworms finally got to me, I caved in and wrote a oneshot on the topic of "but what if Durge and Gortash had a child prior to all that mess"

Featuring my Dark Urge Levi, pre- and post- memory loss.

There was a living, breathing infant child in his arms; and for the first time in a long while Lord Enver Gortash was in complete loss at what to do.

“What is it?” fell rather flat down, a poor excuse of a question.

Leviathan rolled his eyes.

“A meaty flesh of some newly created life,” he huffed, visibly annoyed. “Also known as a child. I assume you’ve met their kind?”

Enver felt anger rise alongside with deeply rooted annoyance. Whatever spectacle the bhaalspawn decided to partake in, now was not the time for that. Neither it was the time for his witty itty remarks.

“I am well aware it’s a child,” he argued back just as sullenly, the said child held loosely in his arms. In his arms. Why was there a child in his arms? They were not made for holding babies.

“I’m asking why is it a child and why is it here. The questions any sane person in my place would indulge in.”

There was something...off about the bhaalspawn.

Not only Enver hadn’t seen the man for almost the entity of a year, an assassin always claiming some task of utmost importance, but now he decided to pop out of the thin air with a live child in a tow and immediately push said child into his, Enver Gortash’s, not so open arms.

It was alarming, to say the least.

“Oh, that,” Levi waved him off like it was a casual annoyance and not a conversation two adults, so-conspirers - partners - had. Like Gortash imposed himself into his free time and personal space and not the other way around. “It’s yours.”

It’s what?

“Or at least I assume it’s yours,” Leviathan followed as Enver’s thoughts came to a rapid halt. “Since I haven’t touched anyone alive but you in a long time. And look where it led me,” the look of pure disdain was all the child was getting, it seemed. “A freshly made meaty cage for a new soul. Disgusting. You’d think Father would make this shit stop and would not allow a child of banite to be born, but I guess any bhaalspawn is a good little pawn under his merciful gaze. Anyway,” a wild, excusing gesture of a hand. “I don’t have any use for this...thing. Sceleritas suggested to bring it into the fold and let my men do all the work, but well, the bother. So you can take it instead,” a winning smile what would work wonders if not for the whole absurdity of the situation Gortash just found himself in. “Think of it as of a gift. A proof of my loyalty to our cause, hm?”

Sometimes the bastard was more annoying than he was charming and his presence took a toll on the man.

Sometimes Enver wanted nothing more than to break Levi’s pretty slender neck.

That was one of these times.

“And what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Oh, whatever you want,” another wide, generous gesture. This asshole truly thought of that...child as if of a gift to be given away, didn’t he?

Enver shouldn’t have been surprised, not really, he knew Leviathan’s stance on children.

“Taste good, not much of use when alive, it’s funny when they die first” – was as good of a take as one could expect from the leader of the Cult of Murder.

“You can throw it away or feed it to the dogs. You can raise it or give it to a hag or even sell it to the devil,” another smile that’s more malicious than anything else. “I don't really care, if I'm being honest.”

Unfortunately, killing a bhaalspawn when you were holding just another bhaalspawn would prove to be close to impossible.

It would have to wait, and Leviathan Anchev still had his uses, bratty as he was.

And his appeal, as deadly as that ordeal proved to be. Or how complicated.

A child, huh? Well, Enver supposed every ruler needed an heir.

“Bring me the wizard,” was the first order out of his mouth when bhaalspawn left. The child was safely given into the care of the first competent older servant, who looked just as bewildered as Gortash himself felt. “Tell him to scan the...the-“

“The boy, my lord.”

“Right, tell the mage to scan the boy’s heritage. Let’s find who his parents are, shall we?”

Trusting a psycho murderer was an awful idea even at the safest of times, and now were not those. Levi would lie just to fuck with Enver. Levi had to lie, because there was no way this infant boy was actually his, Enver’s, flesh and blood.

***

Leviathan Anchev did not lie.

***

Levi moved away to sprawl his body across the bed, the creature of leisure he was. He sniffed the air and then wrinkled his nose, closer to an animal than any other person Gortash has ever known. More appealing in that, in his beast-like fluid grace.

“You still have this thing around,” the man commented, frowning. “Why? Playing the dollhouse? How...quant.”

“This thing has a name,” Enver couldn’t not parry. “Noah.”

Leviathan groaned.

“Oh, spare me the details; I want nothing to do with that flesh meat. Having to carry it inside my body for almost a year was a bother enough. Almost cut it out myself on multiple occasions, but Sceleritas insisted the internal damage I’d deal would be too great to handle. Idiot.” A moment of a thoughtful pause.

“You know what my destiny is, right?”

A searching gaze, reaching hands, clawed fingers cupping Enver’s cheeks almost gently. Something changed between them some time ago, but what it was Lord Gortash could not pinpoint. 

Yet something...Shifted.

Levi searching his face for some kind of acknowledgement was a sign of this.

Leviathan Anchev Enver first met would not care less about his approval. Leviathan Anchev of now was Enver’s nearest and dearest and it was pretty much a mutual kind of thing.

“I know.”

To kill everyone in the world and then himself. In Bhaal’s name. A gruesome fate, and pointless. Dull, lacking of any grandiose his, Enver’s, path had.

If only he could break off this deadly conviction in his dear ally, if only there was a way to make him stray out of this path...

They could be good for each other. They could rule together as the gods of the new age; glorious, undefeatable, perfect.

The rulers Toriel truly deserved.

“Then you know I’ll have to kill this...thing,” a moment of barely noticeable hesitation. “This... Noah.”

Enver also knew he would rather see his lover bleed on the altar of his dreadful father than let it happen.

“I do.”

“I,” another uncertain pause. “I was planning to leave you for last. To kill you and myself in one final blow; a perfect tribute to Father. But,” and really, those damn pauses were starting to get on Enver’s nerves. Levi was never short of words before, so what in the nine hells had happened? “Would you rather prefer I’d do you and...Noah... together? To kill you two in one blow?”

Ah.

Enver saw it for what it was, in the uncertain, searching gaze of his unlucky lover, in the carefulness with which he produced words.

Something warm flooded out the irritation from before; something warm and soft and entirely fragile.

It was mercy, the only kind of mercy the bhaalspawn could know. Leviathan Anchev, the man fully capable of destroying everyone and everything on his wake, offered him a tiny piece of his own surrender. A confirmation of his affections, almost a confession.

In some ways he did care.

“That would be very considerate of you, yes,” he agreed, bringing bhaalspawn close. His bhaalspawn, his ally, his lover. The father of his son.

If there was a way of bringing Bhaal down without bringing Levi with him, Enver would find and utilize it. Otherwise he’d have to kill the best partner in crime he has ever had.

And that would be...unfortunate.

Levi leaned into the touch, soft and gentle in a way he has never been before; almost fragile.

Trusting.

“Does it...know about me?” came out in a whisper, almost unbidden.

“He knows you exist,” was all the response Enver could give, enveloping his assassin into his arms, holding him closely, firmly, painfully so.

The bhaalspawn squirmed for a moment before finally settling in.

“Oh,” he breathed out. “I didn’t think you would...What you would tell him I do. Exist, I mean. I’d expect you’d spin a tale of some tragically dead wife or-“

“There is no tragically dead wife,” Enver cut off, feeling rather irritated. A mystery of complications, his dear murderer. “Only a lunatic of a murderer for a father. Not what Noah knows that, he knows we’re working together and what you’re a very busy man.”

“Hmph,” Levi’s breath brushed Enver’s neck. “I guess that is true.”

“Do you want to,” and now it was his time to be a hesitant bother. “Meet him?

At that Leviathan actually laughed.

“Oh, absolutely not, keep him and that strange dollhouse of yours as far away from me as possible. I have things to do, people to kill, empires to rule. I don’t have time for meat-things, of my own creation or not.”

And just like that, it was as if nothing has changed.

***

The alarm goes off the moment Karlach finishes the last of the Hands and flies into a wall by the force of the explosive detonating right into her face.

Enver doesn’t stop to register that, or to look around at the bodies of his faithful, to mourn his perfectly constructed plans – his watch, the Iron Throne, the little fireworks shop – because the alarm in Noah’s private chambers went off and it only means one thing.

Intruders.

He skips one step at the time climbing up the steep steps to the higher, more private level.

Could that be the remaining of Orin’s assassins?

Levi said he dispatched of them all, but surely some had to survive by the sheer luck of not being in the temple at the moment. Are those Ravengard’s forces, Florrick’s?

Is it Leviathan, finally coming to sniff out the life he himself created?

He is vaguely aware of the younger Ravengard and the pale elf taking the chase after him, of Karlach joining in.

They think he is escaping.

Idiots.

Enver tries not to think what he is leading the enemies right to his son; he’ll deal with them later. Right now there’s blazing alarm shrieking what something is wrong – and indeed it is, as he discovers with the first body lying dead on the floor. Then the second. Then the third.

All of them – with their throats ripped open, Leviathan’s favorite style.

Enver turns the corner and reaches for the door handle – the door is unlocked and half open: this is bad, bad, bad-

Then he hears a laughter and pauses.

He opens the door slowly and carefully instead of throwing it open as he intended at first.

And sees...

Levi is sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning slightly forward.

Across of him, sitting in the exact same – ridiculous – pose sits the boy not older than five. He has a dark messy hair, blazing green eyes what betray his nature, and the new game Gortash brought to him just recently. He is trying to explain the rules to the tiefling in front of him, who listens attentively, nodding here and there.

“Wow,” Leviathan Anchev comments with an air of nonchalance he didn’t have before. “I did not understand a thing. But good for you, lil one, good for you.”

“It’s really not that difficult,” Noah insists. “I can teach you! We can play together.”

Enver steps closer, somehow is still not detected neither by his son nor by his...his what?

Karlach almost crashes into the doorframe after him, but somehow manages to steady herself, takes in the view in front of her – and freezes.

So do the other two of Levi’s unruly companions. Gortash especially doesn’t like the pale one; he has a habit of sticking way closer to the bhaalspawn than it is proper.

“I am not that good at these kinds of games,” Levi admits as his tail flips from side to side and nostrils flare; he has detected him. Probably smelled before sensing. “But I have a friend with a real knack for them. He is a wizard and knows a lot of fun things; I think you’d get along.”

Noah looks uncertain.

“Are you sure?” he looks down. “I don’t think...I’m not allowed outside.”

“Really? And why is that?”

“Well,” the boy fidgets with his game. “Father says people who oppose him would try to use me against him, if they knew I existed. So I am kind of...a secret? It’s for my own safety!” he immediately adds, seeing Leviathan’s face blank out. “There’s a murderer on the loose, she really doesn’t like father despite supposedly working with him. Father says she will kill me if she finds out I exist.”

“Oh,” Levi looks taken aback at that. “I don’t think you need to worry about that anymore. If you’re talking about who I think you’re talking about, then she has been dealt with already.”

“Oh!” Noah brightens. “By whom?”

“By me. But say,” the spawn looks quizzically at the child in front of him, frowning slightly. “Is it just your father and you? Where’s your mother?”

“I don’t have one,” and this is definitely the moment then Enver needs to intervene, but he is just...frozen in place, turned to stone.

Leviathan Anchev he knew hated children.

This Leviathan Anchev is talking to a child as it was his best friend.

“I have a dad though!” Noah is a sweet fool, Enver taught him much better than telling complete strangers his entire life’s story. Stop. Talking. “He is...working a lot and is too busy to visit,” the boy looks down gloomily. “But! He and father are very close; they even stole from the devil together!”

Levi blinks. Then blinks once more. Then again.

“The devil, you say?” and is it just Gortash’s imagination, but did the man’s voice just rise up an octave?

“Yes! And not just any devil, the achdevil Mephistopheles!” Noah looks so absurdly proud of that it hurts. “They snuck right into his home, stole a crown from his vault and returned here. Unspotted, unstopped. Victorious.”

“What the fuck?” Karlach lets out and both the boy and the bhaalspawn who created him turn to the door.

Noah’s face immediately brightens.

“Father!” he exclaims, hastily getting to his feet and rushing to him. Behind the boy Levi gives the man the most bewildered stare he has ever seen.

“You have a child!” young Ravengard speaks out with the accusation in his voice. Enver really isn’t sure whom the man is addressing.

Noah is unperturbed.

“Father, I met a really cool guy, his name is Levi and he must be your friend because he came here with no problem at all; and he has children at his camp, two girls named Yenna and Arabella. Arabella is a druid because she stole the idol of Sylvanus and it gave her powers, and Yenna has a cat! But the cat is anxious so I shouldn’t pet it, but I can look at it! Please, can I look at Yenna’s cat? Levi said the evil murderer is dealt with, so it’s probably safe. And Levi can guard me if needed. Also there’s a vampire spawn in his camp and-“

The pale elf coughs.

“Hello there,” he tries, pulling a not entirely convincing smile up his lips. “A vampire spawn speaking. And you would be...”

“I am Noah!” says Noah right away; and did Enver shelter him too much? Damn, he has sheltered him too much. Look at the boy, he wants to befriend a vampire spawn. “I’m the son of the Archduke! Hello.”

“Yes, hi,” the elf looks at Levi uncertainly and back. “So...”

“So,” the bhaalspawn steps forward, the bewildered look stuck to his face. He crouches down to Noah’s level and takes his hands into his calloused and clawed ones. “So Noah...Your dad is the man who helped your father to steal the crown from the devil, is that right?”

Noah nods vigorously and Enver takes his time to observe the scene; the two bhaalspawns in front of each other, Levi’s posture, his relaxed shoulders, his slightly shaking hands. The tail that seems to have a life on its own and moves agitatedly behind its owner.

Three companions of the bhaalspawn, all somewhat stuck in place, with different levels of surprise stitched up their faces. The pale elf – a step closer, almost lingering at Leviathan’s side. Annoying.

Yet somehow, no matter how hard Gortash looks at it, he doesn’t sense any danger. Doesn’t see it, even with Karlach still aflame by the doorframe.

“Yep,” Noah agrees eagerly. “I wish he’d come to meet me soon. He will come, right? Once the work is done and all,” the boy sighs. “I mean, I am his son, surely he would care to come to meet me.”

“Um,” the tiefing looks uncertain. “And what if...something happened to him? What if he, say, lost his memories?”

“How? Did something hit him in the head?”

The vampire spawn chokes on a laugh and Levi rolls his eyes at him.

“Sure,” he agrees. “Let’s call it that. So...what if he doesn’t...exactly remember having you?”

“You mean if he’s lost and doesn’t know he needs to come back?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I guess I’d come looking for him. He is my other father. It’s important.”

The force of conviction behind these words hits harder than a thunderwave.

Leviathan blinks hard, clears his throat, and then-

“You...don’t have to. I don’t remember much about my life before...certain events, but it was made adamantly clear to me I was the one to break into the Mephistopheles’ vault with your father. And if your dad is who did that, then,” he stops. “Then I guess- Enver, are you really just going to stand here like a fucking statue? Tell me if this is what I think it is or not.”

“You swore!”

“No, the fuck, I did not. Enver-“

“Now you swore twice!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake-“

“So,” Gortash steps forward, a lazy smile dancing on his lips. Gods only know how much this smile costs him. “You have known your son for the entirety of twenty minutes and already taught him a swear word. Really impressive.”

“Father?”

“Oh, listen here, you poignant prick-“

This, Enver thinks, is what family feels like.

[devotedlystrangewizard]

god could you imagine if people focused on the actual golden boy getting like twice as much content as his fellow companions rather than like 2 new lines for one bad guy to make one scene feel more in line with the one other scene with said bad guy

[wufflesvetinari]

having now gotten to lae’zel’s act 3 romance: holy shit she busts out the most gorgeous lines and I need her in a poetry-off with wyll

maybe it can be a wyllstarion/shadowzel double date. wyll realizes how fucking choice some of lae’s lines are and—in good fun—tells her they need to have a contest, NOT REALIZING that there’s an ancient form of poetry competition in githyanki culture (since they insist they are also better at the arts than everyone else, PLUS the killing). he has accidentally thrown down an ancient gauntlet. now, for his honor, he has to embarrass astarion very much

the rest of camp serve as judges and they do a…poor job of giving this sweet-talking contest beautiful ancient cultural ritual the solemnity it deserves. they’re heckling constantly. gale is critiquing meter. karlach is wolf whistling at every line. shadowheart and astarion do not want to be here

astarion at first puts on a show of enjoying wyll flattering him loudly for an hour in front of literally all of his friends but he. can’t. the lines are all Peak Wyll, he has been compared to twenty-five celestial bodies, its too much even for him. shadowheart is standing in a corner with her hands over her face. they have never been so in synch

for a tiebreaker karlach says now they have to switch and say sweet nothings to each other’s partner, which is. actually not a problem for wyll and his gonzo charisma score (astarion is SO excited to hear him rizz up shadowheart) but it absolutely IS a problem for lae’zel, who is actually fundamentally just speaking from her feral passionate heart whenever she says sweet things to shadowheart and can’t do it on purpose. this is not a game to her, dammit, the point was to demonstrate that her bond with shadowheart is indomitable!!!

lae’zel is like. awkwardly trying to romantically compliment astarion on. anything at all. she says his teeth are “pointy as a row of dependable nails” then suddenly remembers she hates poetry and storms off in an embarrassed rage. wyll realizes the gallant thing to do would be to throw the competition. he does not do this. astarion immediately gets over his embarrassment to gloat about “them” winning

shadowheart meanwhile is just like “oh thank gods” and grabs a cheese wheel and a bottle of wine to have a quiet picnic with lae’zel somewhere like the gods intended. she WILL tease her for losing but only after lae’zel has said fifteen new extremely fucking romantic things to her in private and she’s done losing her mind about it

[livingsurreal]

What is it with Baldurs Gate 3, that this game has so many characters I completly obsess about? I am usually a "one-true-blorbo" kinda girl. Fenris, Solas, Garrus, Jaal. Those are my Bioware blorbos.

I might try to smooch some one else but it never really works out.

Now for some reason, in BG3 my brain makes blorbos out of half the cast.

Astarion is my No 1. He is a very angry feral cat and I will love him till I die. He is perfect and sweet and angry and deserves sunlight and hugs and sweet gentle kisses and patience and a fucking hero in shining armor who stands beside him, without expecting shit in return. Who is there and is his shield and voice of reason. Some one who doesn't save him but gives him the space and chance, so he can save himself.

But damn, there is Raphael who takes way to much space in my brain lately. Give me that pillow princess and I will make him so much better he forgets what contracts even are. This poor sweet devil prince who never experienced love or someone who truly cares about him. All he knows is terms and conditions and life is so much more than transaction. Such a shame that he cant be romanced ingame. He is just the best devil and damn he looks soo soo yum. (WHERE IS MY RAPHAEL ROMANCE)

Karlach who is the bestest ever and I want her to ride me into the ground, and I want to hug her and hold her hand and never let her go and tell her is is the best thing since the invention of icecream and she deserves EVERYTHING!

Gale, sweet Gale who deserves unconditional true love, kindness and so many kisses. Someone who tells him "you are enough" and just loves him and blows him till he sees stars.

Wyll who deserves someone loyal, and sweet, who stands beside him and doesn't throw him away and tells him he is perfect the way he is. Also dances in the moonlight yayyy!

Dammon with his cute smile and sweet voice who needs to be smooched very gently. (WHERE IS MY DAMMON ROMANCE? Also he and Karlach would be perfect for each other if not romanced)

Rolan with his snotty attitude who needs to be smooched very hard. Also he needs to be fucked against a wall. (WHERE IS MY ROLAN ROMANCE)

Zevlor who deserves all the hugs and love. Also he needs someone who grabs his horns while riding him into the ground. (WHERE IS MY ZEVLOR ROMANCE)

Lae'zel and Shadowheart are made for each other. They are my sweet angry baes who really need to take a room and fuck it out of their system. Sorry, I would love each one of them but I just don't dare to come between them. But I will be their cheerleader and be the most embarrassing friend when they finally stop being silly. How sad is it that our companions dont find each other if we dont romance them. They deserve love, and Tav/Durge cant kiss them all!

Halsin who gives the sweetest bear hugs and seems somehow lost in Act 3, and should be kissed and hugged and be given lots of little ducky plushies.

Jaheira who is just the coolest and a damn good friend and gives great (bad) advice and who would share a blunt and a bottle of wine and I would listen to her stories all day, I love her so much. We all should have a Jaheira in our life.

Minsc who also tells the best stories and if you want really good (bad) advice you would ask Boo. He would be the best (worst) wingman, and the no 1 person you go to when you have a bad day. He just makes everything better. When in doubt just go and do some asskicking and everything is good.

How can ONE (1) game have so many wonderful characters, where I want to band almost every single one of them.

[magical-girl-coral]

After some thinking, I don't think Ansur should be Wyll's new warlock patron. Literally the entire game Wyll just wanted to get rid of his contract. When the nymph in Shar's Caress asks what the character wishes most, Wyll's answer is to be free. As much as Ansur seems cool now, putting Wyll in a different contract to get a power boost to save Baldur's Gate just feels like we're back at step one and our boy deserves better than that. We also don't know what Ansur would be like as a patron and what his demands would be. Just seems like a bad outcome all around.

What I think Wyll should be is Ansur's chosen where he gets all the perks without any literal soul binding. Wyll should get to run while and fuck shit up with no restrictions while Ansur takes picture from his afterlife domain. In other words, I want to be like the relationship between Mona Lisa and her dad from parks and recs.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Grove

Three evenings with Beatrice, a half-drow war cleric of Selune, and Zevlor in the Emerald Grove. NSFW for the last section. SFW for the first two.

When the human called the very handsome tiefling a foulblood, Beatrice Wildheart knew what she was going to do.

I punched that little bastard in the face!

When the same extremely handsome tiefling introduced himself as Zevlor, Beatrice knew what was going to do.

Not my usual silent pining that always leads to heartbreak.

Not this time.

When she, Gale, Wyll, and Shadowheart returned to Zevlor and Tilses informing them that the ugly nasty bitch wanted the refugees gone, she not only offered her support in taking care of the goblins but also asked him to find her along the shore later.

And now it is “later” and where is he?

Beatrice was standing ankle-deep in the cool water, her armor discarded. She had traded one of the druids for a tank top and a pair of knee-length trousers that sort of mostly kind of fits? Whatever, better than rags.

“Greetings, Lady Beatrice Wildheart.”

A deep, gentle voice rumbled, causing Beatrice to turn around. Shit. Does word travel this fast?! Fucking hells. “Zevlor, who—”

To her surprise, he chuckled. “Word travels fast.” Of course. “Though I must beg your pardon, my lady, for not showing proper respect to a woman of your standing.”

Lady of Silver, spare me.

She shook her head, hands resting on her wide, soft hips. “Please, I like it better when I’m just Beatrice. Or Bea, my friends call me that.”

Zevlor smiled. “Am I a friend already?”

Her brown eyes widened.

Wait.

Is he flirting with me?

Should I try to flirt with him?

“I hope so!” Giggling nervously, she carefully walked out of the water, stepping back onto shore. “I mean, I did volunteer to kill goblins for you, so that must mean something.” Heat rose in her freckled cheeks as she sat down on a large rock, heart beating in her chest. Don’t fuck this up. Be bold and brave. Let the Moonmaiden guide me.

“It’s kind what you’re offering to do for my people,” he sat next to her, shoulders sagging. Selune’s tears, when was the last time he had a good night’s rest? “But why do you want to speak to me? Is there something I can help you with?”

Be brave.

Be brave.

Don’t be weird.

Moonmaiden, guide me.

Smiling softly, she turned to face him. “I want to spend some time with you. That’s all.” Maybe he won’t notice me blushing?

He did not respond to her immediately, brow furrowed. “Surely there are others more worthy of your time? More deserving?” He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. As if the weight of everything on him is too much to bear. Moonmaiden, give me the strength and wisdom to help him. He is not alone. Not anymore. “I’m well past my prime, Bea. My faith was shattered. I’m an old, broken paladin who was forced to leave his home. Surely, there are others whose company is preferable to mine?” He now looked at her, infernal eyes ablaze. The most beautiful eyes…on the most handsome face…

She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“You’re worthy of my time, Zevlor. I want…” Oh wait, maybe I can try not to come too strong but still be helpful! “Would you like to hear about Baldur’s Gate? I’m from there, and assuming you’ve never been—”

The tiefling finally returned her smile. Aww, he looks a bit happier. Moonmaiden, give me some charisma to charm him…or something. “Correct, my dear. I would like that very much.”

For the next hour, she told him nearly everything she knew about the city, its inhabitants, and tradition. The Gate is home. It’s a bit shit but it’s home. When she began to explain the noble houses, he shifted the conversation to her---her family (obviously explained that I was adopted), friends (lots of them all over Faerun), her profession (I felt the call to protect and serve Selune by smiting the enemies of light), and then…

“There must be a special someone waiting for you back in the Gate.”

A statement.

Not a question.

As if it’s fact.

Oh dear.

She shook her vigorously. “No, no. It’s been a…saga of sorts trying to find a match for me.” Beatrice then added quickly, “A love match, I need to emphasize. Mum would never support anything less.” And Da, gods rest him. “But it’s complicated.”

Zevlor blinked. “I-I…why, if I may ask?”

You have got to be kidding.

A bitter laugh escaped her. “I’m the large half-drow daughter of a dwarven countess. That is, quite literally, the problem.” She squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders tensing. “It’s been made very clear that I’m not what anyone wants for a partner or wife or anything romantic really.” Mum cannot raise my dowry enough. I’m just…undesirable. But maybe not to him? A girl can hope, right?

“I will not deny that there are prejudices against drow, which certainly play a role in your situation. However,” he’s grabbing my hand?!?!? “I find you to be beautiful, brave, kindhearted, and of excellent character.” With his other hand, he tilted her chin slightly so he could admire her, lightly tracing her jaw with a finger. “There should be dozens, if not hundreds, of suitors vying for your hand. If I were a few decades younger,” Zevlor smiled sadly, now caressing her blushing cheek. “I would be as well.”

“Please don’t say that.” Da always said to listen to my heart because it would never lead me astray. Heart says… “I like you. A lot. I think you’re all those things too. I…I hope we can have time together like this again soon. We’re heading back out tomorrow, but we’ll be around to trade and rest and…” Beatrice trailed off, her brown eyes watching his thumb gently touch her bottom lip. “Zevlor?” she whispered.

For the first time since meeting him, the paladin genuinely smiled. “Waking gods,” he cupped face and leaned so that his forehead met hers. “I’d given up on them sending me an angel, but here you are.” He can’t just say things like that and not expect me to get misty eyed. “Are you certain? I’m no prize—”

Beatrice released an annoyed huff before kissing him. The kiss did not last long but to her, served its purpose. “I don’t mind.” She said sweetly before giving one another peck. “Are you certain?”

His hands landed on her waist, squeezing gently as if I’m made of glass. Zevlor, I’m not… “Though I don’t feel deserving of your affection, I would be a fool to refuse it. A fool to deny it. I am certain, my darling.” When his lips next captured hers, the kiss was far more intense. Clawed fingers danced under the hem of her top but stayed at her thick waist. “I am very certain.”

So certain that when Beatrice’s party returned a day and a half later, he brought a bouquet of wildflowers he picked for her at our spot.

That little hidden place along the shore at the grove. It’s our spot now.

***

“May I tell you something?” Beatrice whispered, sitting in our spot with Zevlor the night after she recruited Karlach to her party. They sat side by side on a large stone, bare feet in the cool water. Her head was resting against his, and he snaked an arm around her broad shoulders.

“You can tell me anything, darling. What troubles you?”

Gods, where to start?

No.

Focus.

“I told you I felt like I was called to serving My Lady, but I’m not like most clerics you’ve met I bet.” She chuckled softly and reached for his free hand. “I’m not one to proselytize. I prefer using a great sword to attack and protect instead of healing. My temple would send me to besieged enclaves and villages, and I’d…well, get rid of their problems.” Beatrice wrinkled her nose and giggled. “It was a good time. I was doing a lot of good.” Then. “Then Da got sick, I came home, it was terminal, three years later he’s gone, and I…” Squeezing his hand, tears down her freckled, pale ash face. “The Moonmaiden told me to be a light in the darkness, but I feel like I…I’m not doing enough.”

Zevlor shifted, turning to face her and taking both her hands in his. “You,” he carefully lifted one hand, placed a kiss on her knuckles, and repeated the gesture with her other hand. “Are far too hard on yourself.” They both shared a small laugh with him rubbing his rough thumbs over her hands. “While I’m not entirely impartial,” There’s that lovely little teasing smile I adore. “I’ve no doubt that there are many in this grove, as well as those in your temple, who would say you’re doing wonderfully.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with an all too brief kiss. “I’ve never met anyone whose soul burns as brightly as yours, my dear---that is all you. Not Selune. You.” Follow my heart. It will never lead me astray. “So please, my beautiful Bea, be kind to yourself.”

But I’ve never been kind to myself, have I?

Not when some of the trainee war clerics called me a fat, useless drow.

Not when I’ve been politely and less than politely rejected by potential suitors.

Not when Da got sick and I couldn’t save him…

Not when Lewson got murdered by bloody Zhents.

Not when I got abducted.

Not when…

As he pulled her into a tender embrace, she felt herself practically melting into him. “Shh, quiet your mind. Stay right here with me, darling.” That’s his tail wrapping around my waist. He is so sweet. “Don’t let the weight of your own high expectations crush you. Don’t let it dim your light.”

“I’ll try, but you must promise me something in return.” When she heard him hum in assent, she smiled. “Be kinder to yourself too. You’re doing the best you can out of a frankly awful situation, Zevlor.” And that’s putting it mildly. She leaned back and cupped his face in her hands. “You deserve happiness. We deserve happiness. Don’t we?”

That night he did not answer her.

But I’m confident he will. We do deserve happiness, Zev. We do.

***

“A pity for us you have promised your body to Zevlor.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened as Lae’zel continued to speak about trophies? Bodies? Lips?????

“—I intend to, myself. Wyll looks particularly promising.”

And that’s my cue to get the fuck out of this conversation.

She giggled nervously, wished Lae’zel a good evening, and then she nearly knocked him over as she walked away from the gith.

“Oh, Bea! How nice to see you.” He winked adorably as he sipped wine I’m assuming. Not that I drink… “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”

“Yes,” mostly. That interaction with Lae’zel was something else. Her fingers brushed against his free hand, and she took a step closer. “And you?”

“With you, I couldn’t be happier.” A knowing smile tugged on his lips as he sipped his wine. “Once things die down, my dear, shall we meet in the Secluded Chamber? It’s more…private than our usual place.”

More private so we can…maybe…perhaps…

FUCK?!?!?

Wait no, Zevlor doesn’t fuck. He makes love.

And no, I didn’t read that in a romance novel.

I read it in several romance novels.

Feeling her cheeks burn in a mix of desire and anticipation, she nodded quickly. “Sounds perfect. I, um, I can slip away soon.” The only person I want to talk to for the rest of the night is you. Only you.

A low hum escaped him as he led her towards the edge of the party. “Meet me in fifteen minutes.” Zevlor murmured, bringing her hand to his lips. Sharing one last longing so much longing look, he turned and departed the camp.

Luckily for Beatrice, fifteen minutes went by fast. Got a pep talk from Karlach who told me to “fuck his brains out” and “pull his damn tail” while also showing him “who the real Hellrider is.” Quick little wash because no one wants a stinky lady in bed, right? And it’s not like I have my favorite perfume in the middle of nowhere.

When she arrived at the Secluded Chamber, she nearly gasped at the sight of Zevlor. In all their meetings along the shore, he was always in his armor, refusing to remove it even when she was always wearing something comfortable.

But now…

He looks so yummy.

He greeted her wearing a cream tunic, dark brown breeches that show off his legs MOONMAIDEN TAKE ME, and worn but still nice shoes. “Dearest,” he began with a tender smile. “I hope it wasn’t too difficult for you to leave. After all, everyone wanted a word the hero of the hour.” Gods that wink again. “That she would grace me with her presence…I’m an incredibly fortunate man.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” She swayed her hips as she walked to him, warmth blossoming within her. One look from him, and I feel desired. For the first time in my life, I feel desired. And I… Standing in front of him but having no idea what to do, she wrapped long arms around his neck and kissed him. “I want…” Beatrice whispered, her brown eyes meeting his infernal ones. Just say it. Say it. There’s no shame in wanting this. In wanting him. “Can we…” Spit. It. Out. She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. “Sorry, I’m nervous. It’s my first time.” WHY DID YOU SAY THAT, BEA? WHY? HE KNOWS.

“We don’t have to be intimate tonight if you’re this nervous—”

Her eyes widened as she quickly reassured him. “No. No. I…I…” Breathe. “You may not like what you see.”

It was at this moment Beatrice saw his expression shift from concern to molten. Hot. Smoldering. Moonmaiden preserve me. “If you allow it, my lady,” his already gravelly voice was much lower. “I will show you just how much I like what I see.”

She knew that too often she thought too much.

Not this time.

Barely a second passed when she released a breathy “yes please,” and his hands found their way to her ample behind, cupping and squeezing. His lips crashed into hers, and he moaned in her mouth. “Zev…”

That earned her another moan. “Been too long…since a lover called me that…” Her hands roamed to his narrow waist and slowly, carefully went under his shirt. Gods, he feels incredible. Muscle. Warm skin. Ridges. Bumps. Scars. I love them. I love them all. I want to— “You make me feel young again.”

No.

Beatrice slipped out of his grasp, giggling. “I’ll make you a deal, Zev. You don’t talk about how you’re old and I won’t say I’m ugly.”

And to really put this matter to rest…

“Darling, I…” His eyes widened as what he was going to say died on his lips. “I…”

She threw off her shirt, tossing it near a chair? We can sort it later. Fighting the urge to cover her breasts, she instead focused on untying the laces on her trousers. “What’s the matter, love? Cat got your tongue?” She hoped her teasing tone would distract him (and me) from the hammering of her heart. He likes this. I think? I hope?

As she stepped out of her smalls and pants, Zevlor continued to watch her, unmoving except for his wagging tail. He…does like how I look? “You are enchanting. Stunning. So beautiful.” In two strides he reached her and led her to a pair of bedrolls on a stone slab. Aw, he lit candles too. That’s so sweet. “Now, be a dear and lie down.”

HE JUST PINCHED MY BUTT?!?!?

Something between a surprise yelp and a giggle escaped her as she scrambled onto bedrolls not at all gracefully.

“What a sweet, eager little thing you are.” He cooed, kicking off his shoes.

Beatrice snorted as her head hit a somewhat soft pillow. “I’m not little, love.” Leaning to prop herself up on her elbows, she watched, slack jawed as Zevlor discarded his shirt (yummy) and trousers (NO SMALLS?!?! HE JUST…WALKS AROUND LIKE THAT?!?!). She panted at the sight of him and his incredibly hard, ridged cock, swallowing thickly.

His eyes twinkled as he crawled to her. “What’s the matter, Bea?” With his breathtakingly handsome face inches from hers, weight on his strong forearms, he teased, “Cock got your tongue?” The resulting squeak from her as she wrapped her long arms around his neck made him chuckle. “Don’t play innocent with me, my angel. I saw you gawking. Leering. Staring.” With each word, his lips touched hers.

Into one of the kisses, she smiled wide, her hands threading through his hair and loosened it. “Admiring is the word I prefer to use. Admiring my beautiful paladin and his very large cock.” I can tease too, love. “Zev, ah, want you…” Beatrice moaned, rolling her soft hips. Want you. Need you. Now.

“Patience, dearest. Want this to last, and more importantly,” he pressed several kisses down her jaw to her neck and then settled with his mouth above one of her breasts. “Worship you.” Moonmaiden take me. He licked and suckled her with abandon, his own hips grinding against her. This is already better than anything I could’ve imagined. Already so good, and we’re not even—

She inhaled sharply when she felt the rough pad of one of his fingers touch the curls at the apex of her thick thighs. “Oh gods…”

“You are so lovely,” the older tiefling panted, lifting his head from one breast before eyeing the other. Oh dear, that’s his tail around my leg. Selune save me. “Everything about you…you are perfect. Simply perfect.” His tongue circled the nipple on her opposite breast while her hands found the base of his horns. “Do whatever you wish, pulchra. Love me however you please. I would know…all of you…” After he lavished her other breast, he trailed kisses down her belly (Moonmaiden, was it my imagination or was he kneading me like dough? If so, that was amazing and he needs to do it more often) and then rose on his knees between her legs. “May I taste you, my love?” His hands rested on her soft thighs, and she could not help but smile at the look of adoration in his eyes.

She did, however, raise an eyebrow. “Pulchra?” It’s Infernal. Not sure about the meaning though.

Zevlor’s cheeks reddened. “It’s Infernal for ‘beautiful woman’ but for a gentleman of my vintage it means ‘mistress.’”

Okay, now I’m even more confused. “Mistress?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I cannot call you uxor. We are not married.”

OH.

“Pulchra it is then, and…yes. Please. Do wha—” Instead of finishing her thought, Zevlor dove into her, easily lifting her legs over his shoulders and tasting her as he promised. “Oh gods please…please…”

“There are no gods here, pulchra. Only me.” He grunted, continuing his ministrations. The feel of his horns against me as he’s eating me out…there are no words.

Beatrice did not know how much time had passed when he stopped and adjusted himself. “Zev?” she panted, letting go of his horns. Turns out I really love fucking his face.

Responding only with a smirk, he lowered his head and began to lick her swollen bud.

WHAT IS THAT?!?!

She immediately tensed, and Zevlor squeezed her thighs. “Easy, pulchra. That’s just my tail. Come…tail first then my cock…”

Oh. Oh wow. This is happening.

The only coherent reply she could manage was moaning his name along with “please” and “more.” As she quickly reached her peak, she felt his nails digging in her thighs slightly, which only made her more aroused. “Zev…please…want to…want…”

Then something inside her snapped, and she fell apart on his tongue. Small gasps escaped her, her ample chest heaving.

“That’s it, my darling…such a good girl…” Moonmaiden take me. With a grunt, he crawled over her and lined his achingly hard member towards her entrance. “We’ll go slow, pulchra. I won’t hurt you.”

“Show him who the real Hellrider is, soldier.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened as she touched his shoulders. “Can I be on top? If that’s okay?”

He exhaled sharply, nodding and laying on his back. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Zevlor watched as she less than elegantly straddled him. “Careful, sweetheart. Don’t want you falling over.”

“I think you’ve realized by now that sometimes I’m not the most graceful person.” She chuckled, settling over his swollen length. With his hands firmly on her wide hips, she began to slowly lower herself. Fuck me, he’s thick. A lot thicker than he looks. Hells. “Zev…”

Whatever he was saying though, she could not understand.

Infernal.

Holy fuck.

Moaning as she took him inch by torturous but glorious inch, laughed breathlessly. “What’d you say?”

“Ah, so fucking tight, pulchra. Queen of my heart, have me…all of me…I am yours for as long as—ah, oh waking gods!” Zevlor gasped when her pelvis met his.

He’s got ridges on his…and on his?!?? YES!

Rocking her hips, she rode him with abandon.

I feel alive…

And beautiful…

Because of my paladin…

She threw her head back as she reached her second peak, her hands gripping his harder than I do the Everburn Blade. “I love you! I fucking love you! I love you, Zev!” Panting, Beatrice’s broad shoulders slumped as he thrusted inside her, his hips stuttering.

“Pulchra…my angel…I-I…I love you, my darling…”

Moonmaiden take me, that groan from him!

Zevlor let out an oomph when she collapsed onto his chest, his strong arms wrapping around her. One clawed hand rested on her back while the other cradled the back of her head. “Bea? Are you alright?” He whispered, gently caressing her.

“Yeah.” She sighed and then muttered a spell to clean them. Gods, even soft, he’s huge. “You? Was I okay?”

As she rolled off him, he chuckled. “Okay? My dear, the way you were riding me,” he placed a kiss in her black-red curls when she curled against his side. “I’d say you’re the Hellrider, not me.”

YES! YES! YES! MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! I DID IT, KARLACH!

She traced the ridges on his chest and giggled. “Gods, you’re too much, love.” Laying in his arms and feeling sleep take her, shit, I should tell him I meant it. Just in case. “When I said I love you before, I meant it. I love you, and I…I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. And I know that there’s still much ahead, for both of us, but I want this. I want you. That is, if you even want—”

He squeezed the pillowy part of her upper arm. “Are we still not mentioning my age?” Zevlor teased. Oh for fuck’s sake. You. Are. Not. Old. “I do want you, pulchra.” He heaved a sigh. “Protecting my people must come first. That’s been my priority---my mission---for most of my life.” This sounds decidedly not good. He once again squeezed her arm and reached for her hand on his chest, bringing it to his lips. “But we deserve happiness, do we not? After everything that’s happened…everything that is still to come…we deserve happiness, and I firmly believe I’ve found it with you.” I’m gonna cry. I’m gonna cry so much. “I love you too, dearest.” He raised her hand to his lips again and placed another tender kiss on her knuckles. “Gods willing, we make it to Baldur’s Gate hale and whole.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as she prayed silently.

Moonmaiden, I have served as your righteous fury. I have cut down the enemies of light. I have protected many.

I beg of you, Lady of Silver, keep him safe.

Keep them all safe.

[fanfiction-artist-prototype]

Absolute banger of a bg3 Tav idea;

Human Tav, noble background.

Middle child of a middling noble house that is keen on not sticking their nose in petty fights because being the middle ground has always benefited them the most. Neutrality is easy when nobody knows your true opinions.

However, their family are devout Bane worshippers, well established in the Baldurs Gate enclave, probably one of the main parties financing it.

This is a devotion paladin Tav; swearing their oath to Bane in a "swearing to uphold your ideals of gaining personal power and raining tyranny over all who stand in my way." But in a neutral kind of way.

They get taken by the nautaloid, tadpole in their head and story/game starts and boom.

None of the party ask who their oath is to, since they assumed its someone like Tyr or Lathander etc and Tav keeps their mouth shut by nobles worshipping Bane isn't *unheard of* however they're younger than Wyll having been off in their knighthood apprenticeship for a majority of the time theirs and Wylls time in the Gates High society would have overlapped, and don't want to risk it. Especially when they find out that the Absolute plot is ran by The Dead Three.

They can feel their oath SHAKING.

Ketheric dies, they recognised Gortash before he leaves and are like "Oh fuck I'm gonna have to fight my gods Chosen. Wait. Why the fuck did I not know this was going on?? My family bankrolled most of this probably?!?!" The Emperor is mysterious as shit reveals HE has beef with Gortash and Tav is like "shit shit shit". Dame Aylin and Isobel join camp. Arabella leaves ahead of everyone else.

Tav is just having a crisis bc they're gonna have to fight and potentially kill their sworn gods Chosen. And like. They're a Baneite. So it's all cool in the eyes of Bane bc if you can't keep your power you don't deserve it. But Karlach found out about Gortash and Tav is not feeling the vibes with everyone's opinions on the dead 3 and Baneites so they keep their trap shut.

After all Baneites are encouraged to hide their faith if it will lead to persecution. They hit Rivington and in the midst of meeting some Sharrans, finding bombs in Teddy bears and Orin trying to fuck around, a Baneite approaches.

They're disguised of course, but they know Tav, act as if Tav simply left for Paladin business and didn't get taken by their own chosen's secondary cult!

Tav goes alone (ish. The rest of the party watches from a distance with Jaheria and Halsin wildshaping into smaller animals for a better listen.) And basically gets told "the boss man told us to find you bc you pose a threat to him. He's kind of been trying to get us to put tadpoles in our heads. We'll help you kill him and put you in as the new figurehead. Since you've currently upheld Bane better because you're literally an armed uprising and gathering allies and shit. Also he's trying to make us work with Bhaalists. Yeah, even after the first bhaalspawn died. It sucks."

It's all coded language of course, but the party get enough. Tav's been chosen to depose a leader of a group they're in, an enemy faction is a tentative ally and neither side is happy about it. Fix this.

Tav doesn't mention anything. Again baneites hiding their faith and all that.

Then they get to Wyrmsrock. And they're in a hall full of Patriars and THEY are a Patriar technically and the only non-devil one so they have to be group representative and wouldn't you know it, it's Enver fucking Gortash as the new archduke.

Their boss. Their gods Chosen. The holder of one of the netherstones, the guy a sizeable portion of their own enclave wants then to replace. They can literally see Baneites in the room basically telling them with their eyes to kill him NOW.

And shit goes tits up bc Gortash makes reference to Tav being a baneite and saying how it's a shame they were away becoming a paladin since they were always so loyal and would have been a wonderful planner alongside Ketheric and the first Bhaalspawn.

Nobody talks for the rest of the coronation but Tav can FEEL the eyes digging into the side of their head especially when the others look away from away from Steelwatch killing the Patriars in attendance. Then they leave. Nobody talks still. Back at camp shit goes tits up again.

This is the 11th hour TAV why is you being a baneite coming up now!? To which they respond it never really had a good time nor beneficial reason to come up since it's not exactly going to stop them from doing what needs to be done.

The whole camp devises a Tav centric version of the "convince shadowheart with a +10 charisma boost and the power of friendship not to go down the path of a dark god" plan.

[vitanithepure]

Karlach/Wyll budding romance as a prompt for you?

“T’chaki!” Lae’zel threw her backpack. It landed right next to the fireplace, narrowly missing it. “If we keep on pandering to weaklings, we might as well surrender to the ghaik and be done with it.”

“Lae’zel, what happe-” Before Wyll could ask, another one landed right in his lap. He yelped in surprise, perhaps also in a bit of pain. The githyanki is not known for taking things lightly, throwing backpacks included, it seems.

“It was a perfectly valid concern on my part, I’ll have you know. We don’t need this much to carry around.”

Astarion saunters into the light of the fire, his demeanor unchanged from his usual self. Maybe a little wary of getting into the githyanki’s reach, but she obviously doesn’t deem him worthy of her attention right now. On the way to her tent, she runs her blade through a makeshift training dummy and leaves it there. 

“Besides, I am made for finer things than carrying around junk.” He meets Wyll’s unimpressed stare with a nonchalant shrug and he’s gone from view as well, light on his feet and unbothered.

“Bad night, soldier?”

“So much better now that you are here.” He places the backpack next to him with care and lets out a sigh. “They are good people. I wish life would remind them of this more often.”

Karlach sat down beside him, nudging Wyll with her shoulder. Her smile was, as always, nearly impossible to resist, he noted. 

“You’re too good. Don’t let them get you down, they could sometimes do with some righteous dressing-down. Pfft, fuck that, they even could use some ass-whooping if you want.”

Wyll took notice of how her crossed legs jumped uneasily, ready to spring her to her feet in a moment’s notice. How her hands tapped the dirt before her, fingers eager to grab something…anything. This close, he could clearly see the tension on her face. Her beautiful face, that in this moment he wished to see laughing, not wrought with worry.

“How about we forget about this,” Wyll stood up, and extended his hand to Karlach, “and do some sparring? I could shake that rust from my limbs and use some good company tonight.”

“Hell yeah!” She was up in a flash, towering over him enough for him to need to perk his head up. She withdrew her hand swiftly, leaving his to cool off in the evening air. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to.”

“I do not mind. I bear many scars, any you would give me I would wear with pride.”

“Careful soldier, you talk like that and a girl might get ideas.” She leaned in, but could not hold up the sultry voice. They both laughed, perhaps a bit embarrassed, or maybe because they felt it - that warm blossom in their chests.

And she was a sight to behold, the embodiment of joy and excitement, so easy to get lost in the moment and say all those lovely things that came to mind. And he saw it in her eyes as well, that lust for life, flesh bristling with contained desire. 

But he’ll wait. All good things are worth the wait, and to be done properly. Karlach deserves nothing less, and only the best from him.

[eff-plays]

[crossdressingdeath]

Karlach: You saw the truth. I may be an effective soldier, but I never wanted to serve Zariel. Legged it away from her the first chance I got. Wyll: And yet you served. Kyvir: Stand down. You saw what I saw - Karlach is not a danger. Wyll: No. Devils can not be trusted! Kyvir: Gods, you're stubborn. Karlach's not a devil, and you know it. Karlach: Would you listen to sense? This doesn't have to end badly - for either of us. You know monsters better than anyone. Can't you look in my eyes and see I'm not a devil? Wyll: You don't know what this means. You don't know what you're asking me to do. Karlach: I'm asking you to live, Wyll. I don't want to hurt you. And, to be frank, I'd rather not find out how the Blade got his name. I swear to you, on all I am, I'm not what you think. Wyll: Shit. Shit.

I kind of love Wyll's "And yet you served" line here, just because it's one of the earliest moments where you can see a bit of a crack in that perfect hero thing where it's running up against his duty to Mizora. I mean, he knows full well that it's not always as simple as people choosing to serve or not serve! I get the sense that he's clinging to "Well, you did serve Zariel, you deserve to die for it" because the alternative is accepting that he can either break his contract or kill a woman who in no way deserves to die. It's probably a bit of a miracle that this is the first time Mizora has pulled something like this, but then I doubt there are all that many people who fulfill the requirements of the contract.

Also the delivery on that last line is fantastic. You can really feel Wyll accepting that he's going to have to take the consequences for breaking his pact because he can't kill Karlach knowing that she's not a devil or a monster.

[gameguy20100]

Astarion "fan" turned hater here and lol yeah i always kill the little shit now, he has no redeeming qualities unless you to the very end as spawn (epilogue) but it's really worth it? (no) also i hate people ship him with Wyll, Wyll deserves better than the annoying pos

Yeah. I'm not invested in trying to "fix" the guy who whines whenever I try to offer a hand and then tries to feed on me.

Wyll definitely deserves better. Tbh, I always thought it'd be cool if Wyll and Karlach got together if neither of them are romanced.

[psalacanthea]

Fanfic Friday

Y'all voted on banters this week! I went for 'end of act 1, in the Underdark' Baldur's Gate 3 banters for the companions and my drow bard Tav, Zynatheri.

There's no only Gale banter because they're not speaking to each other at that point (because Zyn will not stop bullying him).

if you see these and think the idea is fun, I would love to see yours for your Tav or Durge! Just tag me if you do so I can enjoy it! :D

...

Zynatheri: All right.  Shuffled thoroughly back into the deck.  Now, as I call upon the mystic powers of the Talis…are you watching?

Karlach:  Harder than I’ve ever watched before.

Zynatheri: I draw from the very top of the deck, and…Nine of Winds.  Is this your card?

Karlach: Holy shit.  It is!  That’s my card!

Zyn: The cards always know.

Gale:  They most certainly do not.

Karlach:  I didn’t show her the card, Gale.

Zyn: Yeah, Gale, just because the powers are beyond your comprehension doesn’t mean they’re not real.

Gale:  Your provocations fall on deaf ears.  I refuse to succumb to your clumsily strewn bait.

Zyn:  That’s fine.  Karlach, do you want to see another magic trick?

Gale: Stop calling it magic!

Karlach: You ever think of playing music while we battle?

Zyn: Would make casting spells hard.

Karlach:  What about right at the end, then?  When I crack the last skull and then we look for loot.

Zyn:  Like victory music?

Karlach:  Yeah!

Zyn:  Sure, sounds like fun.  Just save me any jewelry you find.

Karlach:  Fuck yeah!

Lae’zel:  You and Wyll fight similarly.

Zyn:  We probably learned the same style of fencing.

Lae’zel:  Why is he more skilled than you are? Was your instruction inferior, or are you?

Zyn:  Insult or observation?

Lae’zel:  If my observations insult you, that is due to your own weakness.  I only speak truth.

Zyn:  No, you speak ignorance, not truth.

Lae’zel:  Explain.  Alleviate my ignorance.

Zyn:  No thanks.

Lae’zel:  Kainyank.

Lae’zel:  During our last battle I asked repeatedly for healing and was ignored.

Zyn:  Sorry, I was feeling too weak and inferior.

Lae’zel:  Ah.  You were attempting an object lesson.

Zyn:  Sure, it was definitely that and not me being petty.

Lae’zel:  Wyll also employs magic, and his blade does not falter as yours does.

Zyn:  Wyll was given magic.  Nothing against him, but it’s true.  I earned mine through hard work, creativity, and talent.

Lae’zel:  That is no excuse to neglect your sword.

Zyn:  Ah, well, see…I’m also lazy.

Zyn:  Where there’s a Wyll, there’s a way.

Wyll:  Not bad, but I have used it before.  What’s wrong with ‘provoke the Blade and suffer its sting’?

Zyn:  The more mottoes the better.  How about ‘if you seek the Blade, be ready to pay’.

Wyll:  It does rhyme.  ‘Anger the Blade, and prepare to pay?’  It’s quite pithy.

Zyn:  Oh, you’re talking about revenge.  I was working from more of an advertisement angle.

Wyll:  (Laughs.) I am not an adventurer for hire, my friend.

Zyn:  I could make a poster that might change your mind…

Wyll:  Hmm.  Show it to me later.

Shadowheart:  I believe I found some of that moss you mentioned.

Zyn:  Great!  I’ll show you how to prepare it tonight.  We’ll just need oil.  I’m going to need some of the eyeshadow for my own uses, though.

Shadowheart:  Since you’re the one teaching me to make it, I assumed as much.

Zyn: Oh, not for me.  I was going to paint all over Astarion’s face while he’s in reverie.  Of course a cock is classic, but a giant glowing eye on his forehead in the dark would look striking.

Shadowheart: (Laughs.) Why are you so terrible?

Zyn:  I’ll save the cock for Gale.  He deserves it.

Astarion:  What were you and Shadowheart whispering about?

Zyn:  You.

Astarion:  Well, naturally, darling.  What about me?  Hopefully not spilling too many intimate secrets…though I wouldn’t blame you, of course.

Zyn:  She was asking me if the giant mole on your face made it difficult for me to kiss you.

Astarion:  The what?

Zyn:  Did you not– okay, calm down. Calm down! It was a joke.

Astarion: Don’t talk to me.

Zyn: My dear, sweet viper.  Please, stop sulking.

Astarion:  I am not sulking.  I simply have no desire to speak to you.  Or look at you.

Zyn:  Such a shame.  I guess Drizzt isn’t sneaking into your tent tonight.

Astarion:  How dare you threaten me!

Zyn:  It works and has no repercussions.

Astarion: Well, yes, but that isn’t the point.

Zyn: I’m teasing you.  Don’t worry.  Just a quick polymorph, and you’ll finally get your hands on the legendary blade Icingdeath.

Astarion: Gods, you ruin everything.

[boghermit]

Giving you characters: solas, karlach, thrall and sorin markov

I'm skipping on Sorin because I honestly know next to nothing about his lore. 😭

SOLAS

How I feel about this character: I love him. I hate him. I want to pat his bald head. I want smack his bald head. Stupid baka idiot. (Affectionate / Derogatory) Romantic ships: I ship him and one of my Lavellan characters (Declan). I've also seen Solas/Varric floating around and that is the BIGGEST brain shit. Whoever thought that one up Gets It. Platonic ships: I love his friendships with Varric, Cole, and Iron Bull. Unpopular Opinion: He wouldn't have been as popular if his voice hadn't been so pleasant to listen to. Like seriously, does Gareth David-Lloyd do audiobooks? One thing I wish would happen / had happened in canon: 1) He should have looked like his concept art. 2) I kinda wish he was lying about the elvish gods being elitist slavers because I really liked the elvish culture and the traditions around the gods. He could be lying - that's Fen'harel's whole thing, lying and being a trickster, right? But at his point it's pretty obvious that wasn't and isn't the direction they're going in with his character and the lore. 3) I hope we don't have to kill him. If we do, fine, but I'll be sad about it.

KARLACH

How I feel about this character: She's absolutely perfect. I love her design, I love her story, I love her voice acting. Romantic ships: Her and Wyll, her and Astarion, or a poly of the three of them. She's cute with Dammon too. She was also very cute with my paladin Tav but I like the previous ships better. Platonic ships: Her and any of the other five main characters, her and any of the tieflings, her and Jaheira 100%. Unpopular Opinion: I think her original ending was a better statement on making the best of what little time we have. BUT. At the same time I much prefer her having a happy ending, because if any character deserves a happy ending, it's her. Also I'm not sure if this is an unpopular opinion, but I really like the datamined Karlach look where she had heavier scarring and sharper features.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened in canon: I just wish she had more in-game content to burn through. And I know they aren't making DLC, but could you imagine a DLC where we help her (and possibly Wyll) fight their way across Avernus? They could get Mick Gordon in on it too.

THRALL

How I feel about this character: I have such a soft spot for him. He was one of my favorite characters back when I played WC3 and pre-Cata WoW. I'm really glad they've brought him back in recent expansions. Romantic ships: Him and Jaina would have been good. Platonic ships: n/a Unpopular Opinion: 1) My most unpopular opinion is probably liking him at all. People give him the Gary Stu label a lot. 2) I don't know if this is an unpopular opinion but I didn't like him in Cataclysm. One thing I wish would happen / had happened in canon: 1) He shouldn't have been the one to kill Garrosh, although I will concede that the cutscene was badass and I like that he felt guilty about it later. 2) If he was going to be with anyone, it should have been Jaina. His history and overall dynamic with her was way more grounded than with Aggra, who has almost no personality and seemingly exists only to be his wife. But this is Blizzard we're talking about, and their romantic subplots are mid on a good day. 3) He should have been allowed to keep Doomhammer. As much as I was excited that Blizzard let us use it, I was like "Thrall bro are you really giving THIS to ME?" And then one of the most iconic weapons in the series just disappeared after Legion. Is he aware that he can still hit things with it, even without his shaman powers?

[lewis-winters]

Day 13: Fear

Part of my OC-tober 2022 (that will get fucking finished in 2024 so help me god)! Well. We're indulging this time around with some Baldur's Gate 3 on my Band of Brothers/HBO War Blog. I guess. Honestly, with how many OCs I have in other fandoms, I might just start playing around with them for this prompt list, too!

tw: If you're starting to notice a pattern in my writing with parenthood, in iterations of both problematic or good, uuuuuhhhh no you fucking don't.

They’ve been sitting by the fire in the Elfsong tavern for a whole of hour, in perfect silence, before Jaheira chooses to break it. “You will not return upstairs.”

It’s not a question. Still, Pasiphaë answers it as one. “Not until they’re all in bed. I’ve no patience right now,” she tells her with a deep sigh. “For anyone or myself. I… do not like who I was today.”

Belligerent. Jumpy. Too slow to react, too impulsive in her decisions. Near unrecognizable, as compared to her original cool and collected demeanor at the beginning of their journey. She expected better of herself, and her companions definitely deserved better than the kind of mess she’s become. But they’ve been running on near fumes for the past few days, having been tossed about here and there by Mystra, Shar, Lorroakan, cultists, Orin, and Cazador, all alike. On top of that, Serafina had decided to join in on their quest, despite Pasiphaë’s explicit orders for her to get out of the city while she still could—truly, there was a time when her sweet little girl would obey her with no question, but alas! she’s inherited her other mother’s bullheaded-ness. Pun intended. Not for the first time, Pasiphaë found herself wishing that Melisandre were still around to share in her pride over their daughter’s immense bravery. The abrupt reminder of what she no longer had—after several months of not thinking about Mel even once—had been enough to throw her off her rhythm completely. The day had already started being kind of shit.

Ulder Ravengard and his unfortunate decision to mouth off about his son’s new appearance was the last straw.

“I lost my temper.” The verbal dressing down was spectacular while it was happening. Invigorating, even. Pasiphaë doesn’t remember the last time she’s felt such catharsis. After the months of non-stop action, it was good to release it all.

It was the stunned silence afterward that felt particularly… damned. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Bah, he deserved it,” Jaheira scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “He is better off for listening to your wisdom.”

“Calling whatever that was ‘wisdom’ is too generous.”

“But it is what it is: a mother’s wisdom.”

Pasiphaë snaps; “I’m not Wyll’s mother,” and Jaheira tilts her head back and lets out a hearty HA! loud enough to draw the attention of other patrons.

“You are not just his mother, that is for sure,” Jaheira says, wagging an admonishing finger at her. “All of them seem to have attached themselves to you like little suckling pups to a bitch’s teats.”

“Your metaphors leave much to be desired, Jaheira.”

“You were protecting your pup, is what I mean,” Jaheira shrugs. “Even if it is from his own blood. Wyll holds you under no contempt for such a display. I may even go so far as to say that he’s grateful for it.”

“Perhaps.” Oh, but Wyll loves his father so—even when the man has done nothing but abandon him. Pasiphaë knows it isn’t right to get between father and son, not as a simple party member, and most certainly not while one still holds out hope for reconciliation. She might’ve just ruined Wyll’s chances back there, with her vindictive nature and even sharper tongue. If she had, would he ever forgive her?

As if reading her thoughts, Jaheira tsks. “We mothers, we always want what is best for our children. Nobody can fault us for that.” There’s a small smile on her face; a tiny quirk of the corner of her lip that feels conspirative. Like they’re in on a joke together.

Technically, they are. Pasiphaë smiles back. Or tries to. “Whatever you say.”

Their conversation, once again, falls to silence. Patrons come and go, and the tavern keeper’s boy comes once and twice to stoke the fires until, finally, they fizzle out into glowing embers. The night grows even quieter soon after, with the patrons quickly disappearing out the door, or into other rooms, until, finally, it is just them, and the occasional drunkard outside.

“You can go. Rest,” Pasiphaë says, aware that it is late. Tomorrow (later?), they are to confront Gortash. “We’ll need all our strength come morning.”

“You are determined to keep vigil.”

“Someone has to.”

“If I were to climb up those stairs, I would not be surprised to see some of your pups waiting for you by their fire,” Jaheira chuckles, standing up with an exaggerated groan—her knees are not what they used to be. “No doubt, they will send me back down again—or even come down themselves—if I return empty handed. Come, now.”

She offers her hand.

Pasiphaë stares at it.

Something in her chest shudders with anxiety and—is it her imagination? The tadpole behind her eye, wriggling with a sordid kind of glee?

“I fear I cannot be to them what they need me to be, Jaheira.”

Jaheira frowns, confused. Still, she keeps her hand out. “And what is that?”

What, indeed? A leader? With the amount of times she’s failed them? Perish the thought. A caretaker? Barely. Her hands are not made for healing, anymore. Certainly not with the Triad’s silence and her simmering resentment over it. And what comfort she could give is quickly dwarfed by the enormity of all their suffering. What use is a lullaby, when she couldn’t even hold Karlach enough to soothe her tears? What use is her sword, when it can scarcely keep Lae’zel from the betrayal of her kin, queen, and god? Clearly, Pasiphaë couldn’t even call herself a protector—just two days ago, she’d failed to protect Astarion from his worst possible self, leaving the burden to Gale, instead; and just last tenday, Shar had taken from Shadowheart her last connection to her past, while all Pasiphaë could do was helplessly watch. Hells, she certainly couldn’t protect Wyll, who only ever looked to her for wisdom and guidance. Or even Gale, whose final decision haunts them all—Astarion, especially, who has begged her over and over again to make Gale see reason. But how could she, when all she could think about is his fate as both Faithless and Discarded? She understands too well the challenge that lays before him to possibly talk him out of his task in any way that matters. The blasted Wall remains a prominent phantom in Gale’s mind as much as hers; but while she’s resigned to her own fate, that doesn’t mean he should be, too.

Gods, but what will she tell Morena, then? Tara? Astarion? That she let their beloved boy die, simply because the folly of the gods and their selfish nature was too strong for her to fight? No. That would not do.

And yet. She hesitates.

“If I am their mother, as you say I am,” she tells Jaheira. “I am a shit mother. My Melisandre would be ashamed to see how poorly of a mother I am being.”

Jaheira knits her brows together. “Your partner?”

“Yes.” Her beloved. The mother of her children. The balm to her soul. The light in her darkness; Pasiphaë is never going to see her again. “She was always better at this than I—my children—I was never—”

“Serafina seems to adore you.”

“Now,” Pasiphaë entreats, feeling the blasted tadpole wriggle and squirm behind her stupid eyes the more distressed she becomes. “I have failed her before, terribly, and it was only time that allowed those wounds to heal. Time is not on my side, now. If I fail them—when I fail them—”

She stops. She cannot bear to think of it. But it is inevitable. “I fear that it is not a matter of if, but when I fail them, Jaheira. I am cursed to repeat my mistakes. And when I do… gods when I do…”

“You will not.”

“You are a fool to—”

“Ha!” Jaheira barks, snatching back her offered hand to reach out and shake Pasiphaë by the shoulders. Like she were a kitten being pulled back by her scruff. Gone is the amicable, conspiratorial smile, replaced thoroughly by a stern glare. “It is you who is the fool to let such thoughts paralyze you!” She lets her go, wags a finger in her face, “you have fallen out of practice in the art of seeing yourself as what you are. What you are truly capable of.”

“But I am capable of failure!”

“And you are capable of triumph!” Jaheira snaps, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. “Why are you so determined to fail?”

Pasiphaë blinks. Blinks again. Something hot rolls down her cheeks and she scrubs at them with her hands. They come away wet.

“You said, once, that you are destined for the Wall of the Faithless. This is the truth. In many ways, you are,” Jaheira continues, kneeling on the ground so as to catch her eyes. “But you are not dead yet. Your pups are not dead yet. Pull it together; you must see this—if not for yourself, then for them.”

For them. Yes. For them. Children are only as resilient as their parents, Melisandre used to say. Whisper in her ear, when the worst of the grief had taken over as their baby girl cooled in her arms. Phaedra is gone, but Xenodius and Serafina yet live. For them, Pasiphaë had rallied. Taken up what strength she had left, and trudged forward.

Get up, she thinks Melisandre would say, now. Get up, my love. They are hurt, but they are yet living. Get up.

“I wish I had your wisdom,” Pasiphaë says, finally, after a long moment of silence. It comes out in a croak, barely a whisper, barely even words. Still, she manages a small smile. “True mother’s wisdom.”

Jaheira tsks. But slowly, she too returns a smile. “You have it. As I said: you are just… out of practice. Come, now,” again, she gets up on her creaky knees with an exaggerated groan.

And offers her hand. “Your pups might sleep better, knowing that their mother is nearby.”

This time, Pasiphaë takes it. “Their bitch of a mother?”

Jaheira laughs. Laughs and laughs, even as she pulls Pasiphaë toward the stairs and their camp. It’s loud and bawdy and definitely a great disturbance. But it does sound like music, and Pasiphaë likes hearing it. “Just so!”

--

Pasiphaë Elago is my Tav. She's a moon-elf, and a Paladin of Ilmater/the Triad turned Godless Paladin-- it's a long story. She's named Pasiphaë because her late wife, Melisandre, was a druid whose wild shape was a bull. I think I'm funny. Before the events of BG3, she was an adventurer in her own right, and is technically retired and is literally broaching 500 by the time she's kidnapped by the Ilithids. That being said, because she's so old and had just lost her wife a few years prior, she doesn't romance the BG3 characters but accidentally adopts them all during their whole tadpole ordeal. Oh make no mistake, Astarion, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Lae'zel tried to hit that, but she shut that down so fast-- "Some of you are as old as my eldest grandchild. It's awkward." Team Mom! Total GILF!! And also!! suffering. Help her, she thought she was done having to parent like this after watching 2 of her 3 children (the last died during the Spellplague) grow up, move out, and make families of their own. She's supposed to be RETIRED, damnit. She's trying so hard. She just wants a NAP.

Speaking of Greek Myths, isn't it funny that Astarion shares a name with the Minotaur? I swear, I didn't think of that before naming Pasiphaë. I did, however, think of it when naming Ariadne Ancunin, my other BG3 OC, who happens to also be Astarion's biological sister. The name's important. Ariadne gave Theseus the power to kill her Minotaur brother, after all. But that's for another day entirely.

None of this makes sense to any of you. That's fine. It's for ME.

[valiantvillain]

Beitris in Act 1: Yes, Wyll is very sweet and he deserves far better than the cards he's been dealt. No, I am not that charmed by him even if he is able to pull off the devilishly handsome look. He's a shameless flirt and a girl knows how serious those types are.

Beitris after one dance and utterance of "wanting to do this right" in Act 2: Oh, oh, shit. Oh no. I think I might be in love with him. What the hells does he even see in me?