alexa-nowak

[alexa-nowak]

When all your thoughts are occupied with a pretty date you're going to have tonight with goth favourite princess...

but first,you have to provide some emotional support for sad wizards in need:

[alexa-nowak]

You keep liking pro-UA stuff from people who openly hate AA, and then, claim to be an AA fan?

what are you talking abt? "claim" to be a fan? bruh. i stated i support both AA and UA, i just myself prefer AA. can i not enjoy astarion in ALL of his aspects? i've played bg3 countless times at this point and have gone through many routes with astarion, and not all of them were even a positive experience or included romancing him. i love to explore every single aspect of his character, and i love reading everyone's different interpretations of him even when i don't personally relate to it. like i said, i'm not out here saying ppl are mischaracterizing him just bc they experienced him a different way.

i don't even care if a person completely fucking hates AA and is against it, that's their opinion. TRIGGER WARNING negative opinion abt a character: i fucking can't stand karlach and do not vibe with her at ALL (i swear it's me, not her), but i'm not out here making posts about how enjoying her character for who she is is the incorrect thing to do. I'M the one who has a problem with this character and her personality, so i generally keep it to myself and let those who love her do so in peace. like, my personal experience with her is not everyone's. but i can understand that many ppl have positive experiences with her and that's awesome. so yeah, ppl can openly despise AA and that's chill. he isn't for everyone.

what i'm against is ppl being rude af in the fandom and disrespecting other ppl's opinions and outright saying that other ppl's fics and headcanons are wrong. plus, i don't look thru every person's blog for all of their opinions (sorry i'm just not curious enough to poke thru ppl's blogs after i see their posts). i do not care if ppl hate AA. that's okay.

[alexa-nowak]

Showing up on a date with 10hp left be like:

/but it's some magic love time so nothing else matter/

[alexa-nowak]

I’ll never be over Minthara and my (redeemed) durge, Celeste.

Thrilled to know that they’re taking over the Underdark as I write this.

[alexa-nowak]

Girls, observing the big can of space tapeworms:

[alexa-nowak]

me messaging a casual acquaintance: hello, how are you?

me messaging a best friend w/zero lead-in:

[alexa-nowak]

I drew something very self-indulgent for my birthday - a young Gale :>

[alexa-nowak]

How they flirt with you {BG3 Male Companions}

Trying my hand at writing down my headcanons for the companions starting with the males! Next batch will focus on the females.

Astarion

Flirting is second nature to Astarion, but it's also a tool sharpened by centuries of necessity. Whether he's luring prey or disarming suspicion, his every word and gesture is curated for effect.

He doesn't ask if you're interested, he assumes you are.

His confidence is intoxicating, deliberate, overwhelming. He doesn't give you space to not want him.

“You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? Don’t bother denying it — I’d recognize that kind of hunger anywhere.”

But behind that ease is calculation. Every flirtatious word is a chess move. He wants to know what makes you squirm, fluster, melt. You are both a puzzle and plaything.

He rarely flirts directly. Instead, he laces his every comment with insinuation, elegance, and a touch of threat just enough to leave you off balance.

Elegant insults wrapped in compliments:

“You’re clever. Not clever enough to hide your tells, but clever. It’s adorable, really.”

Carnal metaphors twisted with menace:

“There’s something exquisite about restraint, isn’t there? The way anticipation lingers on the tongue. Almost… painful. But then — release is so much sweeter.”

Astarion touches to control the room. To control you. He’ll invade your personal space like a whisper at the nape of your neck — there, then gone, leaving heat and confusion behind.

He doesn’t hold hands. He trails fingers across knuckles.

He doesn’t kiss, he hovers close, lets you ache for it, and then smirks when you do.

“Careful. Lean in any closer, and I’ll have to assume you’re offering something.”

Flirting is his mask. He uses it to avoid intimacy, even while pretending to offer it.

When he flirts with strangers, it's a dance of masks. He’s dazzling, merciless, intoxicating.

When he flirts with someone he actually likes, it becomes more dangerous for him. The flirtation falters, just slightly — too honest, too slow to deflect.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not… I’m not some tragic thing you can fix. I’m far more interesting than that.”

And yet, the plea hides beneath the jest.

If someone earns his trust (which is rare), his flirtation starts to change. It's less about dominance and more about connection but he’ll never admit it outright.

He might say:

“I suppose I’ve grown used to your company. Annoyingly so. There, are you happy? That’s practically a declaration of love from me.”

But he’ll mean:

Don’t leave.

Gale

Gale doesn’t flirt so much as he courts – with words. Lots of them. He offers compliments as if he’s reciting from a sonnet he wrote in your honor, then revises it mid-sentence because technically, there’s a better metaphor.

He’s the kind to start a sentence with "Forgive the boldness, but…" and then say something bold anyway.

“Forgive the boldness, but when you smile like that, it puts the sunrise to shame. Not in hue, mind you, but in how it warms the world around it.”

He’s not afraid of sincerity. In fact, it’s his default setting.

He gives affection like he's offering a gift – open-palmed, hopeful, slightly nervous.

Gale’s compliments are poetic, precise, and occasionally too much. He speaks like he’s writing you into an epic poem, and sometimes he’s aware of how ridiculous he sounds but he leans into it anyway.

You’re not just beautiful – you’re “resplendent,” “arresting,” “a living stanza.”

“There’s a rhythm to you, you know. A cadence I can’t quite match, but I find myself wanting to try.”

He loves analogies. Everything is a metaphor. You’re the flame to his magic, the gravity to his orbit, the comma in his sentence.

Unlike Astarion, who touches to test, Gale touches to reassure. His hand lingers a second longer than necessary, as if memorizing the moment.

He brushes hair from your face not to seduce but because it’s in the way, and you deserve to be seen clearly.

“There. Much better. Your face deserves an unobstructed view of the stars.”

His gestures are protective without being possessive – hovering, not holding, unless you lean in first.

To Gale, being understood is the deepest intimacy. He flirts through discussion, especially if you match his curiosity.

He’s most drawn to someone who can challenge him, surprise him.

A battle of wits? That’s foreplay.

“I had a theory about you, but every time I think I’ve unraveled the mystery, you delight in proving me wrong. Please — don’t stop.”

Magic is seduction. If you show interest in the arcane, you’ve already claimed part of his heart.

What makes Gale’s flirtation touching is how often it trips over genuine feeling. The deeper he falls, the less polished it becomes.

He second-guesses, hesitates, smiles softly in the middle of his own sentence.

“I’ve lived through the ecstasy of magic and the terror of loss… and yet, you – you – somehow feel more dangerous than either.”

And when he truly lets go:

“It’s foolish, perhaps, how much I wish to be someone worthy of the way you look at me.”

Halsin

Halsin doesn’t flirt to impress or manipulate –  he flirts because he means it. Everything he says comes from a place of deep sincerity, laced with the calm assurance of someone who knows exactly who he is.

His gaze holds yours like a quiet forest – no pressure, just presence.

“You move through the world with such purpose. It’s… beautiful to witness.”

He speaks plainly, but with a natural poetry – his words aren’t practiced, they’re felt.

“When I look at you, I see strength. But it’s your kindness that draws me in.”

Halsin doesn’t pile on flattery – he notices things. Deep, subtle things. And when he speaks of them, it feels like sunlight warming you from within.

He’s observant, not performative. You might not even realize he’s flirting at first – it just sounds like honest admiration.

“You speak gently, even when the world demands fury. That’s a rare kind of courage.”

He isn’t embarrassed by affection. He says what he feels, and he doesn’t play coy.

“You make the world feel less heavy. I hope I do the same for you.”

Halsin’s touch is deliberate, comforting, and patient. He touches with permission, not presumption. But when he does touch — it’s undeniably intimate, as if saying, I’m here. I will not break you.

He places a hand over yours when you're tense. Holds your gaze, anchoring you.

“Breathe. You don’t need to carry this alone.”

And when desire simmers beneath the surface, it’s elemental – not rushed, not performative, but felt in his closeness, his stillness.

“If I touch you, it will be with all that I am. Say the word.”

Halsin doesn’t need grand declarations. He flirts by showing up – carrying your burdens, tending your wounds, sharing the quiet.

He listens with his whole self. Even your silences are welcome with him.

“You don’t need to fill the space with words. I’m content just being near you.”

He’s drawn to strength, but moved by vulnerability.

And if you let him in, he will never belittle it.

“You let me see you. That is no small gift. And I cherish it.”

Though gentle, Halsin is not shy about attraction. When he wants you, it is unmistakable and entirely honoring.

He’s open about it, but never pushy.

“You stir something in me I haven’t felt in years. Not just desire but hope.”

And if you respond to his touch or words, he’ll smile – slow, unguarded.

“Then let me show you what it means to be cherished.”

Wyll

Wyll leads with charm but it’s never hollow. He knows how to wink and tip his head just right, but every line carries an undercurrent of sincerity.

He wants to make you smile. That’s the whole goal of his flirting: to brighten, to uplift, to show you you’re worth every stolen glance.

“If I had a coin for every time you crossed my thoughts today, I’d have enough to buy you something nice. Though… I’d much rather earn your smile than your silence.”

There’s always a touch of theatricality. He is the Blade of Frontiers, after all. But he never uses the title to elevate himself above you—only to make you laugh.

“Would you believe the famed Blade of Frontiers was brought to his knees by a glance? Because I’m about ready to kneel.”

Unlike Astarion’s razor-sharp innuendo or Gale’s encyclopedic poetry, Wyll gives tender compliments. And if you compliment him back? He flusters, adorably so.

He notices the little things, and they move him.

“You tend to others before yourself. That’s not something I see often and it humbles me.”

If you flirt back, he might laugh – low and genuine – but you’ll catch the faintest blush.

“Careful now… keep that up and I might forget I’m supposed to be the charming one.”

Wyll touches sparingly but when he does, it’s full of reverence. A hand to steady you, fingers brushing yours when passing something, a palm pressed over your heart after battle.

He’ll ask before crossing a boundary.

“May I?” (Offered hand. An honest question.) “Only if you’d like me to stay close.”

Even his teasing has warmth:

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll start thinking I’m special.”

Wyll doesn’t just flirt with words – he flirts through action. Standing by your side. Letting you see the cracks in the armor.

He wants to be someone you trust. And that starts by offering you his truth.

“I made mistakes. I carry them with me but I’d carry yours too, if you let me.”

He brings you into his world, slowly and willingly. If he tells you a story from his past, it means he sees you as part of his future.

When Wyll desires you, it burns low and steady – never rushed, never careless. It’s controlled, because he wants to earn the right to want you.

He doesn’t take. He offers.

“I won’t ask for anything you’re not ready to give. But know this – if you choose me, I will never leave your side.”

And if you do choose him?

That smile – the real one, soft and reverent – comes to life.

“Then let me be the man who proves you were right to.”

Rolan

Rolan is not here to charm you. In fact, he would very much like to be left alone, thank you. But there’s a twitch in his mouth when you say something clever, a pause before he looks away. He’s fighting it and that’s exactly how you know it’s real.

Flirting often sounds like irritation at first. He’s too observant. Too annoyed. He notices you far more than he admits.

“You're always putting yourself in danger. Someone’s going to have to clean up your mess. …Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say it’d be me.”

He flirts like a man sharpening a blade – precise, deflective, and with his guard raised.

“You keep looking at me like I’ve said something sweet. I assure you – I haven’t.”

(He has.)

Rolan doesn’t give you praise straight. He’ll call you reckless when he means brave. Annoying when he means magnetic. And when you catch on? He’s flustered – genuinely.

He’s the king of “I didn’t mean it like that” after saying something surprisingly intimate.

“You’re… capable. For someone with such an irritating tendency to leap before they look.”

If you catch him staring, he’ll roll his eyes. But he won’t deny it.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t… I wasn’t admiring. I was assessing.”

(He was admiring.)

Rolan is awkward about physical affection unless it’s practical. Helping you up, catching your arm in battle, brushing past you on purpose. When he does reach out first, it’s a big deal even if he pretends it isn’t.

Touches are brief, careful, and loaded with tension.

“Hold still. You’ve got something on your – here. There. It’s gone.”

He touches like he's expecting to be rejected. When you don’t pull away, it floors him.

“...Huh. You didn’t flinch. That’s new.”

Rolan connects through arguments, side glances, shared snark. He bonds with people who can keep up, challenge him, call him out and not back down.

He flirts through tension. You’ll know you’ve gotten close when he actually stops snapping at you.

“You’re not as infuriating as usual today. …Don’t let it go to your head.”

And if you tease him back? His ears go pink. Every time.

The rare moments when Rolan lets down his guard are intensely vulnerable. He won’t wax poetic but when he says something kind, it matters. He won’t say it unless it’s true.

It slips out before he can stop it:

“You make things… bearable. More than bearable, actually.”

And when he finally stops fighting it:

“I’ve spent so long pushing people away, I forgot what it feels like to want someone to stay. …I want you to stay.”

Though my next batch will focus on the females, I’m open to any scenarios you will like me to explore, so feel free to drop in a request! 

[alexa-nowak]

i love unhinged women because im a genius

[alexa-nowak]

imagine your pompous self-important ass of a colleague finally fumbles it with the goddess of magic, he goes into isolation for two years, is stripped of most his magic, and youre revelling in the schadenfreude, only for him to show up with a baddie hanging off his arm, skin glowing, a stable job, a hero of baldur's gate, a new, humble(r), #blessed 🙏 attitude, and a wedding invite. id chew off my arm.

[alexa-nowak]

Weirdos... but hot weirdos, so who cares

I am obsessed with this robe and I would wear something like this irl if I had a less boring life

[alexa-nowak]

[alexa-nowak]

My current mental health is strongly supported by Gale, wearing this funny hat

Wizard is wizarding, I guess

[alexa-nowak]

Thinking about Gale's spellbook.

Not the old one, the one he carried when he was Gale, the Wizard of Waterdeep - a gorgeous, leather-and-silver bound thing that bulged with a lifetime's worth of accumulated knowledge. There were spells in there penned over wine and cheese with Elminster; in a flow state that bordered on the spiritual after a night with Mystra, remembering her instruction, the feel of her soul against his. That spellbook was the testament to his success, the proof that he had excelled beyond the excellent -

And then Mystra cut him off from the Weave, and it all become meaningless.

His own runes, rendered incomprehensible; beautiful spell-glyphs that turned from condensed power and knowledge to worthless pieces of art. He has to start anew, from the ground up - reforging his connection to the Weave without Mystra's guidance (without her, without), relearning schoolboy spells. Humiliatingly easy magic, the kind he used to do like it was breathing, except this time he has to study and work and try and try, Tara urging him on with firm but gentle words.

He learns different spells, now. Mage Armour, Shield, Magic Missile. Not the kind of spells that he'll ever need on a day-to-day basis; spells that'll keep him alive long enough when he makes an exodus to the depths of the Underdark, or the centre of some desert wastes, and goes supernova.

The new spellbook is a plainer thing, small enough to fit in a robe pocket (because extradimensional storage spaces are no longer things he can make with a thought). And then he's snatched by a Nautiloid, and... honestly, he'd swear that the spine just wants to hold onto blood-spatters, no matter how many times he cleans them out. The pages get spotted from all the times he's had to flick them open in driving rain; the corners get creased from being shoved in and out of his robes.

And absolutely nothing can protect it from the unstoppable force of his friends.

Karlach nearly sends the whole thing up in flames one night by gesticulating a bit too wildly. Wyll laughs too hard one night and sprays wine all over Gale's new notes on Abjuration. Scratch picks up the entire thing and runs off with it when Gale's back is foolishly turned, and it's only a stern talking-to from Halsin that saves the whole thing from becoming a chew toy.

Smiley cat faces, doodled on the pages in Yenna's untidy hand. A helpful comment from Karlach on the Fireball page: 'AKA FUCK YEAH LET'S GO!!!!' A few lines of Wyll's perfect handwriting, a memento from a long discussion about how infernal energies could enhance fire magic; a few observations from Shadowheart on warding enchantments. Some terse comments on psionic magic from Lae'zel that Gale finds himself weaving into his Shields, and they do seem to hold up a little better now. (Other hands on his spellbook! Touching the pages he carries close to his heart! The man he was would never have believed it.)

He thinks of them all, as he writes new spells. Counterspell, because nothing will touch them. Spells that will carry his people from danger and shield them from harm. He watches Astarion pace before the fire one night and inscribes Sunbeam with a cold smile of promise to Cazador; he glowers at Mizora over the edge of the pages as he ponders what spells would be best suited to killing a devil.

A wizard's spellbook, Elminster told him once, is a reflection of their soul. Gale of Waterdeep's spellbook was a marvel; perfect and polished and resplendant. Untouched by any hands but his own.

Gale Dekarios's spellbook is battered and beloved, covered on every page with the fingerprints of his friends.

[alexa-nowak]

How to be condescending in a life threatening tadpole situation, a guide by yours truly: the sorcerers and wizards 🔮

[alexa-nowak]

no you do not need to hold fictional characters "accountable". they are not real.

[alexa-nowak]

So I romanced Gale for the first time

I will never understand those complaints about Gale being incel/Reddit mod/neckbeard type of guy

If anyone in this game can be a representative for this type of guys, it's Balthazar - or that's how that one dude with wolfs on his t-shirt probably sees himself,edgy yet pathetic

Gale is a sweetheart and absolutely a husband material, even in real life. He has his issues (everyone in our party has some💀) and he is a chatterbox,yet just like I see this happening with Minthara, I have a strong suspicion that half of the hate is coming from people who never romanced this character at all.