#Ikaron: wait no not like that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fanfiction-artist-prototype · 4 months

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Because I believe that Sceleritas Fel hates the chosen for all in some way contributing to his sweet master being diposed (Kethric for always planning to allow Orin to take their place, Gortash for the events that lead to the Prayer for Forgiveness and Orin for being the defective Bhallspawn that dared to try and murder his sweet master) I believe that there is so much opportunity for fuckery in ACT 2 at Moonrise Towers.

Like, I'm still on my first durge playthrough and I'm doing a redemption playthrough so I'm not sure what happens if you kill Isobel, however I think it's not a jump to say Fel wants durge to kill Isobel partly to get back at Kethric.

And I just think Sceleritas Fel telling the Dark Urge "BTW sweet master, you know this guy! Pretty well in fact! He helped cover up your attempted murder and was complicit," because I think it'd add interesting angst and dialogue choices, "so anyway moving on, do you want to know some stuff about him that when you see him again is going to make him shit himself?"

With BG3 being a role player game I understand that stuff like the party planning what they'll do how they'll attack and will they pretend or so forth happens 'off screen' and is more implied than anything since you control the companions whilst in combat. But also given the dialogue choices give approval and disapproval points I'm just saying sometimes the durge/tav deviates from what they're SUPPOSED to be saying and I think that added onto my idea of Sceleritas Fel telling the Dark Urge about Thorm adds brilliant opportunity for something like this:

Party enters the tower -> Durge greets ppl like they're new but enters the kitchens for the Gnolls bc Fel mentioned them -> ppl/Gnolls in the kitchen think Durge is back. They do not correct this. The whole Party is confused. -> enters throne room. Goblin cutscene plays out.

"Why don't we let our new friend decide?" Says Kethric.

Only for the most devious, most 'oh there are far too many teeth in that maw, but more teeth makes it easier to kill doesn't it?' Smile to crack across their face and they look not dissimilar to the few times the party has seen the Dark Urge lose themselves in the throes of battle, when the amnesiac companion who (if we take this as a redemption durge) is repulsed by themselves after awakening, can't quite tell who or what they really are once they have blood beneath their nails. And the party go 'oh shit' bc has the center of the absolute taken hold of that urge? But wait... Kethric Thorm has lost his composure, if only for a second. That smile MEANS SOMETHING to the man.

And so the Dark Urge continues, "New friend? Old Bones changes his friends as often as his goddesses'."

(Gonna be honest, Old Bones as a nockname comes from no Saint without audience on AO3, by Ikarons who's portrayal of the Dark Urge kind of rewrite my brain abt pre tadpole Dark Urge and durge in general)

And it shakes Kethric. Because the Bhallspawn speaks like they KNOW him, but they shouldn't... and yet they were the first True Soul, the first independent and a master of the Elderbrain so perhaps even she has her favourites. The Bhallspawn seems to always be a favourite child. And if the Bhallspawn knows him, has collected true soul allies who knows what their plans on? Perhaps it would be best to let this play out; to not alert Gortash (who may foil the plan, who may make the Bhallspawn falter yet again) and Orin (who he would not be opposed to watching be ripped apart by her kin.) just yet.

Perhaps it would be fair to see what the favourite child of Bhall is like now that they seemingly have kept companions alive and loyal without them baring thr crazed marks of Bhalls butchers?

"Of course, how could I forget the butcher? Now, friend, your decision?"

(Meanwhile the party is in utter disarray bc wtf is happening. Which at the next long rest/trio back to camp could trigger a scene where you reveal the existence of Sceleritas Fel and that he has revealed some information about Kethric but only that which you knew BEFORE, refusing to allaborate on how you knew then.

#bg3 dark urge

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el-tur-el · 3 months

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ceilings, plaster.

Pairing - Ikaron x F!Tav

Warnings - Explicit sexual content, 18+ MDNI

Word Count - 1,855. Read it on AO3. Summary - He is less man, more gaping wound given sentience, weeping at the seams, ragged and raw. Scabbed over and torn back open time and time again.

He always carries himself with an undeniable intensity; it’s one of the first things she noticed about him – all sharp edges, waiting for someone to snag on them, to bleed out. He wields his words like a knife, his gaze like a shortsword. He is less man, more gaping wound given sentience, weeping at the seams, ragged and raw. Scabbed over and torn back open time and time again.

Almost all of her interactions with him thus far have been him yelling at her, and yet she finds that it does not invoke a bitterness within her. Rather there is just deep, suffocating pity nestled into the ivory hollows of her bones. Aching, suffocating, crushing.

When was the last time he allowed himself gentleness? Warmth?

Inviting him back to her tent at the party had been a purely selfish decision. At least, that’s what she tried to tell herself. He was attractive, in the angry bad boy sort of way, and everyone else seemed to have company for the evening. She didn’t want to bed down alone on what could possibly be the last night of joy she had for the foreseeable future.

It was easier to call it self-indulgent than it was to call it what it was – an offering of peace, for just one night. ‘I care about you and you’re hurting, can we just have this? Can you just let yourself have this?’

He’d been agreeable to the notion, whether he saw the truth of the matter or not.

He kisses like survivor’s guilt, all teeth and fury, an unspoken hurt seeping into the way his lips move against hers. Like he has something to prove. She wants so desperately to ask him what, exactly, that is. Her lips catch on the sharp jut of his canines hard enough to sting, and he hungrily slips his hands under the soft linen of her shirt to palm at her breasts.

Contrasts.

He tweaks a nipple between callused fingertips, and she whines into the hot press of his mouth, arching into the touch. She had expected him to be inexperienced – because they’re roughly the same age, and she is largely inexperienced. But he seems to know what he’s doing, or he’s hiding it behind eagerness. She’s too tipsy and too turned on to give a fuck.

“Is this okay?” He pants as he pulls away for air, and damn if she couldn’t get lost in the orange of his eyes.

“More than okay.” She responds, equally as breathless. He could do anything to her and she’d be alright with it, she’s fairly certain; there’s something about him that she trusts implicitly. Something she can’t quite put her finger on.

She thinks she could love him if he let her, though he doesn’t seem the type for softness.

He’s clumsy as he lifts her shirt off and tosses it unceremoniously to the side. She moves to return the favor, but his mouth is on her chest now, tongue flicking against her nipples, clawed fingertips lightly digging into her waist, and all coherent thought rapidly goes out the window. She makes a choked sound, one of her hands coming to tangle in his hair – so soft, somehow. Contrasts.

“So fucking pretty.” He’s breathing out against her skin. “Been thinking about this since I saw you at the gate. Gods.”

Well. She certainly hadn’t been expecting that.

“Really?” She asks, hoping that it sounds more like goading him on than an interrogation – oh, to see the inner-workings of his mind. To know what goes on behind the fiery saffron of his eyes.

“Gods, yes.” His hands come down to the laces of her trousers, only fumbling for a moment before he begins to undo them. “Have you seen yourself, Tav? You’re gorgeous. You’re – you’re good.”

Something about that settles neatly in her stomach, fizzles like carbonated wine. Good. There’s an ache in her chest to match the one between her thighs, and she doesn’t think when she cups his cheek and tilts his head up to get him to look at her.

“I think you’re good, too, Ikaron.”

His eyes flutter shut and he hisses out a breath, and she wonders if maybe she’s crossed a line – too soft for a one-night stand, too emotional. “Don’t – don’t say things like that.”

“It’s the truth, though.” She has never been anything other than earnest. Honest.

He makes a sound that borders on pained, dissolves into something that sounds an awful lot like a growl.

“Think I liked it better when you were kissing me and moaning.” He pushes her trousers down her hips along with her smalls, and she stumbles as she steps out of them. “No matter – I’ll just have to shut you up.”

Two callused fingers slide up the length of her slit, and he accomplishes his goal, because instead of a rebuttal she only manages a soft moan. His mouth finds its way to her neck, his breath hot and damp as it ghosts over her skin, and he presses his fingers against her clit. Her hands claw at the back of his armor – gods, is he really still fully dressed? – desperate for purchase.

“Good girl. Fuck, look at you, you’re dripping, Tav.”

She has half a mind to be embarrassed, but the steady pressure of his fingers circling against her has her feeling buzzy and lightheaded. A low heat coiling in her stomach, a bowstring being pulled too tight. She doesn’t know how he’s gotten her like this this quickly; maybe it’s the intensity of it all, maybe it’s because it’s him, but she’s rapidly approaching the edge from just this.

“You gonna come for me? Gonna make a mess, love?” His voice is hoarse, a rasp in her ear, an unhinged, almost feral quality to it.

Let her be a vessel for the hurt. Let her body be the outlet. If what he needs to feel okay for even just tonight is a good lay, so be it – she’s more than happy to indulge him.

She can’t form words, so she just whines out a soft confirmation, tucking her own face into the crook of his neck, clinging to him. It starts in her toes, a tension and then a release – warm, electric, bright. She lets out a choked moan against his skin, and he holds her steady as she shakes against him, his hand slowing.

She’s heaving for breath when she pulls away, and her world is narrowed down into a pinprick when he meets her gaze and brings his fingers to his mouth, lips wrapping around them. He makes a sound of his own as he tastes her on his skin, guttural and raw, and she finds that she needs to sit, like now, before her legs give out underneath her.

She settles onto her bedroll and watches with hazy eyes as he undresses, the only sound in the tent the heavy fall of their breathing and the sharp clanking of metal. She’s never particularly understood people who can undo heavy armor like it’s second nature – she opts for lighter, leather gear, and even that can be a challenge. But he sheds it like a second skin, and when he’s as bare as she is, he brings himself down to her level.

He’s beautiful, though she could have inferred that just from looking at his face. Lean, but not overly so. Wiry in an endearing way. His cock is hard enough that it rests against his stomach, precum beading at the tip. She wants to taste him, to run her tongue over the ridges, to let him tangle his fingers in her hair and use her mouth to work off some of that hurt that’s lurking beneath the surface. But he’s kissing her again, moving himself on top of her, one of his hands hooking under her left knee to bend it, to spread her thighs further apart.

“Do you want me?” He asks, a genuine request for consent.

“You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, Ikaron.” She presses her lips against the corner of his mouth, the slope of his jaw. “I want you. Please.”

He lets out a breath, one of his hands coming down to guide himself to her, and she keens when he presses into her. She can feel the drag of every ridge, the stretch of him. Her nails bite into the skin of his shoulders, and his brow is furrowed when he bottoms out, sweat dripping down his forehead. He moves slowly at first, like he suddenly thinks she’s something precious, something to be gentle with.

Contrasts.

“Gods, Tav.” He manages, ragged. “So fucking tight. You’re taking me so well.”

“You feel so – so fucking good.” She’s a little drunk on it – it’s been so long, the look in his eyes is so much. She’s still sensitive from her orgasm, every sensation heightened.

That seems to spur him on. He thrusts into her faster, the sound of skin on skin hanging heavy in the air around them, and she silently curses the fact that she’s undoubtedly going to receive rather pointed looks from the rest of her traveling companions tomorrow. But it matters little – he is here, she is here, and she thinks that, for just a moment, his heart is in her hands.

What a precious thing trust is.

“’M not gonna last long.” He groans, his rhythm growing sloppier. “Where do you – where should I –“

“Inside me.” She presses her lips against his neck, wraps her arms around him. Tries to bring him closer, to make this mean something. “I take – I take potions, it won’t get me pregnant. Come for me, Ikaron, Gods.”

He is beautiful when he falls apart. His face scrunches up, his lips part in a silent groan. His cheeks are flush, his breath ragged, sweat dripping down her skin. She memorizes it, pockets it to think on later; vulnerability, even if it’s under these circumstances. She makes circles between his shoulder blades with her hand while he comes down, presses her mouth lazily against every inch of skin she can reach.

“Gods.” He breathes out as he settles against her, his chest heaving. “That was –“

“Good?” She asks, draping her arm over him.

“More than. Tav, I –“ He looks at her then, and it’s not lost on her that there’s something deeper than carnal want hidden behind his gaze. “You are –“

“I like you too, Ikaron.” She smiles, soft, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. “I really, really do.”

“We shouldn’t.” He murmurs, but he leans into the touch. “The road to Baldur’s Gate will be long and hard and there isn’t time for –“

“Shh.” She kisses him, gently, barely there. “Just… let yourself be, for once, okay? No tragedy, no anger, just… just this. Just for now.”

“Okay.” He says, resigned, and she knows that in the morning they’ll be left to pick up the pieces.

But for tonight, he is here, curled up against her, his breath evening out as sleep finds him. And perhaps that can be enough.

#ikaron x tav #bg3 ikaron #ikaron #bg3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 fanfiction

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