#Wyll's Week

[sorcerous-caress]

For some Wyll angst, do you think you could write something where Tav is a tiefling and they're a bit insecure about their budding relationship with Wyll because he hates his devilish appearance so they're like “how could he possibly be attracted to me” (— Wyll girl dad anon)

Wyll with an insecure tiefling Tav

[Angst, comfort, image issues, tiefling Reader, nb!reader]

[Part of the Wyll's Week event]

You really tried to not let it get to you.

Each time he made a demeaning comment about his new appearance.

Sneered at the reflection of his horns, ones just like yours.

The way he stiffened when someone would focus on his red eye with the black sclera, preferring they face the sending stone one instead.

He has every right to be upset about his appreance getting forcibly changed.

And yet, despite it all, every word dug into your heart as if they were told to you personally.

Devil, demon, hellspawn, the humans loathed your kind.

You thought he was different, when you saw him being so gentle with the tiefling kids.

But a human, will always be a human.

Fear of the unknown, of what lurks behind the curtains, it was always a great motivator for the human kind.

Your horns, your tail, your bright flaming eyes and colorful vibrant skin.

Things your own mother celebrated in you as a kid.

Things your own father boosted about with pride.

Things that once were beautiful.

Marked you as a monster to the world.

Even when you fell in love with this world, left the safe nest of your own people to go explore.

it never loved you back.

So why would he love you back?

You don't remember when it started, but slowly, eventually, your beautiful reflection in the mirror twisted and cracked everyday.

Until you too, could only see the monster the other claimed you to be.

You thought he could see the beauty in you, that you too have a soul.

You were a fool.

Why would he see that when he can't see it in himself? Why would he love you when he is clearly disgusted by the idea of being like you.

You thought humans were pretty, plain yes, but pretty in their simplicity.

And even when he lost his resemblance to his own kin, you still thought that he was pretty.

Charming, beautiful, mesmerising, so many words could describe Wyll and fail to give him justice.

The lovely horns that felt like they were the missing piece to yours, the mapping of his skin with the ridges and pumps that made him even more sharper.

He clearly thought differently.

And so to protect yourself, you took a step back.

Distaned your heart, pulled back your curtains.

Wyll noticed it of course, your sudden change of heart.

But like any proper gentleman, he never addressed it, never felt like he had the right to when the two of you barely even shared a kiss.

You couldn't avoid him forever.

And so he waited until the celebration to approach you, to open the topic.

He was delicate with it, always knew how to spin his words correctly.

You were kind, always knew how to evade a topic politely.

An endless dance that was growing tiring as the night went on, as people retired to their tents.

Leaving just you and Wyll.

His flirting, words that once fluttered your heart, stung like a needle through it instead.

How could he possibly be attracted to you?

And you told him so, as you were getting fed up with this whole situation.

Told him to drop the act, he doesn't have to pretend to find you not hideous just because you're the group leader.

There was genuine suprise in Wyll's eyes, a flash of disbelief.

And for a moment the mask dropped, his charming flamboyant words that are usually dressed up were bare and forward instead.

Asking why do you think he's pretending

Why would he ever find you hideous.

You were more confused by the second, is he feigning innocence? Or is he making fun of you?

Does he think you're a fool?

The dome collapsed and the walls cracked as your heart poured out all of the pain it contained inside, each and every one of his passing comments that were ingrained in your brain like a parasite digging at your skull whenever you thought you had a chance.

Mocking you for thinking a monster can be anything but a monster, for thinking a human can see humanity in others.

As you recalled every word you were a witness to, Wyll was horrifed by the end of it.

Of himself.

The raging flames of anger amidst your chest weren't rejected by him, but welcomed as he stepped into the flames and didn't attempt to forcefully douse them.

Instead, he apologied.

To you, for everything he said, for his naive ignorance, for being too obsorbed in his own view of what makes a human a human to truly comprehend what he was condeming.

Who he was condemning.

For it wasn't the devils he ended up cursing, but the innocent tieflings he was attempting to save.

How unaware he was in his blinded rage, damming the ones he was trying to protect.

Hurting the one person he loved.

Love.

For you were not a monster in his eyes, you were love, pure in essence, raging flames in passion, beautiful in core.

He confessed how he almost didn't believe his eyes when he saw you, almost questioned reality. For how could one person put the sun to shame? How could one person rival the moon in grace?

And again, he apologiesed.

The night ended quietly.

And you noticed how Wyll lingered more and more on his own reflection.

Looked at his own horns the same way he admired yours when he thought no one was looking.

Traced the ridges on his face, gently.

And then you noticed it, a single charm.

A subtle gold trinket that one puts at the end of their horn.

Strangely, he only wore one, yet you were sure they came in a pair.

At the end of that day, you found the matching charm inside your tent with a letter underneath.

Your eyes scanned the paper, taking in the carefully written lines, the cursive words.

You held the charm in the other hand.

And nothing ever, could compare to Wyll's smile the next day as he saw you wearing it.

Although he would object, for he claims your own smile, sharp teeth and all, would make the flowers bloom in adoration.

And in a way, you were starting to see your own face again, your own reflection again.

The same could be said for Wyll, for his own monster too, quietly went to bed whenever you were around.

[darkwolf76]

The Fiend

Though a day late, a story for Wyll's Week, because that character needs more love in the bg3 fandom.

Wyll sat on the river bank, staring at his reflection in the water. It appeared swathed in shadow, fitting he thought bitterly, only illuminated by the dull silver moonlight and the flickering firelight coming from camp. His true eye flickered with hell fire, surrounded by darkness. The black horns protruding from his head ached, and the new ridges and scars that marred his body burned just enough to remind him of the flames of Avernus that had licked at his skin. Even his scent had changed, the faintest whiff of the ooze rot of Dis lingering in his nose.

The sounds of the party that the tieflings refugees and druids were throwing for their intrepid crew echoed at his back, seeming far away from his solitary patch of darkness. He glanced over his shoulder and saw figures, horned tieflings and Druids alike dancing around the firelight. He smiled slightly at the laughter he heard as they drank together, happy to live another day after his party had saved them from the goblin threat, the previous tension between the two groups forgotten.

As he turned and gazed at the creature he didn’t recognize in the water again, he sighed. He didn’t belong to either group, and equally unsettled both in his new fiendish form. Years had passed since he had called Baldur’s Gate home, yet if he ever returned to its streets, he’d not be a welcome sight there either. Not to even think what his father, his grandparents, old friends would think of him if they saw him now. He shuttered and took another swig from the wine bottle he’d pilfered, hoping the warmth of the alcohol would stave off the loneliness.

“Wyll?” Her voice sounded sweet as a songbird. Her reflection took shape from the darkness next to his in the river. She sat down next to him, her red hair almost a purplish hue in the low light.

“Agh, hells! I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I was gone,” Wyll sighed.

Seraphina frowned at him, her green eyes serious. “Of course I noticed. It’s no party without you there.”

“Really?” Wyll’s brows rose in disbelief. He tried not to focus on the half smile that formed on Seraphina’s berry stained lips. “I’m honored.” He glanced away, hoping the shadows would hide the heat rising in his cheeks. He shrugged as he looked back at the half elf druid, her eyes searching and concerned. “In truth, I didn’t feel in a festive mood, and I didn’t want cast a grey cloud over the night.”

“What troubles you? We saved Sylvanus’ Grove and have cleared a safe path for the tieflings. That’s something worth celebrating, despite our dire circumstances.”

“I’m a devil,” Wyll practically spat, glaring at his reflection in the smooth shallows of the Chionthar. “I love the people of the Grove, but I unsettle them deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays.” He shook his head as hurt and disgust shot through him. He unsettled himself whenever he looked at his reflection. Why would others accept him? “You don’t want a devil at your party.” Wyll’s voice shook slightly as his self contempt grew. He picked up a pebble from the river bank as he mocked the creature staring at him from the moonlit waters. “Claws will pop the balloons, you see. And the sweetcakes don’t taste half as good as raw eggs with this blasted fork tongue!” He threw the pebble in frustration into the water, breaking up his fiendish reflection, if just for a moment.

He felt her hand grip his arm, ever gentle, and the soft brush of her hair. As the water settled again, he saw in the reflection, Seraphina sitting right up against him, touching his arm as her head leaned on his shoulder. “You don’t unsettle me, you know that.” Her voice held such sincerity, he wanted to believe her.

Wyll reached his other hand to trace over her fingers, and took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of her close to his side. “If only half the world had half the heart you do.” His voice shook slightly.

“Kyrais would have liked your horns.” Wyll felt his stomach tighten at the name. Flashes of his old tiefling friend came to his mind, same red skin, black hair and horns, and golden eyes as Karlach, though far shorter and scrawnier than she. “He would have said they were an improvement.” Seraphina laughed a bit. “He was so proud of his own. For someone that prided himself on his stealth, he couldn’t ever resist bangles for his horns, no matter how shiny or noisy they might be.”

Wyll smiled a bit at the memory of their shared childhood friend, before the pain came back. Kyrais should have heed here now. Could Wyll had saved him, had he done more? What would Kyrais think of Wyll, demeaning his appearance, when he had horns of his own and had since birth?

“They were a part of him, who he was. He should have been proud. Just like Karlach, like the tieflings we helped.” Wyll glanced back towards the party. “But I wasn’t born in this form. I gained it through choices I made. The deals I made. That is all people will see.”

“The choice you made to spare an innocent woman.” Seraphina squeezed his arm. “And our friend’s sister at that. That’s not something to be ashamed of Wyll.”

“It’s not my actions that bother me, it is what she made me that does. What others…” Wyll shook his head again, at his selfishness and vanity. He pulled out of Seraphina’s grip and stood, facing her with a forced smile on his lips. “But off with you. This is your day! Have a dance, enjoy the music.”

Seraphina frowned as she stood up as well. Her brows furrowed. “I wanted to dance with you.” Her words felt heavy with meaning. “As we once did. Though perhaps in more desirable circumstances this time.” She stubbornly reached for Wyll’s hand, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Wyll let out a laugh at her pout as the memories of their shared youth came back to him, however short they’d been. “In truth, I always did enjoy the pomp, a bit.” He admitted fondly.

Seraphina gasped in amusement and fake censure. “What?! You always told me how you abhorred those stuffy ballrooms of your peers!”

“We did well enough!” Wyll chuckled. “Did I not break the city record the most sarabandes danced in one evening?”

“Only thanks to the exhaustion of all the good ladies and gentlemen of the Gate!” Seraphina shot back, failing to contain her own laughter. “Mine in particular.”

Wyll squeezed her hand. “Despite all the lessons, it was all about my partner.” He smiled. “You cut quite a fine figure, letting me lead you around with that entire ballroom watching.”

He thought back to that night. His seventeenth birthday, his grandmother had spared no expense and had invited all the young ladies and gentlemen of the city’s elite families for him to mingle with. Yet it had been the daughter of his common bard dance master that he’d spent the most time twirling about, who’d endured stepped on toes in lessons leading up to the party, that he’d absconded with to the gardens after… How he had wished in the years since to do that again.

But he caught a glimpse of himself in the river. The mirth on his lips died. He let go of Seraphina’s hand and turned away. “But who am I fooling? I can’t go back to that life.”

Seraphina pursed her lips. “Why not? You don’t know what the future holds Wyll,” She argued, reaching for her friend once more.

“Look at me!” He snapped, everything spilling out. “I’m not the same as I was, Sera! And I never will be again! I’m the very thing I vowed to hunt! I—” His voice died in his throat as the binds of his infernal pact prevented the words he wanted to say from escaping his lips, as they had so many times before.

“You look similar enough to me.” Seraphina tilted her head. “And while I-I don’t presume to know what happened after I left the city, with her…I don’t think it changed you as much as you think it did.”

“I will never regret the decisions I’ve made.” Wyll shook his head. “But it has cost me…” the words died on his lips again, too close to the forbidden topics of his pact. Everything. He clenched his fists in frustration. He felt selfish for even having to remind himself not to regret his choices. Yet he was only man…

Seraphina stepped closer to him. “Then let’s pretend.” Wyll turned to look at her. She stared pleadingly at him. “Just tonight. That the plans we made with Kyrais had worked out. That we’d all went adventuring together, like we talked about doing. That we’re visiting my mother’s druid circle in the High Forest like you promised you’d do. And instead of your family’s ballroom and dances, we’re dancing around my family’s fire. The way I showed you.” She offered a hand to him.

Wyll wanted to grab her hand, by the Triad he did, and go partake in the more wild druid dances that were happening around the fire, just like she’d shown him all those years ago. The boy that had those plans with that girl, that had promised those things, wasn’t him anymore, and in truth, neither was Seraphina that girl anymore. And while a very similar tiefling friend journeyed with them now, down to the same family, it wasn’t the same one. It just didn’t feel… “Sera, I…”

Wyll hated the disappointment that crossed Seraphina’s face. She closed her hand and stared sadly at him. Instead of turning and leaving as he thought she would, though, a stubborn glint of hope entered her eye.

“If not a dance, then perhaps…” she stepped closer to him, asking, searching silently. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move away. He didn’t want to. Seraphina reached up slowly, pausing a moment to study his facial expression, and when she saw no rejection, she traced one of his horns, from tip to base at his forehead. He closed his eyes at the sensation, not realizing he was leaning his head into her hand. Her fingers traced from his forehead to his cheek, a comforting gesture he savored. Then her lips brushed against his, the lightest touch for the briefest instant, before she backed away.

He blinked his eyes open, and then for a moment, both he and the druid just stated at each other, the only sounds, their breathing and the Chionthar babbling next to them. Feeling lighter, Wyll smiled slightly. “I…” his voice faltered, for reasons other than an infernal pact. He cleared his throat. “You drive a hard bargain. But, you have a party to get back to. Tonight is about you after all, the druidess that saved her Tree Father’s sacred grove.”

“It’s about us. We saved the Grove. I could not have done it without the Blade of Frontiers. Should he not have his triumph celebrated too?” Seraphina begged.

“Perhaps.” Wyll conceded, a warmth in his chest at her insistence. His smiled faltered. It did not change the fact that the his fiendish form unsettled even the tieflings, whom had been used to the Blade of Frontiers in his heroic, human form, a form that didn’t imply he’d made deals and been consorting with the very creatures that had sentenced them to the unfair ridicule they’d received, that caused them torment when their city had been pulled to the Hells, and caused the prejudice that had made others turn on them and banish them from their own city after. He knew the pain of being cast from one’s home and didn’t want his face to make the tieflings relive it. And nothing changed the unease he still had with his new form.

“There will be another time for us,” he promised Seraphina. “I want this night to be their night. And your night. I just…I need some time.”

Seraphina studied him a moment longer, and seeing the truth in his eyes, nodded. “Alright,” She sighed. She stepped away from him, turned to walk back to the party, but then stopped. She glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes boring into him. “I am here for you Wyll, always.”

Wyll swallowed as he nodded back. “I know.”

Happy with his response, she left him to his solitude. Wyll turned back and faced down his fiendish reflection in the water once more. He still felt odd, like he was not looking at his true self, but not quite as harsh nor angry at the man staring back at him, as he was before. Perhaps the horned fiend in his reflection still had the same heart as the Blade of Frontiers, and the same heroism. Perhaps, with the right company by his side, he could still do good yet, and be the hero the people of the Sword Coast and the Gate deserved.

[artist-rat]

i miss them sm!!!!

[lazylittledragon]

ok look i love astarion with my whole soul and this might be an unpopular opinion but post-brain, i don’t think he’s fashionable. i think he knows how to dress well and likes wearing nice clothes but i really feel like 90% of the time when he’s at home he would just want to be comfortable. i think this man wears dad slippers and owns an ungodly amount of sweaters and comfy loungewear. furthermore i would like to put forward that the person who DOES put together a fucking Look every single day of his life is wyll fucking ravengard. in this essay i will

[geezmarty]

you put up with what you think you deserve, and the things you want you resent

[lovetositinsilence]

the duke’s son

prints available!! here

[lovewyll]

Day 2: Flowers

A flower crown for the Blade of the Frontiers. Such a gorgeous artwork done by @nukbody. What a beautiful piece!

[antlersish]

Comfort zone Wyll cause it’s been a fuckin week

[voltaical-art]

wyllmancer week day 4: horn care

had this one rolling around in my brain for a while. takes place post devil transformation

[lsandom]

“Always the fool with the slowest heart” ❤️

-

happy wyll week!!!

i didn’t have a prompt in mind for this but i’ll take any excuse to draw him.. i need to draw him happy eventually, to make up for this one and my last

[nekrosmos]

Okay one last batch of silly little memes for you silly little memes enjoyers out there

Part 1 / 2

[sorcerous-caress]

Yandere Wyll headcanons

[Soft yandere, Toxic protective Wyll, jealousy, possessiveness, nb!reader]

[Part of the Wyll's Week event]

Bedtime stories of love at first sight that his father used to tell him after tucking him in was something he thought he outgrow.

Yet on that day as he hopped down the grove's gate and faced the goblins, meeting your eyes amidst the battlefield felt like an arrow struck his heart.

A feeling he can't explain.

Wyll was hyperaware of your presence during the whole fight, of your safety. Casting a spell on the nearby goblin that might have taken you by suprise, completely ignoring the fact he was surrounded by a dozen of them himself.

In the aftermath, it almost hurt him to retreat back inside the grove, to leave you all alone out there.

He wanted to go and check on you, to ask your name at least.

But the tieflings urged him back, declaring him their hero as he smiled politely at the kids running up to him.

Please come back, he thought, please follow him.

It must be fate, and when you walked inside the grove and spoke to him, he was sure of it.

Your name sounded pleasent on his lips, and when you called him the blade of frontier he thought he might trip and make a fool of himself.

One thing led to another and he found himself back at your camp.

Much to his dismay, there were other tents placed Besides your own.

Even his reaction surprised him, why did his lungs burn at the idea of someone else staying near you as you slept? Why does his heart ache at the idea that he wasn't the first person you called back to camp.

The eventual meeting with the devil he was hunting ensures, and you're there by his side during it.

But you're looking at the devil with concerned eyes instead of disgust, you're lowering your weapon and asking if she's okay.

You ask for her name just like you asked for his.

Something ugly twists inside his stomach.

He takes over the conversation, steers it back to the purpose it once held before.

But you stop him, talk him out of it, and like any fool smitten in love, he can't refuse you.

Part of him is aware that he did the right thing, that your words rung true at the end, Karlach is no devil.

And as he pays the price for his change of heart that night, you still face him the next morning.

Still as handsome, you tell him.

You don't look at him with disgust, you don't prod at his horns and you don't avoid eye contact with his abyssal eye.

It really must be fate, for someone as kind hearted as you to cross paths with him.

He stays by your side that night, nods off to sleep with his head resting against your shoulder.

From that day on, he stays by your side and on your team.

Every attempt at getting him to go back to camp is met with refusal, you can only bring two other companions, the third will always be Wyll.

The world is too dangerous, the people are too greedy. He can't let someone take advantage of you, he can't let you out of his sight.

He shows off his power more in front of you, plays the heroic role with more flourish, targets the enemies that target you.

The other companions make a comment or two about how he seems to be inseparable from you, Wyll takes it in stride and plays it cool, yet never denies it.

Somehow each attempt they make at getting closer to you gets interrupted by some way or the other.

That time Gale attempts to share the weave with you, Scratch suddenly runs to you, your favourite boot in his mouth with chew marks and you completely lose focus and go after him.

That night Astarion invites you to the forest, it suddenly starts raining and it's too damp and muddy to do anything on the ground.

When Shadowheart called you to split a bottle, a cat jumps out of the bush and nearly makes her stumble off of the small cliff into the lake, both of you immediately make it back to camp.

As Wyll dismisses the familiar he summoned, he can't help but feel guilty and ashamed by his actions.

Just because he's not in a hurry to share his bed with you, doesn't mean that the other companions deserve it because they're easy.

Not to mention, you did promise him to dance with him eventually, did you not?

[hijackalx]

i feel like we as a fandom sleep on the fact that a majority of bg3 is a bunch of city people and foreigners being thrown into an unfamiliar environment and having to live there/navigate it for like a month LMAO

long treks through rain, wind, heavy sun

biting bugs

baths in freezing cold creek water

boots getting stuck in the mud

someone waking up with a snake in their tent

failed attempts at learning to hunt or locate food and everyone getting hangry

accidentally eating poisonous plants

slipping/tripping/falling over various terrains

walking through spider webs

being sticky and sweaty from the humidity

aching backs and feet

taking a wrong turn and getting lost

scary animal noises in the middle of the night

everyone smelling like mildew, B.O, and dirt (a.k.a ten cans of BOUNCE THAT ASS)

i just feel like there’s some potential here

[riptxde-art]

wyll week day 6 - alternate class

he shouldve been a bard!

[ravennowithtea]

heard it was Wyll Ravengard Week ✌️💕

[haverdoodles]

Folk Hero

— (Wyll)

.

lighting is so fun when you don't take it seriously haha. backlighting and front lighting galore for our stalwart adventurer!

and yellow gladiolus, my flower for wyll :)

happy wyllvember!