#i wanted to make some gifs with orin and then

[mercymaker]

ORIN THE RED ⬩ “Many called her beautiful. She was not beautiful. She was red, and terrible, and red.”

[thechaoticdruid]

I don't know why whether Astarion does or doesn't want kids is such a hot debate. I feel like he could go either way to be honest. Imma be honest as someone who isn't eager to have kids irl I think some of y'all are projecting yourselves onto Astarion when you say he wouldn't want them.

If you pay attention to him carefully in game it's pretty clear he just pretends to hate kids. (Likely as an unhealthy coping mechanism to deal with the fact that he was forced to kidnap the gur children)

You know like how he pretends to hate Scratch, how he pretends to hate kind people, how he pretends he doesn't care about anyone, need I say more?

You know the man bullshits half the time right?

Man is legit concerned if Yenna is kidnapped by Orin, approves of giving her food or money, and approves of saving Vanra from Ethel before killing the hag.

My own personal headcanon is that if Tav (or whoever he's romanced by) wants kids, then Astarion will probably warm up to the idea and if Tav doesn't then Astarion is perfectly happy being child free.

Whether or not he'd be a good dad is a whole different ball game entirely. I personally think he would be far from perfect, (likely he would have no fucking idea what he was doing most of the time) but he'd care about his kid. I honestly get a little pissed off when people say he would be a deadbeat dad, because unless we're talking about the ascendant version of him that is so not true.

I can however definitely see him raising a spoiled rotten entitled brat who gets away with murder though. But him not being interested in his kid whatsoever does not feel right to me.

Basically I'm just saying let people enjoy their little dhampir baby fantasies godsdamnit.

If you don't want kids it's perfectly valid. You do you honey! Enjoy all that extra child-free cash you're gonna have! Take a vacation, travel, buy all shit you want! Enjoy your freedom!

I really don't like the idea of being responsible for children irl personally but the idea of having a sweet dhamphir daughter with long bouncy white curls just makes me feel all fuzzy inside.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Hi! I was wondering if you take request for Astarion and co.? The reader gets an aura migraine (worst kind of migraine in my opinion). But because of her/their past being a mercenary/hunter/warrior (whichever one), the reader doesn’t tell or even realize it until it’s too late. Just some angst and then love and care from Astarion.

I love your writing! So please take all the time you need to write this if you want to.

HIHI I'M SORRY FOR NOT POSTING FOR SO LONG!!!!!!! I've been very tired as of late from all the schoolwork and I swear it's almost like I don't have any down time. Writing through this slog has been difficult as well and I don't like forcing/rushing things. Still, I managed to finish this, hope you like it!

Summary: You collapse right in front of Astarion due to a particularly bad aura migraine episode. Panic and emotional constipation ensues

Your head is splitting. Again.

Inhaling sharply, you let out a slow breath, willing the pain away so that you can focus on the task at hand. Black spots creep in on the edges of your vision but you blink them away, you can’t falter now. You swing your blade, slicing through another of Orin’s assassins before ducking as a dagger stabs the spot your head was at just moments ago.

Even with spotty vision, your battle instincts are enough to help you survive the fight, but you don’t emerge from the fight unscathed. One of the assassins manages to sneak up on you and gets a hit in, tearing open your shoulder.

“Y/N!”

You hiss in pain, whirling around to cleave the assassin in half with your blade. Your injured arm shakes from the exertion, fresh blood streaming from the wound with each motion. The throbbing pain doesn’t help your migraine in the slightest and you nearly keel over.

“My dear, you look terrible.” Astarion catches you just before you hit the floor, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine.” You grab onto him to steady yourself, blinking as your vision begins to swim and push yourself upright, flashing him a grin. “See? Perfectly fine!”

And then the world spins before fading to black.

Bright light fills your vision as you open your eyes, causing you to throw your arm up to block out the light, only for white hot pain to shoot through said arm.

Right. You had injured your arm.

Groaning, you rub your eyes with the other arm and tenderly push yourself upright, letting out a croaky yelp when your injured arm buckles beneath you. Closing your eyes, you breathe out slowly, releasing your annoyance at the current situation.

“How are you feeling?” A familiar deep voice sounds.

“Fine.” Your reply comes out harsher than you intended and you internally cringe when Halsin noticeably pauses, taken aback by your tone.

“Sorry,” you mutter quickly. “How long was I out for?”

“Sufficiently long to make everyone worry.” He hands you a flask of water. “Drink up.”

You down the flask almost immediately, feeling the cool liquid slide down your throat and let out a contented sigh. The throbbing in your head has dulled to a quiet hum, but it will remain for a few more days, if past experience is anything to go by.

"Thank you." You hand the now empty flask back to Halsin.

"If you're feeling well enough, you should go and talk to the others. Some of them were particularly worried when you fainted on them." Halsin gives you a sly smirk. "Especially a certain vampire."

You raise an eyebrow and Halsin laughs, "he was the most worried. I had to chase him out of the tent just so I could tend to you."

"He was that worried," you murmur to yourself, frowning slightly. You hadn't meant to do that, well not like you had meant to faint in the first place but knowing just how much of an impact your little 'accident' had on Astarion made you feel bad.

"Watch yourself out there, you were lucky you only collapsed after all the enemies were defeated," Halsin chides as he rebandages your wound and hands you a healing potion. "Try to tell someone when you're not feeling well, alright?"

You laugh, waving him off, "I'll try, no promises though."

The moment you exit the room, the others rush over to check up on you, save for a pale elf who sends a scowl your way before disappearing into his own room, his door left ajar. You reassure the others, quickly making your way past the conversations and slip away with Halsin's help, ducking into a familiar room.

"Hey." You attempt to make conversation but a scowl remains firmly on his face, his gaze buried in the book he's holding. Sighing, you make your way to the bed and nestle into the remaining space, feeling his cooling skin press against your burning one.

"I'm sorry for making you worry."

"You're sorry? That's it? You're not going to explain why I suddenly had your unconscious body in my arms, why you had the audacity to tell me you were 'perfectly fine' before collapsing, why you —" He stops to take a breath he doesn't need, feeling every emotion rush to the surface and tears prick the corners of his eyes. He's mad, mad at you for not telling him anything, mad at himself for not noticing earlier, mad at himself for not being able to express his concern in a normal manner.

"Star…"

"You can't just say sorry and expect everything to be ok! Sorry fixes nothing!" He yells, wanting nothing more than for you to yell back at him so that he can release the emotions he doesn't know how to deal with in the only way he knows how but you remain quiet, head hung low, and that frustrates him even more.

"You're right. Sorry fixes nothing. I…" You let out a deep sigh, lifting your gaze to meet his. You can see the tear streaks that have formed, the fear in his eyes, the anxiety and it steals your breath away.

"Halsin wasn't kidding. You really are extremely worried for me." You can't help but give a small chuckle despite it all, a quiet smile making its way onto your face.

"Of course I'm worried!" Astarion snaps.

"Thank you for being worried." You slip your hand into his. "No one's ever been this worried about me before."

"Have you fainted in someone's arms before?" He huffs, annoyed, but he has simmered down.

"Well…not quite. I always went on quests alone, fought alone, but the times I wasn't alone…let's just say things didn't go so well for me." You laugh, giving his hand a squeeze. "You all…you…are the first people I don't mind calling friends."

He clicks his tongue and looks away, but you can see the red on the tips of his ears. Your own cheeks are burning from the confession, your heart thundering like never before and you want nothing more than to bury your face into your knees.

"Why aren't you angry at me?" He mumbles after a while, still refusing to meet your gaze.

"Is there a reason I should be?" You murmur, running your thumb along his skin. His grip on you tightens and he bites his lip, shifting anxiously.

"There are many." The words leave his lips in a whisper and he wishes he could take them back when he sees the way your face falls.

"I can't think of any. I can, however, think of reasons for you to be angry at me." You shake your head. "I should have told you about my migraines earlier instead of having you find out like that, I should have done more than a simple 'sorry', I should have thought about you instead of just keeping to myself."

"You were just doing what you knew was safe. I'm no better."

"But you chose to open up to me. You spilled your deepest darkest secrets and yet I kept mine from you because I didn't want to look weak. I should have returned the favour, but I didn't." All your regrets come spilling forth, its flow stemmed only by the feeling of soft lips against your own.

He kisses you gently at first, and then it deepens, becoming more urgent as he conveys his feelings to you the only way he knows how.

"You're strong. You're the strongest person I know. You've been through so much, and yet you refuse to let any of it stop you. You've been dealing with your migraine by yourself for so long, putting up with the pain by yourself, nothing about that is weak in the slightest." He presses his forehead against yours, pulling you into his embrace. "Let me share in your burden as you share in mine."

"It's only fair, I suppose." Your lips curve into a grin. Letting out a quiet breath, you entangle your fingers in his curls, feeling him lean into the touch. "Promise?"

"Promise," he murmurs back, soaking in the moment. There's only you and him, bodies pressed against each other, embracing like it's the last time you'll ever see each other, washing away the throbbing in your head and the ache in his heart.

He closes his eyes, relishing in the warmth of your body tightly pressed against him, breathing in your scent that speaks of love, comfort, safety, feeling the rhythmic strokes of your fingers through his hair, and wants for nothing else. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he smiles, genuinely, and saves this moment in his memory.

"Get well soon, my love."

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Sleep Well Pet

Astarion X Y/N - drabble - 927 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: injury to reader, descriptions of injury, blood, arguing, fainting, confessions, Astarion being sweet

-----------------

Astarion paced back and forth outside Shadowheart’s tent. Her and Gale doing their best to heal you after Orin slashed your side open. It was a deep gash, the blood that spilled out of it looked almost black. Astarion saw bone and knew the laceration could be fatal. The battle finished quickly, he rushed to you. Catching your head just before it hit the ground. Your vision was doubled and Astarion sounded far away. You watched the world around you blur and fade, the last thing you saw was Astarion’s hands covered in blood. 

You woke up and heard the sounds of the night. Grasshoppers, the chirps of bats, the bonfire crackling. You tried to get up, immediately groaning as you felt stitches in your side stretch uncomfortably. You lifted your shirt up, the gash was as long as your forearm. From your last rib to just barely past your hip bone. At least she used a sharp sword, making the gash nice and clean. You looked around the tent, you had been put in Astarion’s tent. Confusion filled you, sure you were friends, maybe even something more after your little romp in the clearing but you had no reason to be resting in his tent. The flap to his tent brushed open, your eyes found his. The tent remained silent.

“Help me up.” you said, struggling to even sit up.

“What?” Astarion said, kneeling next to you trying to keep you in place.

“I’m not staying in your tent.” you struggled against him for a moment before looking at his face, trying to see what he was so worked up about. 

“Really? That’s your concern? You almost died!” he shouted, standing and walking away from you with frustration. 

“Astarion, please let's not do whatever this is.” you said struggling to your knees, working up the motivation to stand. 

“Is it so difficult to hear that I’m worried about you?.” he said with venom in his voice. 

You used the stool next to his bed to stand, hand immediately coming to your wound. Your head was spinning, your hand felt wet. You looked down, seeing blood cover your palm. You looked at Astarion who had an angry look for a moment. It vanished instantly when you stumbled backwards, he caught you. Laying your unconscious self back onto his bedroll. He lifted your shirt, looking at the five busted stitches out of…. 28. Your bleeding was steady. He held a clean rag to your side. He poured an elixir of pain on the wound, numbing it. The last thing he wanted was you waking up mid stitch. He gingerly stitched you back up. He put a soothing salve on the stitches before wrapping your entire waist in gauze. He stayed next to you, watching you sleep. He knew why he was worried. He had known since you and him shared that night in the clearing. He had grown to like everything about you, but did an excellent job of acting aloof. He didn’t know how you felt, he couldn’t read you like everyone else.

-------------------

Your eyes rolled open sleepily, your side felt better but you could feel the heat coming from it. Astarion was meditating next to you, leaning against the pole holding the tent up. He always looked so pretty, you thought. You lifted your shirt, surprised to see you were patched back up. Your eyes scanned over Astarion, landing on his bloody hands. He had helped you. You didn’t mean to come off so mean earlier, but you had to be. The last few weeks he was all you could think of. After your lust filled night you developed, begrudgingly, feelings for him. The pale elf conquered every thought in your mind. You wanted him in every way. But you knew Astarion well enough to know what you two had was transactional. 

“I wished you knew how much I like you.” you whispered, fingers caressing the back of his hand. You stretched as much as your wound would allow before closing your eyes to get some rest. 

Astarion peeked his eyes open after a few moments, listening to your heart beat even out. “I know little love… and I feel the same.” he said, pulling the blanket up higher. He tucked you in, noticing how you nuzzled into his hand as he smoothed the blanket out and brushed you hair away from your face. He felt his heart swell. 

He gently leaned down and kissed your cheek, “Sleep well pet.” 

He went to walk out of the tent before he heard a faint, “Stay?” he looked you over, convinced he was hearing things. Your hand was stretched out, waiting for him. Your eyes barely open, you felt his hand slide into yours. “Sorry I was mean.” you whispered.

Astarion smiled, laying down next to you, caressing your hand. “So you like me, huh?” he asked.

Your eyes shot open and you looked at him with panic on your face. Astarion chuckled before he pressed a kiss to your lips softly. You hesitated but kissed him back after a moment. You opened your mouth to speak but Astarion beat you to it. “Rest now, we can talk in the morning. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” he smoothed his thumb over your cheek, kissing you one final time. You nodded at him, closing your eyes. Astarion wrapped himself around you carefully, avoiding your wound. Sighing with content, you slowly drifted off. Listening to Astarion whisper praises into your ear, and his strong arms holding you.

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Naboo's Note:

Hellooooooo :) just a little something that crossed my mind. I'm really loving writing for all of you <3 thank you for all the likes, comments, requests, and reblogs! See you all again soon! XOXOXO

[in1-nutshell]

Hey just had a thought what if all the old Predacon buddy accidentally stumbles upon a relic that reverts them back to their younger body somewhere between when they were still a gladiator like they are mentally and physically reverted back into their younger form and younger predacon buddy is like more cold and distant but is still nice to the younger bots and Optimus

Young Predacon Buddy is not happy with this sudden change.

Especially with the buff Orin Pax they found.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the Old Predacon turning back to his prime youth with Wheeljack, Smokescreen, Bulkhead, Ratchet, and Optimus Prime

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronain reader

TFP

The team had recently acquired a new relic from the latest find.

Buddy had stayed in the base with Ratchet and the kids to try and decode the item.

When the team arrived, they placed the relic in one of the med slabs to be scanned later.

Buddy was finishing the decoding when the relic started powering up and had a bad feeling about it glowing.

Glowing things and Buddy didn’t exactly mix well.

A sudden beam came out of the relic and started bouncing around the base.

Everyone ran for cover.

The beam headed straight for Optimus.

Buddy ran and threw themselves at him covering the mech with their beast mode and large wings.

A sudden bright light flashed before dying down.

Buddy and Prime were okay.

But the closer the bots looked at Buddy they realized something was off.

Either that beam polished them and gave them a frame upgrade.

Or…

Something wrong happened.

The Predacon groaned as they got off the Prime shaking their helm.

They stood up straighter than they had ever seen Buddy go normally.

And they stretched their massive wings farther than they had seen before.

Buddy goggling opened and blinked their optics.

Their entire paintjob was new yet scratched.

They also had more decorative markings and more armor plating.

Buddy finally looked around and hissed.

Their plating flared up a bit making themselves look bigger.

More threatening.

They demanded to know where they were before they slit everyone’s throats.

Something was terribly wrong.

Optimus took this moment to call Buddy.

Buddy turned annoyed but it turned to shock and surprised.

They called him Orion.

…

Oh no…

After a bit of explaining and finally decoding the purpose of the relic.

The relic had the ability of returning a bot to a point in their youth along with all their memories from that point in time.

That meant Buddy was only familiar with Optimus and Ratchet.

Everyone else was a stranger to them.

Wheeljack

Buddy gets annoyed at all the asks to spar by many of these ‘Wreckers’.

Especially from the white one, Wheeljack.

A very persistent fellow.

When Buddy finally gave into the challenge, it was over in a couple of seconds. Usually this would have taken 5 minutes tops for Wheeljack with older Buddy.

This strength was scary.

Too quick…

Too brutal…

Too much of everything.

Buddy may have gone a bit too far with some more denting than what they would usually do.

And they weren’t even using most of their strength, and Wheeljack knew that.

Even now at the prime of their youth, they were still holding back.

“Hey Buddy, you wanna spar?”-Wheeljack

“And why would I want to spar with you? Do you not value your own life Wecker? I’d rather not give Ratchet more work in the med bay.”—Buddy

Buddy goes to walk away.

“It’s only sparring, or are you too afraid of the challenge?”--Wheeljack

Buddy stops and slowly looks back at Wheeljack with cold and calculated optics.

“Challenge accepted Wrecker…”--Buddy

Smokescreen

Buddy is softer with the younger members of the team.

Even when they found out about humans, they were soft on them too.

Smokescreen, still being one of the younger bots, got this treatment too.

Buddy did mention before that they had a habit of ‘taking bots under their wing.’

He didn’t think they meant it literally.

Buddy was a bit rougher than usual, but they still cared and looked out for him.

When Smokescreen asked to spar, Buddy hesitated to ask if that was what he really wanted.

Smokescreen said yes.

5 seconds…

5 seconds was what it took to bring him done.

A minute with the phase shifter on.

Buddy constantly gives him tips on footing and arm placement, but he doesn’t really take that into account while his helm is still spinning from the tail whip.

“Hi I’m Smokescreen.”--Smokescreen

Buddy looks at the bot.

Buddy takes their wing over him.

“Mine now.”--Buddy

“What?”--Smokescreen

“Mine.”--Buddy

Bulkhead

Buddy liked Bulkhead.

He was an almost adequate sparring partner.

He could take much more damage than some of the other bots here.

Bulkhead didn’t want to fight Buddy though.

Bulkhead had been the one to cause some heavy dents in Buddy before.

But that was the older, more patient Buddy.

Now he was talking to the les patient, younger Buddy.

Which gave Buddy the wrong message.

They thought that he didn’t want to spar them because they were a predacon.

An animal.

A monster.

Something not worthy of his time.

Buddy defiantly made sure the two of them sparred even adding more denting from their frustrations.

But not too much

They didn’t want to upset Ratchet or Optimus.

“Have you come to spar with me like your friend in the med bay?”--Buddy

“Nah, I don’t wanna hurt you, Buddy.”—Bulkhead

“I almost guarantee you won’t Wrecker.”--Buddy

“Yeah, but I hurt you last time—"--Bulkhead

Buddy clamps their jaw on Bulkhead’s arm and throws him on the far side of the room.

“You calling me weak!? I’LL SHOW YOU WEAK!”--Buddy

Ratchet

It was between Ratchet and Optimus to explain to Buddy what was happening.

They only trusted being around the two.

Both knew it would take a while for Buddy to warm up.

Buddy often dropped off team members who thought it was a good idea to spar with this much younger predacon.

Or the ones who pissed Buddy off.

Buddy does look after Ratchet.

More worried about how many years the bot put on.

Nearing the same age as each other, Buddy worried for their friend’s health often asking him to take naps while they kept watch.

Surprisingly this worked many times while Buddy was in the med bay.

Buddy would always stand guard over their resting friend, growling at anything that would disturb his sleep.

Mainly because Ratchet didn’t want to be physically subdued by a younger Predacon that could take him out in seconds.

“Ratchet.”--Buddy

“Buddy.”--Ratchet

“Have you been sleeping well?”--Buddy

“Why?”--Ratchet

“You look closer to my age than a few cycles ago.”--Ratchet

“I’m old Buddy.”--Ratchet

“Not as old as me.”--Buddy

Optimus Prime

Buddy was extremely surprised to see Optimus and Ratchet the way they are now.

Ratchet for the number of years he took on.

Optimus… well that was self-explanatory.

From small Orion pax to big Optimus Prime there were quite a few changes.

It did warm his spark seeing Buddy so worried for their friends looking like they went a joined the pits.

Buddy for the first few days was Optimus and Ratchet’s shadow.

They constantly watched over the two like a hawk.

Even going as far as growing when one of the team memebers came to close to one of them.

Buddy insisted on sparring with Optimus

With this new form of him, he had a painted target on his back and Buddy was not going to let him go anywhere where he could get hurt.

Bigger framed or not, Buddy has taken down bots far bigger and stronger than him. He needs to get ready.

Optimus had the best time out of the entire team.

Mainly because Buddy focused on training Prime than getting the match over with.

“Orion?! Orion!”--Buddy

Buddy wraps their wings around the much larger Prime before taking a good look at him.

“What is all this? Are you planning on competing in the pits? When did you get so big? You were so small, why, you’re as tall as I am!”--Buddy

“There’s much that needs to be explained old friend.”--Optimus

“You, even sound old. Did Megatronus put you up to this? I swear that mech…”--Buddy

Buddy looks at Ratchet and nearly drops.

“Ratchet?!”--Buddy

Buddy goes up to him with a worried look.

“What happened?! You look almost as old as me? We just saw each other over two cycles ago? WHAT’S HAPPENING?!”--Buddy

[avocado-writing]

Hi bestie. I would love some angst with Astarion and Tav(reader) where a shape changer turns into one of them to hurt the other and the aftermath of the hurt and the victim convinced it was real until they talk it through and make up? Sorry if that didnt really make sense

notes: none! just some angst set start of act 3. rating: T

pairing: Astarion x reader

You have a horrid feeling in the pit of your stomach as Astarion appears before you. Withers senses something in the air, something loaded, and decides to turn and count his coin; he doesn’t want to interrupt what’s about to come. 

Or more likely he doesn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. 

The way Astarion is staring at you… gods. You feel a tight grip in your chest as a thousand emotions flit over his face. Hurt. Betrayal. Anger. Confusion. Before you can open your mouth he shoves past you, making a beeline for his tent. 

“Astarion, wait - !”

He doesn’t, so you have to jog a little to keep up. Go to put a hand on his arm, think better of it. Don’t want to upset him any further with unwanted physical touch. 

“Please - ”

“Oh, now you want to talk? Suddenly changed your mind after treating me like a bloody pincushion? I thought you were…” he trails off for a second, before finishing with, “I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he sneers, eyes solidly focussed in front of him, acting as if you weren’t even there. 

That stings. But of course he’s angry, he doesn’t know the whole story. You battle through the hurt and manage to stand in front of him, blocking his path and finally getting him to meet your gaze. 

“It wasn’t me! It was a gods-damned Doppelganger!”

He stops. Good. That got his attention.  

Your mind flits back to the other night, the horrid scene as your adventuring party for the day made it back to camp, when you figured all your companions were asleep - a horrid, faux-copy of you with a deadly blade sunk deep into your vampire’s neck. Given the secluded nature of the spot, the “two of you” may have been in the middle of a private moment. He was ripped open from several stab wounds, pale body bathed in garnet blood, and after a loud fight woke the rest of the camp… 

Well. After that everyone worked on bringing him back as quickly as possible, even though you were shaking from shock and sobs. 

Astarion searches your face. He’s looking for a tell. He’s looking for the slightest indication that you actually were the one tearing him to pieces. You want to tell him how stupid that is. Of course you’d never hurt him, change your mind and try to dispose of him in the worst way you could (and if you did, why bring him back?) You’d hoped he’d trusted you more than that. But, being in Baldur’s Gate, with Cazador so close… well, it’s no wonder that nerves are frayed. Logic has gone out the window until he can be forced to hear it.

“It must have been Orin. You know how she’s been hounding us. She probably saw how close we were, and decided to… well, try to hit us where it would hurt. And I hate it. I hate that she used my body to trick you like that.”

Ah. That he understands. You can see Astarion turn this over in his mind, and with a small exhale he releases all the tension in his body. The obvious relief is quickly plastered over with a light laugh and the affectation of his usual laissez-faire attitude. 

“Oh. Well. Don’t I look like quite the fool, hmm? You know what they say about assumptions. They make an ass of you and… well, I’d say me, but usually that’s usually a rather difficult accomplishment.”

He’s trying to hide how genuinely hurt he was. The idea that you could turn on him broke him a little, you think. That you’d use him and discard him so casually… it breaks your heart. Carefully you reach out to take his hand. You feel him flinch just a tiny bit but he accepts the gesture. 

“I’m so sorry she got to you. I won’t let it happen again. I’d never, ever hurt you, Astarion. You know that I…”

The end of that sentence hangs between you, heavy, pregnant. But thankfully, rather than chasing the end of it, Astarion pulls you to him. His arms wrap around you and you feel the softness in his embrace. 

“I know. I know you do.”

And you hold him. Knowing you’d move the cosmos to keep him safe. 

[alpaca-clouds]

How redeeming Gortash would improve Karlach's story

I will admit, that the title is a bit overstated, because by the time you actually get to interact with Gortash, the plot just does not have enough time left to redeem him. Because other than what some folks in Hollywood think: No, giving a character one last minute "heel-face-turn" with one big symbolic act does not in fact redeem a character. Redemption is a process that takes time.

BG3 actually understands this, because Astarion's arc basically ends with: "You took the first steps towards redemption." Which is really good.

However: You could end the game at least in a way to set Gortash up for a possible redemption arc - and more importantly just... not have him die. Because actually that would improve Karlach's character arc.

I will get one thing out of the way first: The entire "Gortash redemption" idea is always contentious on the fact that he is a really bad guy. Like, he is bad. He brutally killed and tortured, he enslaved people, all of that.

I am an anarchist though. Hence, I do not really believe that punishment is in any way just. And to put it differently: Killing Gortash does not undo any of the harm he has caused. Not a single dead person will live through it, not a single tortured person will become untortured through it, and no slave is freed through it either (you kinda gotta say that as the player in a different mission).

And yes, I will say at this point that in general I was iffed by the fact that in many fights of the game I was not given a choice really. It was "either join the bad guys or kill them", and my "all charisma bard", who does not believe in killing for revenge, was like: "But... But..."

Like, my Tav was on board with killing Cazador (because literally in the situation it is "kill Cazador or have 7000 people die") and killing Ketheric (because he needed to die to end the curse), but he is already iffy on Orin (as she never had a choice but to be a killer) and definitely is not on board with killing Gortash (because there is no good reason to do it).

But let me talk about Karlach. Because the thing is... I have seen a lot of commentary on how Wyll is underwritten. And he is. But not as underwritten as Karlach. Like, her entire companion quest basically goes: "Kill some fake paladins, find Dammon, find two pieces of Infernal Iron, kill Gortash (which you have to do for plot reasons either way)". She doesn't really have a dungeon connected to her quest. Nor really an exclusive boss fight, because again: Gortash you kinda gotta fight for the story either way. Nothing really.

Every other character, too, also has to make one hard decision. Where they want one thing - but what is actually the good thing is something else. I wrote about this before, the "become what you hate" decision, basically.

Karlach doesn't. Sure, you could argue that the "die or go back to Avernus" decision is her big decision. But it feels very different than the decisions of the others.

Which brings me to Gortash and saving him.

Here is the thing: Logically speaking Gortash should probably be able to fix Karlach's engine. He understands infernal engines, as he built the Steel Watch around them. You can easily argue that yeah, he should be able to fix Karlach. And that... would actually make for a great decision for Karlach's story.

If I would get to fix Karlach's companion quest, I would probably do it like this: Put in some sort of dungeon where Dammon sends you in the hope that you can find some plans there, that might give him an understanding on how to fix the engine. Heck, if you do not wanna do a whole new dungeon, you could also just put some plans or whatever into the Steel Foundry.

The point is that it will then turn out that, yeah, even with those plans for some reason Gortash is the only one who could fix it. Putting Karlach into the spot to make this decision: Does she value her life more than her revenge on Gortash?

Because here is the thing: Gortash is supposed to be 1) the intelligent one of the dead three chosen, and 2) also clearly is the one who acts first and foremost in some sense for his own self-preservation. Which made me go like: "Nah, this does not make sense," when he decides to fight against me after his Steel Watch was disabled and I already killed the other two chosen.

So, yeah... You should get at least a chance to persuade him to just give up - or, going back to what I was talking about before - to save Karlach.

And again, I actually think that even for the Gortash part of the story it would make for more interesting storytelling. Killing him is not really that interesting.

Especially as, once again, killing him does not undo any of the harm he has caused. But given that he is this big egghead he could actually do something good if he got to live. And yeah, also there is the fact that... You know... Given what we know about his backstory, his actions are about as understandable as those of some of the companions.

Some of you might already know, I have written some fics dealing with the way how I would imagine something like this to go. Mainly Hurt begets Hurt (which is basically my Tav convincing Gortash to give up), An Impossible Future (Karlach inner turmoil after her engine is fixed) and Cheesy Noodles (Gortash being a big meany towards Tav, who is unphased by this).

I am right now writing a story featuring Astarion dealing with a very, very depressed Gortash.

[thegrimreaper-probably]

plz more of gravity falls x plant monster user, maybe include some weird cult that worships user like a god? a name for user like "Venus" from the venus flytrap, or Primula, it comes from the Latin word for Daisy, or straight up Audrey the second, lil reference to the little shop of horrors, and it makes reference for how mabel placed a sticker on their pot? user getting accidentally sold to a random kid (guess who sold them) and maybe...user learning to swear by (guess who again) but PLEASE, I NEED MOREEEEEEEEE

Gravity falls x plant monster reader part three

Mainly your relationship with Stanley

(Don’t need to read all of them to understand) Gender is once again not a concept for alien plant. It/they/she/he

Imma be so honest I wrote an entire thing, hated it and everything I tried made it worse. So I scrapped it and now it’s late, my bad.

This is set in the past, so before the twins. During and after the portal.

A lot and I mean a lot has happened in the last month. First Ford and FiddleFord, broke up. As lab partners, not as boyfriends. I may be an evil plant from outer space but cheating is wrong, eating people isn’t. Those two were as queer as Orin Scrivello D.D.S. was addicted to laughing gas.

Now Ford is going crazy, or Bill is? It’s rather complicated. Ford shut down the portal, something about how Bill wanted world domination. I could’ve told you that, I mean why else would I be here if world domination wasn’t possible with these two? Anyways currently Bill or more accurately Bill possessing Ford is punching the door to the basement.

“Does he remember any of this?” Bill stops and turns to me.

“Not a single memory, why? You got something Twoey?” Where did Twoey come from? Bill refuses to use the name Ford gave me.

“You let me in on world domination, I let you in downstairs.” He blinks, similar to a frog.

“Just gotta feed me so I can slip under the gap.” My vine points to the bottom of the door.

“I got plans for you, Sixer will give up soon.” And that was the second to last time I saw him. After that he possessed Ford and brought me along. I’m deeply traumatized seeing a shirtless Ford rolling around and eating spiders. I didn’t need to see any of that or be apart of a tramp stamp tattoo session.

Ford had gone crazy and I was well, mainly hungry but I guess…lonely. There was no FiddleFord to scare, no more experiment to see what I could do, no more music around, and no Ford to learn from. Bill wasn’t any better, that man was acting like a teenager going through a break up.

And eventually things happened, Stanley, Ford’s twin brother, had came to the house. You know the rest, and I ain’t gonna talk about it.

“Mullet!” Stan drops his beer on the ground, it shatters on the floor. He looks up at me and pauses.

“You- you can talk?”

“You see anyone else here? No? Then yes I can talk, do much more then talkin’ tell ya that much. This?” I move my vine to point at the window. “Sunlight, it ain’t enough, I need food. So either you feed me or I feed on you.”

“How much did I drink?”

“If I didn’t need ya I’d drain ya dry. Go grab that book got the number 1 on it. Got it or do I gotta dumb it down for you mullet boy?” He nods and turns to leave then pauses.

“I’m doing this for Ford, not you.” Stan leaves and that was the start of mullet boy’s identity theft of Stanford Pines. It was mainly just him questioning his own or his brother’s life choices, coupled with drinking, smoking, and crime.

There were moments where he’d bring me downstairs and it wasn’t so lonely.

“None of this makes senses, what is wrong with-.”

“It stands for e.” I point to the symbol.

“You know the rest?”

“You find e you find the rest easy.”

Or

“I just got him back, I can’t lose him again.”

I don’t answer for a bit I move my vines, like how Ford would fidget with his own. “He was already lost, a long time ago.“

“I could’ve help him if he just-.”

“You couldn’t.”

“Why didn’t he just call me before this?”

“You know the answer, you just refuse to accept that, that’s the answer. It’s not satisfying, human rarely are.”

Others where I learned more about English, one of the many human languages.

“Son of a bitch, what the hell?!” Stan yelled when I first nipped him.

“These shitheads don’t know anything about marriage, it’s a scam.” Stan says as the tv plays some awful movie.

“Where the fuck is it?” Stans asks as he looks for a wrench. And much more as life went on, with many other stories to go along with them.

Was a few times where he’d fall asleep and I could easily drain him. I didn’t though, as stupid as it was, Stan was my key to opening that portal again…for world domination of course. Over the years he became more of a con man and the house became a tourist trap. While he would still work on the portal, the basement wasn’t a room I could survive in. So I got put upstairs in the window.

Where I met little tiny Soos, now my hatred for kids and human kind was very much strong. This kid was cute enough to eat, not that I’m picky. Soos had soon started to work at the shack, where I tried to eat him.

“Mr. Pines? I fixed the-.” I go to eat him and Stan throws his cane at me.

“There was a- uh- bug. Go back to work I ain’t paying ya to talk.”

“Okay Mr. Pines!” Soos walks off and Stan looks back at me. I smile and a customer walks in.

“Can I buy that?” The man points to me, Stan smirks and hands me over.

“$500. New species, called Spatium Praereptor.” 500?! What am I? A Monstera Deliciosa?

“Fine.” He hands Stan the money and Stan gives him me. I move my vines around to look like I’m sticking a middle finger up. He does it back and the guy puts me in his car.

Come to find out I was joining a cult. Cult? Religion? Who cares? Only downside was I was not being praised but killed by some stupid blind eyes meatheads. Sometime between eating people and throwing them Stan somehow found me and brought me back. Stan was reckless, irresponsible, a con man, gross, and a loser.

Though he was my friend, and I will still have world domination even if I care for two humans. Just cause I like two people doesn’t mean I’m soft. Shut up.

[admirxation]

Force | Enver Gortash oneshot

Pairing: Lord Enver Gortash x f!durge!reader (afab) Synopsis: Gortash forcefully tries to jog the reader's memory of their history. Word count: 2.5k Disclaimer: This fic will deal with sensitive topics like non-con. I do not condone everything I write; this is a piece of fiction where real people cannot get hurt. You are responsible for the content you consume. cw: reader hates gortash at the start, dark content, non-con, kidnapping (mentioned briefly), tying up, spitting (in a 'get away from me' way), p in v, unprotected sex, choking, tit play, gagging, and creampie (if I missed anything, please tell me).

You were previously surrounded by the dim glow of the campfire, hearing the sounds of your fellow companions as they fell asleep, trying to get some rest for another impactful day. However, you were no longer surrounded by friendly faces; that night, you couldn’t help but stay up and let your inner thoughts swirl alongside the squirming tadpole that kept you restless and exhausted. It was bad enough that you had bloodlust coursing through your very being; now you had awoken knowing you were not the person you thought you were when you woke up on the nautiloid. On your journey to Baldurs Gate, you often thought about the person you were, maybe thinking that you might have been sweet, but that was all a delusion when you finally defeated Ketheric and made your way to Lord Enver Gortash. 

When first meeting him, you were, shall we say, intimidated, by the steel watcher that held a deep and rich-toned voice that was welcoming you back; all your fellow companions next to you at the time shared the same confusion — all of it answered when you were face to face with the tyranny’s chosen, and his explanation of the history you two had. The whole puzzle was incomplete; you still had many pieces missing, and maybe you would be given the pieces now.

You were no longer in that humble but comfortable camp; you were now forced on your knees, with a tight and harsh rope looped around your wrists that were placed behind your back, releasing heavy breaths as you tried to grow accustomed to the cold shock of pain that started in your knees from the steel watchers throwing you to Gortash in his private chamber, you felt that jolting pain travel through all your nerves and cause you to wince — even when you were trying not to show weakness. 

Gortash had begged to see you again; that crude and short introduction to the new you wasn’t enough when he had been waiting for you to return; he grew to hate Orin even more for taking his favourite assassin from him, and now you were back, but changed, no longer the Bhaalspawn he had been connected to in body and mind; your, shall we say, rebirth and evolving from your chosen company surrounding you and making your new morals wasn’t welcome to Gortash — he hated the new person and wanted to force the memory of the real you back. 

You looked up to meet Gortash’s dark eyes, watching him stare at you with that taunting and wicked smirk as he looked you up and down at your vulnerable frame. He waved his hand and ushered the watchers to leave him; you felt exposed, vulnerable, even terrified to be in a room alone with him with no one to come to your aid — you had been taken in the night when you had moved a bit further from the main camp to be left alone with your thoughts, you only realised now how stupid it was to wander off in the place you two main enemies lurked. While you had been trying to resist your violent urges, you only wanted to resist them with your new friends, but you didn’t care to with Gortash. To hells with the alliance, if he was to treat you like this, as he moved closer with slow steps with his eyes never fraying from yours and looking at you with amusement, he never thought to see you under his will; it was often the other way round in your relationship. While tied up and kneeling for him, that metallic taste of anger was lingering on your tongue, your eyes narrowing. 

“Is the tying up necessary?” you were quick with your words as your hands kept squirming behind your back, but venom was intertwining with your language and manner. 

“Just call me Enver, dearest; there is no need for the formalities. Especially for old friends.”

His voice was deep and rich, his words and tone swirling in your mind. It felt familiar, but you didn’t know if that was a part of your unconsciousness that remembered him and wouldn’t come to the front of your cortex or if the feeling just came from the logic of knowing you had something with him. He bent down to place his fingers on your chin, lifting it, only being met with you forcefully taking it away and scrunching up your face in disgust at him, the feeling he had the goddamn right to touch you. “My… don’t be like that… You used to love that,” he continued to toy with you. 

“You have such a way of welcoming sposed old friends… I don’t care about any sort of history; you have no right to touch me… Gortash,” you clenched your fists as you mockingly elongated the way you said his last name, not wanting to conform to his need for a friendly first-name basis. 

“I’ll say… It’s quite different seeing you like this. I never thought I would get the chance to set my eyes upon you in this state… It’s quite the opportunity.” A breath of amusement was released as his gaze continued to objectify you, his eyes travelling down your face to your form. He wickedly liked how his dark shadow engulfed the light that once surrounded you; your eyes squinted as Gortash placed his rough hand on your cheek, caressing. You took an opportunity to bite the fingers that tried to venture, but that was exactly what he wanted. “There she is… That’s the spirit, the fiery soul I’ve dearly missed… I know you changed, but I know you weren’t completely gone.” 

Hot anger pooled your senses, feeling ike your blood was boiling and about to burst through your skin: “I’m still trying to change… I’m not the vermin you longed for, and you bring me here to what? Rekindle the old flame… You’re pathetic, honestly.” 

“Your words wound, my dear,” he let out a small, slow, and deep giggle as he wouldn’t take any of your threats seriously, but you continued to refuse to give in to the history nonsense; you wanted to keep being the person you had grown to be… proud of? Bhaal made you in blood for grotesque destruction, but you no longer wanted that destiny.

“This dynamic is getting exhausting now… I brought you here not to romance and rekindle with you, but to remind you and have you back by my side… I have no idea who this new identity you’re proclaiming you’re following; I know it’s a facade, and our connection will prevail… I would rather that happen sooner than later… Stop speaking to me as an acquaintance.” 

“I find it pitiful that you think of yourself as an acquaintance… You’re nothing but an obstacle,” it felt like a dagger into Gortash’s heart to hear those words from a past lover he had never had the thought to get over, even when hearing you had died from Orin making a fool of you, he hadn’t lost hope, knowing you would come back in some way — he just didn’t predict that he would have to make you come back to him. 

“I don’t blame you, dear,  for thinking like this; it isn’t your fault… But I will bring that pretty mind of yours to sense, one way or another,” he descended again, crouching to have his eyes meet your level. 

Indignation roared through you, every inch of your skin feeling hot and irritated. You had the itch to be let go, but you were trapped in your arms, to hells with your alliance; you had gotten this far and knew you could take him; he even knew it by having you kidnapped into his private chamber in the sleeping city. You stared at him — only for a moment — before spitting at the face he claimed you had been connected before; he pulled away, rushing to an upright position as he wiped it away — he had wanted to do this in a way that would make you come back to him through your choice, but you made his patience run thin. 

“You unruly thing,” in a moment of haste, his fingers collected around your neck; you gasped as his fingers squeezed the sides only to allow a release of air; you looked into his eyes, his dark lashes and dark shadows surrounding them — you knew these eyes. Your body felt hot as you stared back at his, a part of you that was connected to him coming back and living in familiarity, but you were still fearful of what he was going to do. 

“Are… Are you going to kill me?” you asked, only to be met with another smirk that bestowed control over you. 

“No, of course not, dear,” he let go of your neck. You gasped for needed air, dazed dots clouding your vision as you grew accustomed to the much-needed oxygen in your system, but your moment of freedom was short-lived when he dragged you by your top, hearing the hem ripping as he dragged you to his bed; you feared what was going to happen but was also… excited? You felt a cacophony of emotions intermingling inside you, and you couldn’t process any of it as the sight of the bed got closer and closer. “I was going to let you see reason in the more civilised way… But you have left me no choice but to jog your memory by force,” there was tension in his words, as his gaze upon you wasn’t just one of lust like he had before when you were first thrown to his feet, but now there was a darker yearning to make you see his views, to make you see how he saw you, you squeezed your legs together and tried to use your strength to avoid what you knew was coming, you weren’t naive or stupid, you knew what that look meant. 

“You could have gone the easy route, but you had to be difficult,” his hand ventured between your legs, separating them no matter how much effort you tried to put them together; it was difficult to do anything with your hands bound up, limiting your bodily movement and having your balance thrown off. 

Gortash stopped your squirming as he placed his hands on the sides of your waist and pinned you down, a pulsating pain travelling to your arms as you tensed them with now being placed on your back, feeling the covers along your skin and smelling his scent that had seeped into them. Your eyes were darting everywhere as Gortash used the sharp claws of his golden hand accessory to make a neatly placed rip that went through each layer of clothing, exposing the core that made him harder. 

“Oh, have I missed the sight of you,” he said under his breath.

“Stop! I will make you regret this; I will! I’ll have you bathe in your blood; don’t you dare touch me!”  

“Yeah, yeah,” Gortash reached for something unknown to you. When it was in your peripheral vision, you saw ripped-up rags. You watched as he balled the fabric in such an intricate but quick manner, pressing his fingers on your jaw and forcing them open as he stuffed your mouth; you couldn’t spit them out, couldn’t reach your fingers to get them out, you were bound. You were slowly coming to the reality that you would have to endure whatever he was going to do to you — your muffled screams only added excitement to Gortash as he took his cock out of his pants, dragging his underwear to the side, nestling his body in between your legs, feeling your core’s warmth. 

The tip of his cock was sliding along your slit, pushing through in tiny movements and feeling you get wetter and hotter; Gortash smirked to himself: “Seems your body remembers me… Only your mind is left to come to the truth.” You felt betrayed; you didn’t want this. You were even scared and wanted to break free and have your bloodlust revenge on what he had done to you. Still, the moment he let himself inside, that deep thrust inside your walls, your body begged for him to continue as your eyes rolled back to your head, a muffled moan come through the rags as you felt his length inside of you; it felt familiar, but in a way also a new euphoric feeling that you couldn’t help but like. He felt your walls stretch against him; he released a gasp as he felt how incredible you were again, your walls eagerly clenching around his cock as he pressed his fingers on your waist with enough pressure to leave a light bruise. Groans escaped his mouth; they were low with a mix of laboured breaths as he continued to feel your body surround him. Tears were brimming at the corners of your eyes as you felt him push the pressure on your skin and the way he forcefully let you feel that pleasure and the ecstasy of it. 

“Fuck,” he released in a whispered hush as he continued to pump himself inside you, “I’ve missed the feeling of you… mmmm,” his moans continued in between his speech. 

Your back arched in response to the tip of his cock bruising your cervix as he pushed and pushed his whole length in your wet and throbbing core; Gortash continued this quick motion but still savoured every moment of it, something that he had been yearning and dreaming immensely about from the time you had been taken from him. Your moans continued as you squeezed your eyes shut, hating how much you liked it, hating how good he was at knowing your body and how to make it yield to the sensation.

He repositioned himself to move his face to be no longer level with yours, now staring at your breasts that had been bouncing in front of him with every hard thrust he brought to you; on his way down, he left rough and lazy kisses along your neck and chest, taking your hard nipple in between his teeth and gently nibbling it, later twirling the bud with his wet tongue that made a shiver roll down your body. 

“Mmhmm,” you moaned; you no longer cared about the large section of your mind telling you to stop submitting to his will; you only listened to the irrational corner of your mind that loved the feeling of him, loved how he used your body, and you wanted more. Your groans continued to erupt and be shielded with the cloth that was nestled in your mouth, your chest rising up and down even quicker as you get hotter and wetter underneath him. 

After more forceful thrusts and bites, Gortash released a final loud and deep moan as he finished inside of you; you felt his hot, euphoric release inside of you and couldn’t help but want more, left in a daze on his bed. 

authors note: please engage if you liked this; reblogging is the best way of supporting creators and I would be very appreciative if you liked and reblogged. This is my first bg3 fic, and I hope people like it, I am thinking of writing a durge reader x gortash pre game events. love you all, mwah mwah mwah.

[evesburden]

My silly little durge head canon is that because of their growing attachment to Gortash (either romantic or platonic but I’m trash so I’m pro-romance) they start to just feel…Detached from their original plan and finding they crave companionship. They obviously can’t turn to daddy dearest or anyone involved with Bhaal.

So who could possibly be above Bhaal?

Jergal.

So they say a silly little prayer or something to someone they are pretty sure doesn’t even exist anymore for some direction, and just go through the motions.

And fate decides to play its hand in the form of Orin making jello of their brain. I feel like durge is just apathetic at this point and it’s the only reason Orin gets the jump on them.

So here durge gets their wish, in a matter of speaking. A semi-fresh start without the watchful bars of Bhaal. A handful of companions and could-be friends tied to them by fate. A chance to find out who they really are and what it feels like to have friends who don’t want to kill you in form of affection.

And then they just coincidentally wake peepaw Withers (*cough cough Jergal perhaps?*) who decides to just conveniently watch over them on their journey and help them along without directly interfering unless it’s to protect them.

And Withers is so gentle with durge and reassuring them about their previous corrupt acts and helping them accept a fresh start. He’s the family durge deserved.

And they either find they are exactly who they have always been or, just maybe, they realize they’re more than just Bhaal’s mini-me.

Anyway I could go on forever about this and devnotes.

[alpydk]

Fire and Ice

My contribution to the art/fic trade with @orangekittyenergy - Tav's can be very personal, so I'm praying that this is okay. I really enjoyed this and let it all just go where it needed which probably explains the length written in the last few hours... I like writing, it's productive daydreaming.

Word Count - 3339 words - Angst/Comfort, happy ending

Fawn cursed the depth of the wizard’s chest as they squeezed into the alleyway, her half-elf body forced so closed to him she could feel the tensed pectoral muscles against her own slight frame. He’d gone to talk only for her to place her palm against his mouth, her eyes a glaring signal that now was not the time for a lecture on the making of deals you did not plan to keep.

The Zhentarim mercenary ran past, his footsteps heavy on the sundried cobbles of the city streets. Baldur’s Gate was no longer their potential turf, all because of the involvement of a group of meddling adventurers. She’d known what was going to happen, her dealings with them all those years ago not allowing her the true freedom she desired, but after all this time, after Gale’s belief that she was a noble person, she couldn’t go back into negotiations with them. Her brother would be disappointed, but this was for the best and maybe, with luck, one day she could save him from them as well.

She felt the moistened heat of Gale’s breath upon her hand, his eyes growing impatient, his own hands fidgety around her waist. They crept around to the base of her back, pulling her in a little closer, and she felt the effects their perilous situation was having on her wanting companion. He’d once read a book, he’d explained, and she’d believed him wholeheartedly after that night, what the effects of danger had on desire. What had once been her quiet, well-spoken wizard had become as unrestrained as the magical energies at her own command.

Her hand lowered from his mouth as the danger passed, a hunger in her own eyes spurred by the closeness of his physique. The sweat from his brow brought strands of hair to stick, his sandalwood scent merged with her own, his lips would taste of the morning’s fresh bread.

“Fuckin’ magic users. They’ve probably gone and cast some invisibility or some other bullshit.” “Yeah, but they can’t have got too far. You check the sewers; I’ll try the park.” “Why do I get the sewers?” “Because you already smell like shit. Quite complaining.”

The elf listened as the two mercenaries parted ways, leaving her and Gale with the chance to escape. Her shoulders wanted to relax, but the playful smirk of the wizard, the hand that gripped her hip a little too tightly, would not allow her the possibility. “Gale… We both know this isn’t the right time.”

He brought his face to her neck; heated breaths merged with soft kisses. “Maybe, but how many more opportunities will we get like this?”

She sighed at his words. She knew he was right, as usual. The upcoming battles would grow more difficult: Orin, Gortash, The Netherbrain. There were so many that one or both of them might not come back from, so many moments where they could be torn apart from one another, where she could lose him, as she had so many others before. His fervent kisses became more eager the longer she took to resist. His tongue ran up the arch of her neck, her hips pushing instinctively into his within the confines of the shadowed alleyway, her hands beginning their own dance trapped between their compressed bodies.

“Oh shit, sorry.” A child stumbled upon them, trying to use the alleyway as a shortcut home.

Fawn tensed and used the momentary distraction to pull herself from Gale’s grasp, her heartbeat raised, her own sweat beading under her russet tones, joining the scarred line across her eye. She slid herself from his hands, out from under the shaded canopy of the buildings and into the stifling city sun. The child gave a small laugh and squeezed past Gale with ease, running down the alley to their unknown destination. 

---

He tensed up, running his hands down his robes, a combination of patting off the dust from the brick wall behind him and making himself look like the presentable magic user he was and not the desperate sack of physical urges she always turned him into. He patted his side once, twice, before looking down. “The child has pilfered my gold pouch…”

She chuckled at his misfortune. “Yeah, they’ll do that if you’re not paying attention. You need to keep your wits up about you. Try to focus on less pressing matters.”

Her playful smile did not go unnoticed as he emerged into the sunlight, his lips moistened from yearned kisses, cheeks blushed as Elverquisst. He didn’t know what it was about her that drove him to these uncharacteristic moments of insanity. He’d suspected it was the Weave coursing through her veins, binding the two of them together, trying to entwine as it naturally would, or maybe it was the way her glance always saw through him. Ever since the portal incident, it was as if she’d read him like he was one of the simplest tomes known to man, and he’d happily let her trace her fingers over every weathered page.  

He sighed, knowing there was little point in chasing the urchin. A few measly gold to him would mean a week’s worth of food for the child, most likely a refugee of the city, or one of the many orphans growing up into a world of thievery and the Guild’s politics. Taking Fawn’s delicate hand into his own, he stepped forward. He saw the gentle dusting of ash, the crackling of a lightning bolt leaving its reminder on her ivory skin, and he ran his thumb over it, revealing the beauty that lay beneath. He made a note to place a kiss there later in the evening, a starting point of the map he planned to use on an awaited exploration of mounds and crevices.

As they walked through the streets back to camp, their attentions split between each other and the potential lookouts trying to find them, Gale spoke. “A friend of the family… I always was curious why Roah said that to you.”

The half-elf lifted her hazel eyes to him, and he could see the calculations going on, the wall she kept up so readily now being further supported with a cold distance. “That’s just the phrase the Zhentarim use. She meant nothing by it.” Her voice wavered a little, an uncertainty in the strength of her lie, and he felt her pace quicken a little as if she were trying to escape the situation she found herself in.

“My love, I know there have been many a moment my propensity to read into behaviours has led to disorder, but I cannot help but notice your aversion to this line of questioning.”

“You wizards…” She sighed deeply, releasing his hand as she walked further ahead of him.

He stopped for a moment, trying to register her words. Again, this would be the argument of the evening, as it had been a few times before when things became uncomfortable for her. She would claim that all wizards were too curious for their own good, that their unnatural abilities with magic are what lead them to unbridled ambition. Once, she had stumbled over her words and inadvertently blamed him for his own folly, and only once had he blamed her reckless use of magic for the reason she had no loved ones to speak of. This was not the way he wanted things to continue going.

“Fawn, wait.” He took a few quick steps forward and kept pace with her, trying to quench the rising flames as quickly as he could. “You know I meant no harm with my line of reasoning. I simply wish to understand why the Zhentarim have turned on us as ardently as they appear to have.”

“And you expect me to know? As if I’m some omnipotent goddess watching over all?”

He shook his head at her words. Clearly, time would be the best solution to remedy the matter at hand. He considered his options: continue with her in stony silence, or take a different route, allowing them both the chance to clear their heads. There was little distance until the campsite and the risk of being captured was practically zero now that they were out of the busy city streets. “You make it very clear sometimes that you are not a goddess. I apologise for my blind devotion.” His words hurt as he spoke them, too final, too reminiscent of words he had wanted to utter during his year alone.

---

Fawn watched as he turned from her, his footsteps growing quieter as he took the eastern path from her. She wanted to run after him, to apologise and explain everything, but it had always been easier to push those around her away. To protect them and herself. She thought of her brother when she was a young girl, how he had left the first moment he could. She hadn’t understood fully at the time, but as she grew and trained under their father, it became clearer. Their mother was gone, leaving nothing but ex-military routine and training, her sorcerer blood a disappointment in her father’s cold eyes.

She walked the path to camp alone, knowing she had been wrong to speak as she had done. She longed to be back in that alleyway, lustfully bound to Gale, his body pressed against hers, and only the present moment existing between them. No tragic pasts, no doomed futures. The tents fell into view with the setting of the sun, shadows extending like creeping tendrils. She was thankful that they grew no further than permitted; the Shadowlands finally resolved of its dreadful curse that took so many lives.

Gale sat outside his tent, a book in hand, the pages turning with a little more agitation than either of them liked. Soon he would begin to cook, and with it, calm down enough for her to approach him, restarting the cycle of their relationship once again. She thought not of the future, instead finding comfort in the recent past, of Moonrise Towers, and royal blue sheets beneath her, of words of love and comfort.

---

He saw her come back to camp, her quick glance placed over him, but he refused to lift his head to her. He was angry, though he was unsure at which of them it was directed at. She had yet again pushed him away, but again he had questioned her motives rather than trusting her. Fawn had believed him from the start of his history with Mystra and the orb. She’d granted magic items without reservation, had held his hand softly as the pain had been too much for him, and then there had been Moonrise; a night that he believed would be his last. Long before that starlit evening he had realised his love for her, but it was only then that he had summoned the courage to admit it to her, and she had replied in kind. From that night he’d given her everything he could of himself, his honesty, love, body. If she requested it, he would happily give his life for her.

Now though she departed for her tent, an armour put up that he was unsure he could break through. He moved to the campfire, his hands mindlessly preparing the evening meal, his eyes watching the flickering flames that danced over the firewood. Gale sat alone for some time; his mind lost in thoughts of how he could remedy the situation. The pot boiled away, the savoury broth releasing the homely aroma into the air. His shoulders relaxed and his jaw unclenched from its involuntary position.

Quietly placing herself beside him, he noticed Fawn lift the wooden spoon and stir. “Smells nice,” she said softly, testing the waters of conversation.

“Well, I always strive for the best. In both magic and cooking.”

The silence hung heavily around them, neither knowing what to say nor how to apologise, if they should apologise.

Fawn brought the spoon to her lips, giving the broth a silenced blow before taking it into her reddened lips. “It tastes nice, too. Could use a little salt, though.”

“Always the food critic, never the cook.” He smirked at her, trying to ignore the pleasure he felt on seeing her tongue licking at the tip of the wooden spoon. Easily distracted by the movements, the cookery, and her presence, he found it difficult to focus on the matters he wanted to discuss with her. He coughed nervously, bringing himself back on track. “Are we going to discuss earlier or refrain from the topic altogether?”

She shuffled awkwardly, placing the utensil back in the pot sharply. “And say what, Gale? That again, you have sought answers for questions you yourself have made?”

“I seek answers to the secrets you hide from me.” His voice came out more exasperated than he wished, and he took the momentary silence to compose himself. “When I was a young wizard, and not the fallen Chosen you witness before you, I had a Drow elf as a… Well, a close friend. She would often chastise me similarly to how you do and always strived to do better than me, as if it was a competition.” He took a pinch of salt and added it to the cooking pot that lay between them both. “She often spoke of khaless, trust, but especially misplaced or foolish trust; something she saw in me so often as I worked to become the best I could be. And she was right in what she observed. I do trust too easily, and I certainly love far easier and with more of my heart than is wise.”

He hoped she understood his words, his long-winded explanation, an apology for who he was as a person, for the pressure he placed on her simply by being honest with her. He watched as she exhaled; her gaze focussing softly on him. He was unsure where this conversation would lead, but the balance needed to be disrupted. He had given all, and now it was her turn.

---

Fawn knew she had pushed and pushed, but it had now gone too far. Emotionally closed off was the term her brother had used in mockery so many years ago. She may have struggled to wield a sword as much as father had wished, but she had mastered the concept of psychological warfare. “Do not share yourself or else they see your weakness. Do not let your mental guard down or your heart be pierced.”

Gale spoke, and she listened. Together they had been as fire and ice and slowly her heart had begun to melt. “We have a similar word in Elvish, kessuk. It translates to stupid,” she said, trying to hold on to her walls so desperately.

Gale gave an awkward chuckle. “Maybe it is that which she was truly insinuating.” He lowered his head, the heart of the subject now approaching. “I suppose what I poorly attempt to articulate to you is that maybe I have been kessuk, as you so bluntly put it.”

Her mouth fell open at his words, the belief that he was in the wrong almost an insult which hurt her. “No. No. How can you even think that?”

“My dear, I love you and you know I would offer my love to you for a thousand more nights to come should the opportunity unveil itself, but, and I say this with nothing but the starlight of my heart that shines for you, I do not know how much more I can give. There are times I feel you may not be on the same proverbial page as me, and in some lonelier moments, even in the same book.”

Her heart broke at his words; that this was possibly the end for them, now nothing but starlit nights fading to dawn, of darkened alleys bathed in sunlight. “But…” The tears built up in her eyes and she looked away before Gale could see her weakness.

His voice was soft as he spoke, not demands but innocent questions that she couldn’t ignore. “This is what I speak of, Fawn. You shut me out, all of us. What will it take for me to see the heart that has beaten in tandem with mine? To feel the selfless love that I know is buried deep beneath the surface.”

Her hands sat in her lap, struggling to find a place of rest. The sorcerer rarely felt fear in the face of danger, had stood against the gods and their orders, but at this moment she felt vulnerable, as if Gale was seeing every crack in her armour as clearly as the scar on her face. “I left Baldur’s Gate before things got too bad, but until then, I was in a rough situation.”

She went on for some time telling him of her childhood, of the mother she never knew and the father who couldn’t accept what she was, of her brother who introduced her to the Zhentarim and the odd jobs she unknowingly did for them before understanding who they truly were. She spoke of Roah and their passing acquaintance, of how she had left the city and begun to build a life of her own, wielding her magic that flowed so naturally. As her tale continued, Gale grew closer to her, his hand resting on hers, a weight that brought her calm. The fire dimmed, and the food cooled, but every secret was told, every emotion bared for him to see and reject if he so wished.

---

He looked at her with sympathy, understanding all too well how a childhood under a soldier could be; training schedules and emotions hidden being the law of the home. Their lives had run similar paths at the beginning, but turned out differently. Both, though, had been ones of loneliness and finding their own way. Whilst hers had been one of potential crime, his had been of isolated study. He had grown to love too easily; she struggled to love. His magic had led him into the arms of a goddess; hers had driven her away from the arms of her father.

As she fell quiet, he knew there was little he could say. All questions had been answered, and the truth finally revealed to him. The woman who sat in front of him glowed brighter than she ever had. Under the mask had been revealed a strength and reliance that only made him love her more. He brought his arms around her and pulled her in close, no longer lustful hands of trailing desire yearning for her, but a desperate need to protect her and love her as she was in that moment. He felt her warm breath on his chest, smelt the floral aroma as he nestled his face in her hair.

--- 

A small part of her felt exhausted, as if she had endured a battle and emerged from the rubble battered and bruised. His arms around her felt like a home she had never had, a safety and connection with another person she had only ever dreamt of. He’d listened to her, accepted the past she had run from and now still embraced her as fondly, if not more so. She lifted her head to his, her soft lips brushing up against his, wanting in her eyes to give him everything, to no longer hold back from him in any aspect of their relationship. “I love you, Gale.”

His hands drifted up her back as their lips met, as the stars shone just for them, and time halted its ever-journeying march. For a thousand nights more, they would share in moments like this, some frantic and passionate in darkened alleyways, some in the desperate eagerness of sun-drenched fields, others more leisurely from the sanctuary of Gale’s tower as the rains fell from the heavens. A thousand more nights of a future together; Gale and Fawn burning with starlight as one.

[bloooodyconsort]

How I gained Unlimited Power by Astarion Ancunin

Acquire as many perks and permanent buff like Auntie Ethel hair, the shadow summon etc etc

Pretend to be helpful so you can gather a lot of valuable allies such as Zevlor and foster a good relationship with your party members

Raise your relationship with Gale because THE Gale of Waterdeep is a valuable ally

Raise your relationship with Wyll because he is the son of a Duke, exiled or not he still got some clout that you can use

Shallow the cringe from doing selfless good deeds like a lame ass hero, because it is an effective strategy to romance Gale

Successfully Romance Gale

Endure Gale's dramatic hang up with Mystra

Pet Gale's flying cat

Commit genocide against goblin and gith, don't worry not even your goodiest two shoes friends will complain about it. You killed them. You killed them all. They're dead, every single one of them. And not just the men, but the women and the children, too. They're like animals, and you slaughtered them like animals. YOU HATE THEM (because ew they are ugly)

Prevent Gale from going Kamikaze for Mystra in Moonrise Tower

Get to Baldur's Gate with your gang

Steal all valuable items that you can find, rob all merchant and kill anyone who get in your way because honest trading is for losers

Immediately confront Cazador, bully his flat board skinny rat ass, steal the ritual and power, then become vampire ascendant

Yay! No more crippling hunger and now you can get a tan without the fear of turning into crispy elven bacon!

Encourage Gale to take the crown for himself to become a God because no way you will let go this once in a life time opportunity

Solve your companions personal issues and quests because you don't want Karlach to blow up and it is imperative for Wyll's dad to be saved (he's a Duke) etc etc

Gather allies to bonk the brain

Defeat the remained dead three and steal Gortash and Orin clothes for the drip

Bonk the brain

Gale will retrieve the crown for himself so he and YOU will become Gods

Okay fine Karlach can go with Wyll to hell as a treat

Hone your ascendant power, congratulations now you can turn into a bat, even some people who have been critical of your ascension will admit that your bat form is super cute. It is a genius PR move because statistic proven that EVERYONE are weak to cute animal and you can spy to learn about gossip and secret

Reunite with your buddies 6 months later, get hammered, spy on them using your bat form, flaunt your expensive clothes because now you are a rich boi, judge your friend's attire

Make out with God! Gale, you gotta admit that he looks badass

Ascend AGAIN for the second time and now Gale will take you to Genshin Impact Heaven his domain

Congratulations you married the God of Ambition and now you are the Ascendant God of Vampires

Conclusion?

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

prompt8: urge ! I Love the way you describe all the Feelings in your stories :DD ( and keeping It gn so i can at least have my mxm Imagine haha xDD)

Hiiiiii so sorry it took so long, wrangling that muse is difficult. I did, however, manage to subdue it with the help of this post, much thanks to OP.

You feel it well up from deep within you. A barely contained fury, a dark sinister urge to rip apart those responsible for the scene before you. Orin smiles from her perch above Astarion, who is bound upon a slab whilst Orin's dagger rests just above his heart.

"Come to save your beloved?" She smiles at you eerily, twirling her dagger. You say nothing, mind clouding with anger as you walk down the steps towards the stage upon which Orin will perform her final dance. She laughs, eager to get the ritual started but your gaze remains cold.

You don't need a Slayer form to kill her.

What happens next is but a blur. All you know is that at the end of it all, Orin lies in a puddle of blood at your feet, gasping her last breaths as she reaches out to you. The Urge within you howls victoriously, eager for the feast and your ears ring, the shouts of your companions muffled. All you can focus on is the dying traitor in front of you. Blood roars in your ears, the beast inside hungrily calling for you to take your place as Bhaal's true chosen but when you deal the final blow, it's to save the man you love from Orin's clutches, not to become what your father wants you to be.

As your dagger tears through skin and flesh, ripping away Orin's final breath, the pained cry that slips past her lips sounds familiar, almost as though it were…

Astarion.

You blink and the scene before you changes. Astarion lies before you, bloodied by your blade, your magic, you, while the monster Orin laughs from her place upon the sacrifical stone slab. Your mind goes blank, arms falling to your sides as you crumble to the floor.

"Star." The word feels thick in your throat. Bile floods your mouth, making you sick and you resist the urge to gag. Blood bubbles from Astarion's lips as he tries to speak but all that comes out is a gurgle. His crimson eyes glare at you, as if blaming you for being unable to differentiate your lover from your sister. He's right to blame you, all this is your fault, all because of your inability to see past Orin's illusions. You can vaguely hear Orin cackling as your other companions fight their way to her, and then everything falls silent, save for the dripping of blood onto the stone floor. She's disappeared, leaving only a mocking thanks for your sacrifice to Bhaal.

"Star." The word comes out as a sob, your greatest fear now realised. Tears stream silently down your cheek but no one's there to comfort you. You've killed the one who was always there for you, gentle whispers of reassurance lost forever because of your bloodstained hands. Overwhelmed with grief and self-hatred, you scream.

And then you wake up.

Sweat clings to you like second skin, drenching your clothes. Your chest heaves with each gaping breath you take, your hands clammy and your face sticky with tears.

Astarion.

You whip around wildly, eyes frantically searching for your lover in what is slowly registering as your shared room. The vampire is peacefully trancing in the bed next to you, a singular crimson eye cracking open at your wild movements.

"Darling? Some of us are trying to sleep, you know."

Relief floods you at the sight and you collapse back onto the bed, nearly bursting into tears yet again. Then laughter takes over, your abdomen hurting from the effort.

Orin is dead. Astarion is alive, as alive as an undead can get.

Astarion rises to get a better look at you when he realises you're acting weird, concern colouring his face when he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. The snarky facade quickly fades, giving way to genuine worry. His cold fingers send tingles running up your spine as they run along your cheek, gently wiping away the stray tears that roll down.

"Orin's dead," you gasp out between the laughter. "Orin's dead."

"She is." Astarion is unnaturally quiet. His eyebrows are furrowed in worry, lips tentatively hovering over your forehead. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You reach up, cupping his cheek, feeling the skin beneath your fingers. Your beloved is right here, in front of you, unharmed. Orin lies somewhere in the bowels of Baldur's Gate, carrion for the rats that lurk there. You exhale sharply, closing your eyes as you try to bring your heart rate under control once more.

"You're here." The words leave your lips in a shaky whisper. "You're here."

"I promised I'd always be, love. And I'm not one to break my promises." Astarion slips an arm around your waist, an invitation that you gladly take. You bury your face into his chest, muffling the sobs that you choke out and feel him curl around you, holding you tightly. You feel the kisses he presses to the top of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he holds the back of your head. The silver tongue from which honeyed words usually flow remains quiet, the only sound in the room being your sobs.

"I didn't kill you. I didn't sacrifice you to my father." The words are but a whisper, and yet his sharp ears catch each and every single one.

"Bhaal has no hold over you anymore, no more than Cazador has over me. You're no longer his captive, you're free. Free to do whatever you want without that Urge taking over, free to be more than just a creature who slaughters for the sake of it. I'll kill whoever tries to convince you otherwise." His grip on you tightens, fangs peeking out at the mention of killing.

You sniffle, clinging onto him as though he would suddenly disappear and nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder. His underlying undead scent pokes through your clogged nose, a comforting scent, much to your amusement. Taking a deep breath, you dive into your still fractured mind, searching for the bloodthirsty Urge within but find nothing. Instead, a stillness you weren't aware of before resides where the Urge once lay, waiting to be filled with something else.

Astarion presses a kiss to your forehead, crimson gaze still resting on you. In his eyes you find a fondness he reserves only for you, an unwavering loyalty, and most of all, an undying love for the one he calls his significant other. Maybe the void within you can be filled after all, bloodlust replaced with gentleness, murder replaced with love. Your hands will never be clean, that much you know, but perhaps they needn't be stained with more needless bloodshed, not while you remain free of your father.

You tilt your head up, pressing your lips against his and savour the moment. You're free, truly free, and this is proof of that.

[lostinforestbound]

i loved the rolan hair greying post!! poor baby 🥹 it got me thinking about more domestic life with rolan. if i may, may i request a rolan fic where he walks in on tav being insecure with their body and he makes tav feel better? no worries if you don't want to do the request 😊

I'm so glad you loved the Rolan Greying headcannons so much! I absolutely loved doing this request! Exploring domestic life with Rolan was so fun, I hope you enjoy this one! If there's tags I may have missed, please let me know!

Perfection

In their mind, their life is becoming close to perfect. Sow hy do they carry so much resentment towards themselves?

Word Count: 1.1k (AO3 TBA)

Relevant Tags: Body Insecurity, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Death of Companion character

This whole adventure was one giant mess. Battle after battle, it never stopped, and it felt like it could go on for the rest of its days. They strained their body to its limits, a tadpole constantly giving them the worst headaches they've ever experienced, and their injuries have been life-threatening more than once; they're so, so tired.

So when Cal offered that room in the tower in passing after Lorroakan's defeat, they didn't take it too seriously; there was no way they could rest now, not this easily, and they doubted Rolan would let them stay. They wouldn't believe it, they couldn't believe it. Respectfully, they thought Rolan was a prickly bastard, even if at some points they found that cute. They were surprised when the new archmage encouraged the option for them to stick around. They noticed the way Cal and Lia smirked at each other when their brother did so, as if they knew something they both didn't. They didn't pay any mind to it at the time.

But when the brain was finally defeated, that's exactly what they decided to do, their heart longing for a true home after their stressful endeavor. Being able to stay somewhere permanent sounded wonderful. Unusually, they found their home in Rolan, which was a pleasant surprise. At first, it was teasing each other and bickering across the room; at some point, it turned into flirting, stealing glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking. Then, after getting tired of dancing around with compliments, they pushed Rolan against the wall and devoured his mouth, which was met with enthusiasm by the pinned tiefling.

Living this domestic life with him and his siblings is incredible, and while their relationship was relatively fresh, they know in their heart they want to live like this for the rest of their days. Waking up next to the handsome tiefling every morning is like a dream, seeing genuine relaxation paint his features as he stays nuzzled in their neck. They'll do their usual routine, running their fingers through his hair to encourage him to wake up, even if he may complain about it with a grumble. They'll share coffee and breakfast with Lia and Cal before they all get to work for the day. Then after a long while, they'll usually meet up again at the tower for dinner, courtesy of Cal loving to cook for them.

In their mind, their life is becoming close to perfect.

So why do they carry so much resentment towards themselves?

Hair still wet and freshly out of the basin, they stand in front of a full-body mirror as they settle in undergarments. They had to pause for a long moment, looking at themselves with a depressing, tired look on their face.

Their body is covered in so many scars from their adventure. Not only are they ugly, but they are a reminder of their failures. Scrapes on their knuckles from their struggle in the Nautiloid, freshly kidnapped. Slices on their arms from shadow creatures and nurses after discovering Arabella's parents, Locke and Komira, dead in the House of Healing. The massive burn on their shoulder from Ketheric's Warhammer, completely shattering the bone within. Cuts where Orin tore into the flesh on their back, where they couldn't save-

They shake their head with a sharp sigh, wishing that their skin was clear of their deformities. The more they stare at themselves in the mirror, the more disfigured they look, and the more insecure they get. How does someone like Rolan, the archmage of Ramazith's tower, find this attractive?

Being so distracted, they don't see Rolan standing by the door in his adorable blue nightwear. They don't see him looking at them with light concern, eyes tracing up and down their body. They don't hear him carefully approach them, not wanting to startle them. But they do feel his hand on their bare back, looking at them through the mirror while standing beside them.

"I was wondering when you were coming to bed. You had me worried! How selfish of you, am I supposed to sleep without you?" He complains lightly in his usual dramatic way.

That does make them laugh, though it is short-lived. Their body is now extremely distracting to them.

Rolan notices their distant look, the glaze that comes over their eyes as they look at the qualities of their skin.

"You look wonderful. You do know this, right?"

"Rolan-"

He holds a hand up to gently interrupt them, eyes soft. "Please, let me finish."

Taking a deep breath, he wraps his arms around them from behind and rests his head on their shoulder before speaking again, "You're lovely. Every part of you I cherish, and I will do so for as long as you let me. You look perfect to me."

They lean back against his chest, eyes closing as they subtly blink away tears.

"And besides, your scars- well-" He coughs, looking away.

At first, they fear that is a bad sound and quickly glance at him through the mirror, but they only see the blush on his face and ears that he fails to hide away.

His nose scrunches up in a way they always found endearing, knowing full well he's embarrassed. "I find them quite attractive."

"Oh, do you now?" They tease, a smile finally returning to their face.

He rolls his eyes. "Please, if I found them unattractive I would be very vocal about it."

They raise a hand and trace an index finger along the edge of his ear. "I know just how vocal you are, Rolan."

"You are a godsdamn tease. Menace!" He exasperates, his skin only getting redder by the second as they laugh.

He's always so easy to tease, and they secretly love his little embarrassed outbursts. It's adorable to them.

With a gentle pull of their hand, they let him lead them to their bed, feeling his tail curl around their thigh as they do. As they settle down, they cuddle close together, and they notice how Rolan's hands trail all over them. His fingers trace everything they thought of as imperfect, especially the scars that they detest. It's not teasing, nor is it sensual like other nights may be.

It's worship.

He pays special attention to the scar on their shoulder, two fingers tracing the edge of it as he speaks up, "Ketheric did this to you?"

"He did."

He gently presses a kiss to it, pulling them closer to his body. "It hurt, I assume."

"It did, but the bastard's dead, so who got the last laugh?"

They both giggle as if on cue, and he starts kissing them all over their face, making them blush.

Maybe their scars can mean something heroic, instead.

[moonselune]

What lies between us | Part Four

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Teacher!Minthara x Obsessed!Student AU

Modern AU

Part four to these parts: part one , part two, part three, part five

CW: A little bit of hurt/comfort for y'all, it does get resolved in the end I'm not that cruel

⋆.˚✰ Minthara ⋆.˚✰ <- Masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

As you paced the hallway outside Minthara’s office, your heart raced with a mix of anger and confusion. You replayed the argument with Orin and the unexpected confrontation in your mind, trying to make sense of everything. When Minthara finally appeared, her expression was a storm of fury and frustration. The intensity in her eyes made you brace yourself for what was coming.

"Get in," she barked, her voice like a whip crack in the quiet corridor.

You stepped into her office, and she slammed the door shut behind you, causing you to flinch involuntarily.

“What were you thinking?” Minthara began, her voice sharp and accusing. “I explicitly told you to stay away from Orin. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

At her words you felt your own anger rising to meet hers. “I don’t understand why you’re so furious!” you shot back. “I’m not a child, Minthara. I deserve to know what’s going on. Why are you so determined to keep me away from Orin?”

Minthara's eyes blazed with anger, and she took a step closer to you. “Because you don’t understand!” she snapped. “Orin is dangerous and manipulative. I was trying to protect you!”

“But from what?” you demanded, your frustration boiling over. “You’re not telling me everything. I feel like you’re lying to me, and I can’t stand it.”

Minthara took a deep breath, clenching her fists, trying to stop the slight shaking.

“Orin and I...we were together,” she confessed, her voice dropping to a whisper. “We were lovers, once. It ended badly, and she’s been a thorn in my side ever since.”

The weight of her words hit you hard, but your anger didn’t give way. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded. “Why keep it a secret?”

“I didn’t want to burden you with my past,” Minthara said, her tone firm and harsh. “I didn’t want Orin to use you to get to me.”

“But you should have trusted me!” you couldn't help but shout back, the betrayal cutting deep. You had given Minthara all of you and she couldn't even trust you with details on an ex. “I’m not some naive child you need to protect. I can handle the truth, Minthara. What I can’t handle is being treated like I don’t matter, like I'm just some fling of yours.”

"What else did you think you were?"

Minthara regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. You froze, shocked and she could see the tears well in your eyes She quickly opened her mouth to correct her dreadful mistake, but you cut her off, not willing to hear any more, unable to take anymore.

“I'm done being treated like this, I’m done with your secrets and your ultimatums, and all your fucking bullshit” you said, your voice shaking with emotion and you stepped backwards, putting your hands out in mock surrender.

“Y/N, please I didn't mean that." You ignored her, tears beginning to fall freely, you turned on your heel, storming towards the door. Minthara called after you, her voice pleading but no less demanding, "Y/N, do not walk out of that door."

But you didn’t stop. You yanked the door open and slammed it behind you with all the force you could muster, the sound echoing down the hallway. As you walked away, your heart ached with a mix of anger, hurt, and heartbreak. You hurried back to your dorm, not wanting to be caught in this state.

Minthara walked back to her desk and slumped in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose and cursing herself, she didn't know why she said that. You were so much more than some fling, so much more than Minthara thought she could ever deserve.

It seemed that the sound of their altercation had provoked her meddling neighbour into action and soon enough there was a knock at her door, she didn't answer, more focus on retrieving the Wyvern Whiskey she kept in the bottom drawer of her desk. Soon enough Professor Dekarios' head poked through the small gap of the door he had opened.

“Minthara, is everything alright?” he asked cautiously, a guilty look on his face, this was partially his fault after all. He was meant to have kept Minthara occupied but it was like she was in his mind and she immediately knew he was up to something.

Minthara glared at him, her eyes still blazing with residual anger. Without a word, she grabbed a book from her desk and hurled it at the door. Gale ducked, the book missing him by inches.

“Go back to talking to your goddamn cat, Gale!” she shouted, her voice filled with frustration. Gale retreated, closing the door behind him, leaving Minthara alone with her turbulent thoughts. After pouring herself a rather large drink she buried her face in her hands, tears of frustration and regret welling up in her eyes. She had pushed you away, and now she didn’t know if she could ever make things right.

Minthara guessed that over the span of three days, she had called you at least 78 times, left at least 10 voicemails, and texted you over 100 times. She didn’t expect you to show up to her class, and you hadn’t. Now, as she sat in her office, nursing a drink, staring at her phone, scrolling through the messages she had sent. They ranged from desperate pleas and angry outbursts to heartfelt apologies and more begging. With a heavy sigh, she tossed her phone onto the desk and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and letting the alcohol numb her senses.

A knock at her office door made her sit upright. Minthara practically ran to open it, hoping to see your face. Instead, she was met by the bearded face of Professor Dekarios.

Minthara sighed and put her hands on her hips. "Dekarios, if this is about that student complaining that I threatened to kill him, I did not threaten him. I just insinuated that—"

"What? No," Gale interrupted, shaking his head. "But I think we should probably talk about that later." He looked concerned, not by Minthara's words—he was used to that—but by something else. "I just wanted to see if you had heard from Y/N. She is not showing up to any of her classes. I wanted to check with you before initiating the welfare check process."

"She hasn't been to any of her classes?" Minthara questioned, believing it was just hers you had avoided. Evidently, not. Gale nodded, and Minthara questioned him further, "What about her friends?"

"Apparently, she's locked up in her dorm," Gale said solemnly. "They’ve seen her briefly to collect takeout, but she hasn’t spoken a word to any of them."

Minthara's heart sank. "Let me handle it, Gale," she said abruptly, then added, "Please, if I get nowhere with her, then go ahead, but just let me try."

"Okay, Minthara," Gale nodded in agreement. "And for what it's worth, I hope you do manage to."

With a new determination to make things right, Minthara decided to visit your dorm. She knew she couldn’t just waltz in, so she donned a disguise: a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes and a loose jacket to obscure her silhouette. She felt ridiculous, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

She stood outside your door, uncharacteristically nervous. She knocked a few times, and when you didn't answer, she knocked a few times more until eventually the door opened a crack. Your tired, puffy, red-rimmed eyes met hers.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice hoarse from disuse and suppressed emotion.

“Please, Y/N, can we talk?” Minthara’s voice was gentle, almost pleading.

You began to close the door, but Minthara quickly wedged her foot in, forcing it open. "I'm not leaving until we talk," she said firmly.

Reluctantly, you stepped aside, letting her enter. Minthara closed the door behind her, taking in the disarray of your room. Empty takeout boxes and bottles of wine littered the floor, and the air was stale. She turned to you, her expression softening.

"I know you're hurting," she said quietly. "And I know I caused that hurt. But please, just hear me out."

You crossed your arms, keeping your distance as you sat on your unmade bed. "Fine. Talk."

Minthara took a deep breath, her eyes searching yours for any sign of softening. "I was wrong," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "I was wrong to keep things from you, to treat you like a child. You deserve better than that, and you deserve the truth."

She took a cautious step closer, her eyes never leaving yours. "I was scared, Y/N. Scared of losing you, scared of my past catching up with me. I thought I was protecting you, but I was only protecting myself."

You remained silent, your arms crossed, your face a mask of hurt and anger.

Minthara's eyes filled with tears as she continued. "And what I said…about you just being a fling…I didn't mean it. I never did. I was frustrated, angry, and terrified. I've never cared for anyone as much as I care for you. I didn't handle Orin coming back well, but that's not your fault. It's mine. I should have trusted you, and I should have been honest with you from the start."

She took another step closer, her hands trembling. "I promise to do better. I promise to be the person you deserve. I know I have a lot to make up for, but I am willing to do whatever it takes."

As you watched her, you could see the genuine remorse in her eyes, the vulnerability she rarely showed. Your defenses started to crack, and your heart ached with the weight of everything that had happened.

You stood up and walked over to her, uncrossing your arms. Slowly, you tilted her chin up, your eyes locking onto hers. The world outside seemed to fade as you leaned in, pressing your lips to hers in a tender, yet passionate kiss. Minthara responded immediately, her arms tightening around you as she poured all her regret, love, and longing into that kiss. When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. Minthara looked at you with a mixture of relief and hope.

"Thank you," she whispered again, her voice thick with emotion. You smiled softly, wiping a stray tear from her cheek, resting your forehead against hers.

"Let's take it one step at a time," you said, your voice gentle, tender. "We'll get through this together."

Minthara nodded, her eyes shining with gratitude. "I want to make it up to you. How about we go out for dinner tonight? Just the two of us."

You hesitated for a moment, considering the chaos of the past few days. But you saw the earnestness in her eyes, and you knew this was her way of starting to mend things.

"Alright," you agreed. "Dinner sounds nice."

Minthara's face lit up with a smile. "Great. I'll pick you up at seven?"

You nodded, and she glanced around the room, clearly wanting to leave before anyone saw her. "I should go," she said reluctantly. "I'll see you tonight."

You walked her to the door, making sure the hallway was clear. After a quick, furtive glance, she slipped out, and you closed the door behind her, leaning against it with a heavy sigh. The room was silent, save for the distant hum of the campus outside. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

With Minthara gone, you turned back to your desk, where your laptop and a pile of papers lay scattered, a hasty attempt on your behalf to hide them.

You hesitated for a moment before pulling out a folder, purposefully hidden among the mess. Inside was a detailed profile of Orin—photos, notes, timelines. Everything you had managed to dig up over the past three days.

It had started as a way to understand the threat she posed - you justified, but it quickly became an obsession. You had tracked her movements, hacked into a few of her social media accounts, and even intercepted some of her post. Your friends hadn't seen you because you weren't around and when you were you were pouring over all the information you had gathered. The more you discovered, (and it pained you to admit this) the more dangerous she seemed.

You sat down at your desk, flipping through the pages. There were photos of her with different people, often in heated arguments. One was with an older gentleman, a veteran you had deduced and the other was a dark haired gentleman who seemed constantly covered in grease and burns. You had photos of them all together and one on one. What they were discussing - you had no clue, at least not yet.

It was clear that Orin was no good, which gave you absolutely more reason to keep tabs on her. It was more for Minthara than yourself, you had witnessed how torn up she got by Orin. You couldn't have this unknown player in your game.

Your phone buzzed with a new message from Minthara, reminding you of your dinner plans. You glanced at the clock—it turns out you had been looking at your notes for longer than you thought. You pushed the folder aside, there would be time for that later. For now, Minthara was all yours and you were going to take full advantage of it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Did we forget that you are a bit of a stalker ? That your freak matches hers ? I hope not ;)

Be scared Orin, be very scared

Hope y'all enjoyed it lmk down below - Seluney xox

[ceeridwen99]

BG3 is a R O L E P L A Y I N G GAME...

Okay, time to be a bit controversial but I need to get this off my chest. Mainly because I've been seeing it everywhere. Instagram. Here. Youtube. Even the cursed site that is Reddit. I doubt this will reach many people, but I'll feel better having gotten it out of my head.

I think that a lot of people who play/played BG3 have forgotten that it is of ROLEPLAYING game. Let me repeat that. ROLEPLAYING. That means, that your game is based off of YOUR choices and YOUR choices alone. Meaning that the things you choose to do in this game are based on YOUR interpretation of the media. There is NO canonical interpretation of the game because it is YOUR campaign based on how YOU play. The plotline, the romances, and everything that happens is based on YOUR choices and how YOU decide to ROLEPLAY it.

Why am I putting so much emphasis on this? Well, because with the new patch, some additions were made to Durge's storyline. Mainly regarding Gortash. Nothing major at all, honestly. But, as we know, durgtash is quite a popular ship in the fandom. There was an added line during Gortash's coronation when Gortash expressed that he "liked" the Dark Urge in comparison to his sibling. A line has been added where the Durge can reply "I think I liked you too." That's it. That's what all the fuss is about. Because oh boy, did some people interpret that as Larian forcing durgetash on the players. First...what? How--

Let me preface this by saying I'm NOT a durgetash shipper AT ALL. I don't even like Gortash. Believe me, I've tried to see what people see in it (and him). I went and found all the journals and letters trying to see the romantic connection, and I just couldn't. It seems more like admiration and respect than love for me, but hey...guess what...that's MY interpretation. That's not what those who love this ship feel and that's perfectly okay because it's THEIR Campaign.

My point is, in no way is Larian FORCING a romantic relationship between Gortash and the Durge UNLESS you interpret it that way. Gortash says he "liked" you. Okay, That can mean many things. He respected you as his partner in this whole scheme. He enjoyed your company in comparison to Orin. Or, he saw you as a true friend. Or if you want--and only if you want it--he liked you romantically. And this is vice versa for the new line that was added to further differentiate the Durge from a Tav. It is such a vague line and can be interpreted in so many ways, that I truly don't understand what all the fuss is about. If you don't see Gortash as a previous romantic partner...then don't.

The Dark Urge is in many ways a blank slate. Yes, they have a bloody past when it comes to murder, but you don't have to add personal relationships to it if you don't want to. Hell, in my latest playthrough, my durge was a virgin when this whole mess began lol (They, of course, didn't know that, but it's what I roleplayed). They also never fully recover their memory outside of what's shown in the game. They're a complete blank slate at the start and the end. The durge has no personal background so you can make your own. So you can ROLEPLAY.

If you don't like the idea of Durge and Gortash being a thing...don't roleplay it that way. And, if you interpret that line as romantic DON'T click it. But there is no reason to be going around saying something is being forced on you when it isn't.

(If you want to be mad about something, be mad about Wyll constantly being sidelined compared to every other companion, but that's another post in itself.)

Anyway, if you read this thanks and have fun with whatever headcanon you carry.