#there was a Karlach surge but not for long

[bg3-npc]

PLEASE THERE ARE OTHER COMPANIONS

[dreamingcricket]

politely requesting either halsin or astarion with a tav/reader who like..shrugs off their advances bc they don’t think someone like either of them would take interest in them. like very oblivious to the fact that people actually like them. (totally not self indulgent lmao) ((i love mutual pining to lovers i-))

CW: Mild sexual content, reader is injured

Astarion has started to question whether this is your way of gently rebuffing him, or you're actually this dense.

He's not a subtle flirt. He uses all his most seasoned tricks, exhausts every overture he can think of. He can't remember wanting anyone this much. And yet, every one of his suggestive quips is laughed off.

He's there in the morning, sliding in beside you as you drink your tea. "Good morning, beautiful. You're looking absolutely radiant today." He runs a finger down your arm. When you blush and smile back, something warms in the pit of his stomach.

He's there as you put on your armour. "Allow me, dove." And as he tightens the straps on your mantle, he lets his fingers brush the underside of your jaw. "There. Just right." He purrs into your ear.

And of course, when he feeds. He takes his time, pulling you close, cradling your head, running his fingers through your hair. He nuzzles into your neck before he bites, pressing his lips against your rabbiting pulse for just a moment longer than he should.

Even in battle, when he's swiftly at your back, flashing you brilliant smiles as he races to your defense, you jovially thank him, like you do all your companions. Like he's your friend. Just your friend.

All efforts so far, completely ignored.

So now he watches you from across camp, the firelight dancing across your features as you laugh (he tries to ignore the tender stirring in his chest at the sound).

He throws back his glass of wine, and grimaces at the pitying glances of his compatriots. Of course it was obvious to anyone except you.

You stood, bid Wyll and Karlach goodnight, but instead of disappearing into your tent, you vanished into the brush.

Astarion sat for a long moment. He should let you go. You clearly weren't interested, and he should just... move on. Like he always had.

Who are you kidding, you fool?

He didn't care that he startled Gale with his speed and he pursued you into the woods.

You were seated on a rock, your face turned up toward a shaft of moonlight, eyes closed. He stopped to admire you.

"Sorry I took off. I just wanted to enjoy the quiet."

"I'll go, if you want me to."

You start, and turn towards his voice. "Astarion, didn't expect you."

"Were you expecting someone?"

"No... just-

He's suddenly surging forward without thought, and the two of you are rolling across the grass.

"Astarion, what the fu-"

He silences you with a burning kiss, brimming with anger and desperation. You roll him onto his back, furiously returning his advance. "What-" you pant between kisses. "-took you so long, idiot."

He's furiously tugging at your linen shirt, baring your back and shoulders. You'd be angry if you weren't still reeling.

"You never flirted back!" He pins you down, only to find his hips locked between your legs.

"I flirt constantly, Astarion! You drink my blood every night! I've been waiting for you to take the next step for weeks!" Now it's you tearing at his shirt, your hands groping for purchase on his shoulders. "I thought you didn't think of me like that." Now it's your lips against his neck, and he chokes on a moan.

"That's not flirting!" He's never been this heated during sex. He's a collected lover, and for all the inherent violence of his existence, he realizes - he wants to be gentle. At least this time.

He takes your hands in his and stills your thrashing. You lock eyes, both of you out of breath, chests heaving. He places a single, gentle kiss to the palm of your hand. "Shall we begin again, love?"

"I'd like that."

"My name's Astarion. You are a truly stunning creature," he leans down, and whispers to you, "... and I'd very much like to make love to you tonight."

Halsin thinks you are quite possibly the most extraordinary person he's ever met.

 

He can't erase the image of you the first time he saw you from his mind, eyes ablaze, arcane power crackling at your fingertips. 

He's had so many partners, but all of his love affairs were brief, transient. Deep, but nothing had ever moved him like this. Typically, Halsin is straightforward with his feelings. His passing dalliances with fellow druids and traveling rangers had never daunted him. But with you, making his feelings known was... complicated.

You'd been through a significant trauma, and while you put on a quite the brave face, ever the intrepid leader, he's been around long enough to see your fragility. You'd seen so many horrors in such a short amount of time. Emotions were running high, he wouldn't risk coming on too strong.

So instead... he brought you gifts. It was a very natural way to court someone, at least. Baskets of berries, a fresh catch from the river, perhaps they're gifts to his own taste, but he hopes you'll enjoy them.

He offered to braid your hair, to help ease the tension in your shoulders with a massage in the evenings (his hands are absolutely enormous, which certainly helps). 

And, unbeknownst to the rest of the camp, and to his mild shame, he couldn't help but rub his scent near your tent. He wouldn't invade your boundaries and touch your things, but he couldn't help his instincts. Lae'zel noticed at last, but only scoffed and offhandedly remarked, "The way you dance around your affections is pathetic. Tell them, or stop simpering."

Things eventually came to a head when you were injured, badly. The arrow tore through your side, and you hit the ground before you could register you'd been shot, the world became pain and a blur of color and noise. 

Halsin was by your side in a heartbeat, shielding you with his frame as spells and arrows flew overhead.

"Don't move little one, you're losing blood." He sounded calm, but there was a tremor in his voice. You'd never seen him afraid before.

"Halsin..."

"Shh, shh. Hold still." His magic flows through you, and the muscles in your side knit back together as he pulls the arrow free.

"Halsin." Your hand lifted to weakly brush his cheek. Your vision was swimming. 

The thunderous roar of battle magic echoed nearby. Gale rushed towards you. "Are they alright?"

"They will be." Halsin spoke it like an oath. "But they're weak." 

"We'll finish this, get them to safety!"

Halsin cradled your body to his chest and barreled off the battlefield. You drifted in and out of consciousness, but were always aware of his arms around you. They felt like safety. Like home.

The druid ducks behind a half destroyed wall, and begins to reassess your wound. "Gods, you frightened me." He lays you down carefully, head in his lap, and begins to clean the wound. 

You smile up at him. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me."

"I like this."

He's puzzled. "Being horribly injured?"

"Being held by you." 

At that moment, your body finally gave out, and your vision went black. 

When you woke, bandaged and sore, in your tent, Halsin was sitting by your bedroll with his back to you. Recalling in horror the confession you'd made, you try to pretend you were still asleep. 

"I know you're awake, little one." 

You sigh. "I'm... about what I said, I'm sorry. I know you don't feel that way, and-" 

"Stop." He turned and placed a finger against your lips. "No more words." 

You braced for his rejection. At least the druid was kind, empathetic. Or perhaps his pity would make it worse. 

His lips coming down on yours were not what you expected. He was gentle, and smelled of moss and pretrichor, dark soil and sweat. You kissed him back, laughing into his mouth. 

He pulls away, then presses his forehead to yours. "I'm here. As long as you'll have me." 

"Oh, I intend to." Your attempt to sit up is hampered by a shock of pain from your wound. "Ow. Shit."

Halsin guides you back down to your pillows. "All in good time, little one."

[karlachismylife]

i told myself i'll take a break in my failing attempts to write a couple things on Karlach x Soap in english and go back to writing a couple other things in my first language for the upcoming fandom combat deadline

so here's a thing i wrote instead and it's neither of those :D

Very much inspired by my precious friend that is obsessed with some datesim I know nothing about and talks my ear off about her sexy chinese dudes while I make her listen to me simping for my dead scottish ADHD meow meow. We don't know shit about each other's fandoms but we're so excited for each other... Also excuse me if this idea has already been done (I swear I thought of it on my own, but I will tag anyone who's done this before if you send me a link) + my English writing still sucks.

I also encourage you to check out these smaus, they're brilliant and I somewhat looked at them when wrote Kyle's text messages and this wonderful thing about Ghost and Animal Crossing that also inspired me to look into these silly military men and mobile/video games.

Task force 141 and their reaction to their S/O playing dating simulator games

CW: gn!civilian!reader (if I slipped into one or the other gender somewhere, please tell me & I'll correct), mostly fluff with a bit of spice, pet names, mild cursing, unserious jealousy and banter, long-distance (Gaz), describing nudes and mild sexting (Gaz), soft Ghost, mentioned spanking (Price), mild dom!Price, alluded reader recieveing fingerng and oral (Soap)

Word count: ~5k

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

That silly app you downloaded because its (very compelling) ads were repeatedly shoved in your face became surprisingly convenient when Gaz got deployed and wasn't within reach for weeks. A slightly clay-looking guy on your screen didn't hold up in comparison to the smoothest bastard sergeant with the tightest grip on your heart, but a cute feature with app notifications stylized as loving text messages from the virtual boyfriend somehow helped cope with the radio silence from Kyle. You knew he would be fine, how could he not? You gave him a very proper goodbye kiss (and goodbye sex that was a bit more improper) for luck, and he was too damn good at his job to fail. You weren't going insane from worry, at least not more than usually.

But the loneliness, the fucking loneliness was a little bit more bearable when you still got your "good morning beautiful xx" and "thinking about you before bed" even though the font was wacky and some phrases were clearly poorly google translated. To unlock these little snippets you opened the app every day, usually tapping mindlessly on all the required interactions before going to sleep and eyeing some of the ingame wardrobe options that wouldn't work too bad on your man. In fact, you even took a screenshot of a nice suit - if tailored right, Kyle would look in it sharper than the tactical knife he knew so well. You just needed an opportunity to show it to him.

And the opportunity barged in with a sudden surge of texts right when you were already getting ready for some shut-eye.

Three weeks of muffled unease wiped out and replaced with that never-tiring giddy feeling bubbling inside as soon as you saw Kyle's name pop up on top of your screen.

"hi baby"

"finally can text, miss you terribly 😘"

"what are you up to angel?"

You could feel your own cheeks strain with the stupid smile plastered on your face. No doubt, Kyle texted you at the first opportunity - he was there, he was okay and he missed you. All sleepiness in your body withered away, leaving you energized at eleven pm, squirming in your bed as you rolled over to start vigorously typing back. You never knew how much time you both have to chat, unstable signal or simply never-ending duty could interrupt you at any given moment, so you had to get your fill of premium class Garrick right there and then - no matter how drowsy it would make you the next morning.

Eventually you sent him the screenshot you took without second thoughts:

"btw thought you'd look good in smth like this baby, what do you think?"

Instead of a normal reply on the topic, though, you recieved an immediate jab followed by short pause:

"the fuck is that baby? 🤣"

"wait i think i know"

"replacing me with a vr boyfriend already? jesus fuck angel i haven't been away even for a month"

"i'm wounded, truly. he doesn't even look that good and can't spell correctly. what a downgrade 😔"

If only you could communicate the muscle-straining eyeroll you had through text. Chuckling and snorting, you immediately came to defence of your pixel prince charming, simply for the sake of it.

"how dare you. he's not a mere replacement, this is true love, garrick 💕🥰❤️✨"

"look at the top, we're already level 29 intimacy"

"gonna get him to send me nudes soon, they unlock at lvl 30"

Gaz could probably hear your bratty giggles on the other side of the globe, sheets rustling as you wiggled in your bed, absolutely proud of your impeccably fine-tuned wit and properly excited for the upcoming smartass comeback, since Kyle would rather die than let you have a win. But you've already calmed down with your cheeks mildly flushed, and the messages were still left on read.

Weird. It wasn't the first time your chatting ended abruptly, but usually Kyle had time at least to tell you he had to go - maybe even exchange little "ily"s. Did the signal cut off? But it was good enough for him to download a picture even, surely he'd notice if it started lagging and tell you. Did something bad happen? An emergency? An ambush?

A slight frown etched in your face as you started unwillingly thinking of the worst. Then - in a moment - that little green circle signaling Gaz was online came back. And still no answer.

Did he... get actually upset? Over a fucking datesim app?

It was hard to believe. Impossible, even. Kyle was never prone to jealosy fits, smug bastard definitely knew how secure you two were. But maybe... maybe it was the fact that you were seeking comfort he couldn't provide? Being told you needed a whole ass app simply to tell you goodnight while he was god knows where, unable to hold you and cuddle you to sleep - that could sting.

Shit, you shouldn't have started this. Gaz wouldn't outright admit he felt even the slightest bit insecure over an unblinking 3D monstrosity with a sexy Korean voice. He'd think it was stupid - and he would be right, frankly, but in this case this wasn't completely unreasonable.

Already anxious, you put your thumbs back on the phone to type out a careful question, but before you could even think of a right way to formulate it the chat chirped and loaded in a bunch of attachments.

Absolutely scandalous. Hastly unndone uniform, sweaty shirt pulled up and - you knew it even if it was outside the frame - clutched in his teeth, bared in a self-assured smirk, belt unbuckled and hanging from the loops of pants pulled down just a bit; just enough for his hand to slip inside and gather into a delicious grasp around the bulge you knew was straining against his boxers. Fucking tease, pulling the elastic band with his thumb to let you see just the base of his cock - you had to swipe several mouth-watering closeups on his chest, v-line beautifully adorned with dark hair and that bloody hand you already ached to feel on your thigh, before you finally got your reward. Hard just from the thought of you, tip glistening with the pre-cum he definitely smeared all over specifically for that picture.

"wanted to ask if your pixel bf can beat these"

"but i think your silence already says enough 😏"

You groaned, belly warm with the familiar longing. What an angel of a man, finding time to somehow snap packs of perfect nudes in the middle of wherever he was. Already turning over to slide your hand down your body, you sent a very sulking "hate you garrick. first made me worried and now horny, shameless bastard" and got an obligatory "sure you do. i'll fuck that attitude outta you as soon as i get back angel".

Somehow all the need in a virtual replacement vanished after this chat. Not only did Kyle text you more regularly - sensing a competition maybe, huh? - but you also got yourself enough material to be comforted before sleep. Sure, you'd rather have your man there in person, but no perfect-looking anime prince could offer a view better than Kyle's flexed arms or a cheeky sneak peek of his plump ass and a smooth back arch snapped over his shoulder.

No wonder you two threw yourselves at each other when Gaz finally showed up home, tired and a little roghed up, but very much alive and pent up for you. Once you were done relieving some of that frustration and cuddled up after a nice, hot shower, though, Kyle nipped your earlobe teasingly.

"No such level to unlock this experience, huh, angel? Something your app boytoy can't provide."

He caught your arm before you could elbow him playfully and grasped you tighter aroung your waist, using his free hand to get his phone and hold it in front of your face.

"Besides, I think he likes me more."

"How the fuck did you get to level sixty, Garrick?!"

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"Twilight was peaking how many years ago? And they still have this stupid choice everywhere."

Simon, the unmoving domestic shadow spread in a comfortable sitting position on your couch for the daily quiet together time, turned his head lazily and gently squeezed your thigh, careful not to disturb your legs thrown over his lap as he leaned a bit closer with a mildly interested "Hm?"

"It's this dating game. They're making me choose between a vampire and a werewolf. Can't think of another conflict for the last decade, really? Why not elves versus orcs? They never make stories about sexy orcs. But there's a market for it! Why stick to the same broken record all the time? Or, I don't know, invent beef between fairies and mermaids!" You huffed in exasperation, waving your phone in a vague gesture meant to express your disdain for the lack of creativity in the supernatural romance visual novels department. Ghost's usual intense stare boring into your face could mean anything - from him silently judging you for lacking respect for the culturally impactful vampries-werewolves feud to a wordless question whether you were in the sexy orc enjoyers market.

But when he finally spoke, scarred lips slightly curled upwards in a hint of an amused smile and eyebrows raised, he asked what seemed to catch his attention much more than what fantasy creature you would like to bang.

"A dating game?" His smirk became more prominent, eyes narrowing as an indicator of him looking for a way to quip in the most unbearable way possible. "What's all that about, love?"

The fact that he didn't know wasn't that surprising, you'd be much more astonished if Ghost did know what a dating simulator game was, but the need to explain still caught you off guard, forcing you to pause with the expressive phone gesturing and actually try and describe the phenomenon.

"Well, it's a mobile game, where you, like... have to play through a story with the main thing being befriending and romancing characters. It's mostly reading a story, really, but you get dialogue options to unlock special scenes with your chosen romantic interest or you can give them gifts..." A stolen glance at Simon told you that he was surprsingly paying attention. "But there's often a plot too. The one I started recently is about, well, vampires and werewolves... a Twilight ripoff, basically, but the player gets to be Bella." You paused, gauging his reaction, but other than his calloused fingers kneading the meat of your thigh Ghost didn't even move, leaving you to look at him with suspicion mixed with amusement. "Want me to show you?.."

Finally, his hand stopped its methodical massaging, only to pat your thigh approvingly and help you sit up, cozily snuggled up to the man whose hoodie you shamelessly stole just to wear around him. Wrapping his muscular arm around you, Ghost leaned his head against yours and prepared for the highly educational lecture on the world full of opportunities to get turned down because of having too low approval with the character.

You showed him the exact story that got you so riled up, explained the quite primitive mechanics behind gaining attraction points with the characters and rehashed the entire plot up to the point where you were stuck now - the one where it was obvious the game wanted you to pick a side. Simon listened carefully, gruff chuckles at some of your grumbling and a lot of very insightful commentary on each and every character ("that one's got Johnny's fucking mighty schnotz" and " 'course he's a fucking twat, look at his bloody necktie, a hemp one would be an improvement on 'im"), inculding your own avatar that you spent considerable time making to look like you wanted.

"That supposed to be you, love?" He didn't even try to mask the snarky tone, and you definitely prepared to be offended. You put so much thought into the character looks! So what if they didn't match your real ones fully? It's the game limitations, not your fault. "Hmph. Maybe good enough for these two muppets to fight over. But I reckon I like my version better. Comes with high-quality visuals."

His arm tightened around your shoulders, pulling you up for a short and sweet kiss, rough thumb stroking your jawline tenderly and pressing up under your chin when Ghost pulled away with a crooked smirk, shattered with scars into an artful mosaic.

"Trying to get your approval higher, sir?" You teased, eyes darting between his smiling - what a view, honestly - eyes and ready to be kissed again lips. His response was predictable. "It's working, innit, love? Think there's enough for a special bonus scene yet?"

Despite you clearly pretending to think and count his imaginary attraction points, Simon already started pulling you up into his lap, holding you securely and running his fingers along the curve of your back. "Might need a little more convincing, gamer. You didn't even bring a special gift to this date." Ghost's half-lidded eyes sparkled with hidden competitevness and his chest rumbled with a deep chuckle as he reached out to take your phone out of your hand softly.

"Gave you the hoodie. It counts." Ignoring your not very convincing protests ("It's mine already, of course it doesn't count!"), he tapped something on your screen and then put the phone away, wrapping his arms back around your form and slowly leaning into a tangled cuddlepile in an almost lying position. All your squirming successfully restrained with a bearhug, you huffed and placed your chin on Ghost's chest, looking up at him. He was there, with you, but deep in his gaze you noticed a certain swrling cloud of thoughts. Reading Simon's eyes was a must with him, he knew you could and didn't ever hide them from you.

"What are you thinking about?" You carefully inquired, running your hands over his shoulders and squeezing gently, a habit helping both of you to ease some tension. Simon blinked, tilting his head slightly, and let out a small sigh, seeking the right words. "You're not playing that game because I'm not doing enough, are you, lovie? 'Cos if you are, I'd rather you tell me what's wrong."

Always straight to the point. At least, when he finally decides to speak up. The big, scary dog worried about a silly mobile game as his competition? Cute. But the seriousness in his eyes called for a proper answer, not a teasing joke or a simple "aww, don't worry".

"You're doing more than enough, Simon, and you know it. It's a game, just living out my fantasies as the main character. But I can delete it if it makes you uncomfortable, it's no big deal, you know?" The tiniest bit of tension you felt underneath your fingertips disappeared, leaving Ghost sinking even further into the couch with you properly wrapped in his protective embrace.

"Nah, gorgeous, you keep playin' whatever shite you wanna be playin'. Just promise to keep me updated on the bloke so I can upstage him in every way." His voice got muffled since he buried his face in your chest, eyes closed peacefully and pure bliss written in all the relaxed features. Cradling his head, you hummed in agreement, but then perked up again.

"Wait, what bloke? You picked one of them for me?" - "Mhm." - "Oh come on, Simon, what happened to the freedom of choice!" You could feel his smile get more prominent despite being hidden in the softness of your chest covered with the thick hoodie material. "Which one did you choose? The vampire 'cause he's wearing all black?"

"Nuh-uh. The other one. The mutt."

You giggled at his choice of words and let out a quiet "oi" when Simon pinched you for disturbing his calm enjoyment of a "bonus scene" with the chosen romance option, that being you.

"Why? You're a Wolf Man fan or something?"

"'f course I am, love. He's British."

Captain John Price

When you saw the notification that the game you got sucked into with the active help of your friends got a "sound update", you knew what that meant - they finally added English voiceover lines for every single hunk of a man you had in your virtual harem, and you couldn't wait to hear what voices they gave your favourites. Given the nature of the game, you decided to put your earbuds on and started listening through the whole voicelines library, busying your hands with mundane tasks like folding laundry. John was sitting in the kitchen, fully immersed into his reading - potentially work-related. Or at least enthralling enough for him to miss your flushed cheeks or periodical giggling.

But no matter how important his reading was, what he couldn't miss was the sultry male voice coming out of your phone with a whispered "Wouldn't you love that, bunny?". Of course the parinig connection between your phone and the wireless earbuds had to get interrupted exactly when you were pouring yourself a cuppa and couldn't even drop the kettle in order to shush the suggestive purring of your digital fave.

You could feel Price staring at you. You could practically hear his bushy eyebrows slowly rising as he patiently waited for you to say something first. You were fully contemplating brewing yourself some poison instead of tea to avoid getting confronted by your man who just heard someone call you bunny on the phone.

So when you didn't start first, John, more amused than anything - he knew you too well to read through all your tiny microreactions and conclude that this wasn't hardcore evidence of an affair, but something much more suitable for future teasing (were you listening to porn or something? a naughty audiobook? oh so many golden opportunities to make you squirm under the steel gaze of the captain) - asked very nonchalantly: "What was that, darling?"

"What?" There was no point in pretending you didn't know what he's talking about, but you still tried. If anything, it allowed you to stall while you very hesitantly turned around and saw John and his smile, not even a hint of sterness in the round plumpness of bearded cheeks and little crow's feet in the corners of his eyes. "What was what, honey? You want some tea too?"

A futile attempt at deflecting and bribery rolled into one. You were lucky you were not his subordinate. You were unlucky the voice of some other man, dripping with mirth, came back into your ear once the next voiceline loaded in and the connection with your earbuds got restored. This was equal to admitting your crimes in front of the judges, but you slowly took your phone out of your pocket and hit pause.

"Does the tea come with an explnation who's the bloke whispering in your pretty ears, bunny? 'Cos if so, I'll take a cuppa, thank you very much."

He was beaming. Leaned back in his chair, knees wide apart and burly arms folded on his chest, Price wanted to have a wee little pause in his serious reading, and watching you squirm was the best distraction and brain-reloading he could ever get.

"I-it's not like that, I promise." Was that a bead of sweat running down your nape? John grunted, cocking an eyebrow and pushing his chin into his chest to stare at you from an angle that best conveyed that "I am not convinced, love" look. "It's just a little game, John, promise. Not a real man, just a made-up character."

Those piercing eyes narrowed even more, silently measuring you up for potentially bullshitting him, and then a heavy hand patted the broad thigh. An order, not an invitation (an order you could always disobey, though...)

"Show me."

Forgetting the option to disobey with little consequences, you hung your head down and dragged yourself and your fresh cuppa over to John, settling in his lap. The tea didn't even make it to the table, he snatched it from your fingers, careful enough not to spill, and sipped loudly, patting your side condescendingly. Any more stalling could result in various stages of burning buttocks, so you complied with the demand without Price repeating himself and opened the app, disconnecting your earbuds in the process.

He clearly wanted to hear that embarassing shit.

Your explanations of what a datesim was seemed to amuse John greatly - knowing his love for farming games, you made sure to mention all the best ones mixing the two genres, clearly trying to sweeten the deal.

"So wha', sum muppet in your phone callin' you bunny and you like 't? Maybe I should start too, huh?" You had to close your eyes to stop the internal screaming, and John's gruff chuckle hit your burning ear with a gentle puff. "But these, erm..." - "Companions." - "Riiight, these companions, they ain't whispering something... naughtier, are they?"

There was a hint of seriousness in his question, so you opened your eyes again and turned to look at him. His face was still smiling calmly, but the expectation was that of an honest and direct answer.

"Well, they do have more explicit scenarios and voicelines..." - "They talkin' dirty to you, eh? Guess I should step up my game." He flexed his jaw and leaned even closer, brushing his slightly chapped lips over the tender shell of your ear, soft beard tickling you and leaving you helpless. "Can't have my sweetheart wooed by sum app game fockers, can I? C'mere you little bunny, Imma show you sumthin' to hop on."

He stood up suddenly, lifting you with a soft grunt and dragging you away from the forgotten phone and empty cup. No amount of "John!" squeaked out could save you from that bear of a man groping your ass before throwing you onto bed and climbing on top. His weight squeezed the air out of your lungs as he roamed his big palmes all over your sweet body, even more enthusiastic about the impromptu break in his work.

"Ugh, fine, Johnathan Price, I won't be listening to the spicy dialogues! Just let me finish my-" Absolutely futile, your plea to get back to housework you had planned got cut short by a deep kiss, John's tongue sliding in your mouth as the most efficient (okay, maybe, second most) gag he could use on you. Your hands, previously pressed against his furry chest in an attempt to push him off, relaxed and buried themselves in his thick hair, ruffliing it and tugging him closer by the strands. A low grunt let you know what you already knew and felt much lower - John fully approved both that and your promise to keep away from the horny digital harem.

"Why even bother with 'em bloody games when you can 'ave the real thing, huh?"

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Whit are ye smiling at there, bonnie?"

Before you could even process the question and come up with any answer (excuse) about the silliest giddy smile that a cutscene in your chosen romance route got out of you, your massive - the only way to not be thrown off by Johny "Can't Sleep Still" MacTavish - bed creaked underneath the impressive weight of a fine Scottish specimen. Like a curious pup, Soap squeezed his head through the loop of your arm, earning himself a choking cuddle in the process, and stared into your screen.

"No, Johnny, piss off! It's personal!" You scrambled to turn your phone away from him and held it to your chest, a traitorous warmth in your cheeks threatening to give away what kind of personal it was. Of course, Soap caught on immediately, playful glint in his eyes as he simply yanked the phone out of your grip and turned over onto his back, shamelessly using you as a pillow while he unlocked your screen (why the fuck were you two so trusting and shared passwords!) and looked at the animated cutscene.

And why did it have to be the first spicy one you finally unlocked?

"What's tha'? Didnae peg ye fur a hentai type, bonnie." Soap watched the looped animation for a few more seconds while you wrestled against his heavy fucking carcass helplessly. With a single tap he closed the cutscene and let out an amused hum when met with the continuation of your unlocked chapter. "Och, so ye're reading smut too? Naughty."

You squirmed visciously, fighting for your dignity as he started reading aloud through the desciption of what didn't make the cutscene. The experience was downright horrible, humiliating and arousing at the same time as Johnny's thick brogue and mocking tone killed every ounce of spice in the steamy scene and somehow added new ones. Along with his stuttering. This lad... you even tried to grab his arm and chew on the meaty muscle in hopes of distracting him, but he didn't even flinch, simply pulling his limb out of your grasp and putting it behind his head comfortably. Outraging.

"Slender aristocratic fingers squeezing supple..." he smacked his lips so loudly that you groaned, "...flesh nae hard enough tae leave marks, but enough tae el... elicit pleasure, his breath hot in yer ear, whispering... Hauld yer horses- how come is yer name 'ere, bonnie? Who's writing this fur ye?" You nearly bounced off the bed when Soap suddenly sat up straight, relieving you from his (quite welcome, to be fair) burden, and frowned at your phone, scrolling through the erotc piece as if he could figure out who was the author just from reading it carefully enough. The pout he turned to you with was nothing short of absolutely heartbreaking. "Who's tha' "Laird Sebastian" prick writing a' kinds of nasty shite he wants tae dae tae ma' leannan? Am ah nae enough fur ye, bonnie? Dae ye wanntae leave me fur some posh bastard wi' a stick so far up his arse tha' it pokes outta his yapper?"

It was so obvious that Soap was just taking the piss, but his bottomless puppy eyes with the longest lashes fluttering as if on the verge of tears were working their dark magic, crashing your train of thought like a whole gang of outlaws from the Wild West and coercing you into making an apologetic expression and reaching your arms pleadingly for a hug. "Aw, come on, Johnny, it's just a-"

"Ah dinnae think tis a good idea, love. Ah dinnae have slender aristocratic fingers, wha' if a'm awful lot o' a commoner tae yer tastes..." Soap tilted his chin up, a perfect depiction of dignity suffering horrible offence, and turned away defiently, immediately peeking back at you from the corner of his twinkling blue eye. You knew those little smiling creases too well to miss them forming despite him holding a pout quite successfully, so you scoffed, still slightly flushed from being caught red-handed, and rolled your eyes, snuggling up to Johnny from behind and starting to kiss behind his ear.

"I'm so, so sorry, love of my life. No posh bastards come nowhere near you, you're my favourite commoner. Fuck Lord Sebastian-" You realized you chose the wrong wording when Soap couldn't hold back a snort. "Aye, well, seems lik' ye were planning on doing exactly tha-" - "Oh shut the fuck up, MacTavish!"

Shut the fuck up he did, turning back to face you abruptly and tackling you into the sheets, lavishing kisses with his searing hot lips all over your face. A real mutt pouncing the handler he has no respect and all the love for. There was no choice left for you other than wrap all your limbs around Soap and writhe underneath him, nearly missing that very inconspicuous way he reached his arm out and dropped your phone on the nightstand before cradling your head for much deeper, sloppier kisses.

"Gonna show tha' laird sod how tae fuck mah bonnie real good, aye? Mak' ye come wi' thae fingers right 'ere, nae aristocrat bullshit." Lapping up your neck with his wet tongue, Soap planted a greedy kiss right underneath your jaw and sucked at the soft skin until it showed a little pinkish hue. The bastard was set on making you sing for him, big rough palms grabbing handfuls of your flesh, squeezing and massaging while Johnny kept decending down your body with clear determination. "C'mon, leannan, let me hear ye. Say yer ol' Johnny's better than tha' bawbag Sebastian."

Sliding your hands over his broad shoulders, you held his nape before tugging on his slightly outgrown mohawk, your own head falling backwards in an exhausted yet adoring sigh.

"You know it's just a game, right, loverboy? A dating simulator, not a real thing? Oi, watch it!" A sharp gasp escaped your lips as Soap chomped on your side and immediately nuzzled into your stomach to blow raspberries into the soft plush, catching you once you started squirming and giggling. No intention of letting you catch your breath until he heard what he wanted. "Fine! Fine, Johnny, you are so, so much better than Lord Sebastian."

Satisfied, he loosened his grasp on you and lifted his head, grinning like he's just won you over from somene actually threatening in terms of romance. Hooked his fingers into your housewear bottoms, slowly tugged them down and started trailing hot-mouthed kisses down from your solar plexus, sky blue eyes glazing over with the never-satiated hunger for your taste on his greedy tongue.

You held your breath. A joke was itching inside your mouth, begging to be let out, dancing on the tip of your tongue...

"You're lucky I didn't choose Duke Aaron's route. That's some serious competion."

"Och, away 'n bile yer heid, bonnie!"

Thank you for reading! I appreciate all interactions, likes, reblogs, comments and requests (send in anything for now! I can filter them myself, but I am open to smut, including rare kinks and some dark themes. Keep in mind though that I am limited by my skill & overall prefer sugary fluff. I will write for any of the task force 141 and baldur's gate characters, including parings, poly, x reader and x OC), I will write drabbles, headcanons and whatever else formats you can think of.

Also any corrections are welcome as long as you're not being mean! Thank you <3

[moonselune]

Yo, seeing possessive and protectiveness in them ladies, I got a thought... what if Reader's got some primal blood in them (werewolf, dragonborn, etc.) and they get heats instead of periods?

They try to hide 'em out of embarassment or shyness, but the ladies catch on at some point and... well, Reader ain't taking care of those alone anymore. 👀

yesyesyes

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

It had been a long night under the full moon, and by the time you returned to camp, your body ached in ways that were hard to explain. The pull of your blood, the raw, primal energy coursing through you, was always heightened during the full moon, but this time was different. Stronger. You could feel it deep in your bones, an almost animalistic need settling in, and every fiber of your being screamed for release.

You had werewolf blood running through your veins, something you usually managed to control, but the days following a full moon always left you in a strange state—on edge, restless, and burning with a need you couldn’t quite explain. The heat was beginning to crawl under your skin, a fire igniting that was both physical and emotional. It was something you tried to hide, embarrassed by how consuming it was.

Karlach had always been your anchor, her warmth and her fiery spirit grounding you, but tonight… tonight that primal hunger you usually kept buried surged to the surface. You couldn’t let her see you like this. You couldn’t let her see how desperately you wanted her, how much you wanted to mark her, claim her as your own in a way that went far beyond just affection. It was pure instinct, and you were ashamed of the raw need clawing at your insides.

You paced in your tent, trying to burn off the heat, trying to breathe through the desire building in your chest, but it was no use. Every thought you had was of her—her scent, her skin, her laughter. You could hear her talking with the others by the campfire, and just the sound of her voice made your body react. Your fingers curled into fists, and you clenched your jaw, determined to keep it together.

But Karlach knew you too well.

At some point, she had noticed your absence, and without a word, she had slipped away from the campfire to find you. She entered the tent quietly, her large frame casting a shadow over you as she stepped inside. You froze when you heard her boots hit the ground, your back to her, trying to steady yourself. But she could smell it, sense it in the air—the tension, the heat radiating from you in waves.

“Hey, darling,” Karlach’s voice was low and soft, but there was a hint of playfulness in it. “Where’ve you been? I was starting to think you didn’t want to spend time with me tonight.”

You didn’t turn around, your muscles taut as you tried to compose yourself.

“I—I just needed some space,” you stammered, your voice rougher than you intended. “Nothing to worry about.”

But Karlach wasn’t stupid. She stepped closer, her gaze narrowing as she took in the way you stood, the way your hands trembled slightly at your sides. She could sense the heat rolling off of you in waves, and her brow furrowed as she took another step forward, her voice dropping lower.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her tone more serious now. “You’re not yourself.”

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, not daring to meet her eyes. “It’s… it’s just after the full moon,” you mumbled, trying to wave it off. “It happens sometimes.”

She tilted her head, her eyes scanning you with a knowing look. “You’re in heat, aren’t you?”

The question made your heart skip a beat, and you cursed under your breath. Of course, she would figure it out. Karlach was too intuitive, too in tune with you to miss the signs. You could feel the flush rising in your cheeks as you clenched your fists, still facing away from her.

“I didn’t want to make it your problem,” you admitted quietly, the tension in your voice betraying just how much you were struggling to hold it together. “I can handle it.”

Karlach chuckled softly, her voice warm but teasing. “Handle it, huh?” She took another step forward until she was standing right behind you, her presence overwhelming in the best way. “From the way you’re standing, it doesn’t look like you’re handling much of anything.”

You let out a frustrated growl, the wolf inside you bristling at the teasing. But there was something in her voice, in the way she said it, that made the heat flare even hotter. You finally turned to face her, your eyes locking onto hers, and the intensity in your gaze made her pause for just a moment.

“Karlach, I don’t think you understand,” you said, your voice rough and low. “I want to mark you. I want to claim you. I… I can’t control it.”

Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but then that playful grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, I understand, alright,” she said, her voice husky as she stepped closer, so close now that you could feel the heat of her body against yours. “I understand more than you think.”

You swallowed hard, your instincts screaming at you to pull her close, to bury yourself in her warmth and scent, but you hesitated.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered, your voice strained. Karlach’s expression softened, and she reached up to cup your cheek, her touch gentle yet grounding.

“You’re not going to hurt me, big guy,” she murmured, her thumb stroking your jawline. “I’m right here. I’m not afraid of you.”

That was all it took to snap the last thread of restraint. With a growl, you pulled her into your arms, your hands gripping her waist as your lips crashed against hers in a heated kiss. The taste of her, the feel of her, was like fire igniting your blood, and you couldn’t get enough. You pushed her back against the wall of the tent, your body pressing against hers as the need to claim her, to make her yours, took over.

Karlach responded eagerly, her hands tangling in your hair as she kissed you back with just as much fire. Her scent was intoxicating, and you could feel the wolf inside you roaring to mark her, to sink your teeth into her neck and make her yours forever. But even in your primal state, you held back, not wanting to push her too far.

But then Karlach pulled back slightly, her lips swollen and breathless, and she met your gaze with a smoldering intensity that made your heart race.

“Do it,” she whispered, her voice rough with desire. “Mark me.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. With a low growl, you lowered your head and gently bit down on her neck, careful not to break the skin but enough to leave your mark. Karlach gasped, her fingers tightening in your hair as she arched against you, her body responding to every touch, every claim you made on her.

You didn’t stop until you were both breathless, your lips brushing against the mark you had left on her skin. When you finally pulled back, you were panting, your heart pounding in your chest, but the heat had subsided slightly, replaced by a deep sense of satisfaction and connection.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The full moon hung low in the sky, casting its silver light over the camp. You had tried to keep to yourself, away from prying eyes, but there was no denying it now—the dragon blood in your veins was singing, demanding more than you could suppress. This time of year always brought with it an overwhelming sense of need, something deep and primal that you tried to hide out of embarrassment. After all, how could you explain to Minthara, the fierce and proud Drow, that your draconic blood made you… like this?

Your heat had been building for days, and you had done everything you could to keep it at bay. But tonight, it was too strong to ignore. Your every thought was consumed by her—by the need to claim her, to keep her close, to hoard her like the most precious of treasures. The desire to see her adorned in something shiny and beautiful, to have her be yours in every way, was almost overwhelming.

You had hoped to keep it hidden, but Minthara was no fool. She had noticed the way you had been avoiding her, the way you had been tense and distracted, and she wasn’t one to let things go unnoticed.

As you sat in your tent, your mind racing with thoughts of her, the flap opened, and Minthara stepped inside. Her presence was commanding as always, her eyes narrowing as she looked at you with suspicion.

“What’s going on with you?” she demanded, her voice sharp. “You’ve been acting strange.”

You didn’t meet her gaze, your hands gripping your knees tightly as you tried to keep your composure.

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled, knowing full well that she wouldn’t accept that as an answer.

“Lies,” she snapped, her tone brooking no argument. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied you. “You’ve been avoiding me. You’re hiding something.”

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the dragon inside you growling with the need to claim her, to make her yours in a way that left no doubt in anyone’s mind. But how could you explain that without sounding like a fool?

“I’m not hiding anything,” you tried to protest, but the words sounded weak even to your own ears. Minthara’s eyes flashed with anger, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Do not lie to me,” she warned, her voice dangerous. “You are acting like a caged beast. What is it that you are so desperately trying to hide?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding as you struggled to find the words. Finally, you sighed, knowing that you couldn’t keep it from her any longer.

“It’s… it’s the dragon blood,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “When the heat comes… I feel this overwhelming need to—”

“To what?” Minthara demanded, her eyes narrowing further.

“To claim you,” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly. “To keep you close, to hoard you like treasure. It’s… it’s embarrassing.”

There was a moment of silence as Minthara processed your words, her expression unreadable. You braced yourself for her to laugh, to mock you, or worse, to leave. But instead, she surprised you.

“Claim me?” she repeated, her voice softer now, almost curious.

You nodded, still unable to meet her gaze. “It’s instinctual. I want to see you adorned in something beautiful, something that marks you as mine. I want to keep you close, protect you. It’s… it’s ridiculous, I know.”

Minthara was silent for a moment, and you could feel her eyes on you, studying you. Then, to your surprise, she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to gently lift your chin so that you were forced to look at her.

“Ridiculous?” she echoed, her voice low and steady. “I think not.”

You blinked, taken aback by her response. “You… you don’t think it’s foolish?”

A small, amused smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Why would I find it foolish that you wish to claim what is yours? That you want to see me adorned in the way you desire? You forget, I am a Drow. We understand the need to possess, to dominate. But your intentions… they are different. More protective.”

You swallowed hard, the tension in your body easing slightly at her words. “I don’t want to force anything on you,” you murmured. “I just… I want you to be mine.”

Minthara’s eyes softened, and she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “I am already yours, fool.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could respond, she pulled back slightly, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw.

“But if it will ease your need, then adorn me as you wish,” she continued, her voice taking on that commanding tone once more. “Show me how a dragon claims their treasure.”

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, and you felt the fire in your chest flare up once more. Without a word, you reached for the small chest beside your bed, where you had been keeping the pieces you had gathered for her—jewelry, silks, things that shimmered in the light. They were all things that reminded you of her, things you had been too shy to give her before.

As you pulled out the items, you felt Minthara’s eyes on you, watching your every move with an intensity that made your heart race. You offered her the pieces one by one, your hands trembling slightly as you draped a shimmering necklace around her neck, slid rings onto her fingers, and adorned her wrists with bangles. Each piece seemed to make her more radiant, more yours, and the sight of her like this made the dragon inside you purr with satisfaction.

Minthara watched you with a mix of amusement and something else—something deeper, more intense. When you had finished, she stood before you, her eyes gleaming with that fierce pride you had come to love so much.

“Do I meet your satisfaction, my dragon?” she asked, her voice low and sultry as she did a little twirl for you.

You could only nod, your throat too tight with emotion to speak. She was breathtaking, and knowing that she was adorned in something that marked her as yours made the primal need in your chest settle, the heat cooling into something warmer, more intimate.

But Minthara wasn’t done. She stepped closer, her hands resting on your shoulders as she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

“You do not need to hide from me,” she whispered against your lips. “If you wish to claim me, then do so. But know that I am already yours, in every way that matters.”

The words were like a balm to your soul, easing the tension and the fear that had been gnawing at you. You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close as you buried your face in her neck, inhaling her scent and feeling the last of your worries melt away.

You would protect her, hoard her, keep her close—because she was your treasure, your most precious possession. And she had chosen to be yours.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The past few days had been a blur of heightened emotions and restless nights, each passing moment building into a storm of desire that you could no longer ignore. As a tiefling, the infernal blood in your veins carried with it certain… challenges. One of them was the heat that overtook you at irregular intervals, a primal force that you had always been embarrassed about. You had tried to hide it, to keep your growing urges under control, but the more you resisted, the more your devilish side took hold.

It was Lae'zel who finally caught on. She was sharp, perceptive, and far too attuned to your every move to miss the signs. The way you had become more possessive of her lately, your touches lingering just a bit longer, your gaze following her every move with a hunger that was impossible to disguise. And then there was the way you bristled whenever anyone else spoke to her, the jealousy flaring so hot it threatened to boil over.

One night, after yet another sleepless struggle to keep yourself in check, Lae'zel decided it was time to confront you. You were in your tent, pacing back and forth, your tail twitching with agitation. The need to claim her, to keep her close and away from everyone else, was becoming overwhelming.

She stepped inside without a word, her presence immediately grounding you, but also intensifying the heat that coursed through your veins. You froze, your glowing eyes locking onto hers, a low growl rumbling in your chest despite your attempts to suppress it.

"Lae'zel," you began, trying to find the words, to explain what was happening, but they caught in your throat. She didn’t need you to explain, though. She had already pieced it together.

"I know what’s happening," she said, her voice firm and unwavering as she crossed the tent to stand before you. "You’ve been trying to hide it from me, but I am no fool."

You swallowed hard, looking away in shame. "I didn’t want you to see me like this. It’s… it’s not something I’m proud of. This need to… possess you, to keep you to myself. It’s too much. I don’t want you to think less of me."

Lae'zel’s gaze softened, just a fraction, as she reached out to cup your chin and force you to meet her eyes again.

"You are a tiefling, and this is part of who you are," she said, her voice a mix of strength and understanding. "Do not insult me by thinking I would be repulsed by your nature."

Her words sent a wave of relief crashing through you, but they also stoked the fire burning inside. You didn’t realize how close you had moved to her until you were inches away, your breath mingling with hers as you stared into her fierce, unyielding gaze. The need to claim her, to mark her as yours, flared again, and this time, you didn’t fight it.

"Lae'zel," you murmured, your voice thick with desire. "I want… I need to keep you close. To shower you with everything I feel, to show you that you belong to me, and only me."

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. "If you want to keep me to yourself all day and shower me in praise and affection, then do so if you must," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

You could see the way her eyes darkened with anticipation, the way her body leaned just slightly into yours. She was giving you permission, and that was all the encouragement you needed.

With a low growl of approval, you closed the distance between you, pulling her flush against your body. Lae'zel didn’t resist—in fact, she responded in kind, her arms wrapping around your shoulders as you claimed her lips in a searing kiss. It was a clash of wills, both of you pushing against each other, yet neither wanting to pull away.

When you finally broke the kiss, both of you were breathing hard, and your devilish instincts were screaming at you to keep her even closer. You gently maneuvered her onto the bed, hovering over her as you drank in the sight of her beneath you, her golden eyes staring up at you with a mixture of defiance and desire.

"I want you, Lae'zel," you whispered, your voice raw with need. "I want to mark you, to keep you here with me, where no one else can touch you."

Lae'zel’s smirk softened into something more tender as she reached up to trace a finger along your jawline. "Then do it," she challenged, her voice dropping to a low purr. "If it is what you truly desire, show me. Claim me, as you wish."

You didn’t need to be told twice. With a growl of approval, you bent down to kiss her again, your hands roaming over her body as you reveled in the feeling of her beneath you. This wasn’t just about possession—it was about the deep connection you shared, the bond that had only grown stronger with time.

As the night wore on, you took your time showing Lae'zel just how much she meant to you. Every touch, every kiss, was filled with the intensity of your emotions, the need to make her feel cherished and desired. And through it all, Lae'zel responded with equal passion, her strong hands pulling you closer, her lips whispering words of encouragement and praise.

When you finally lay together in the aftermath, your body still humming with the remnants of your heat, Lae'zel traced lazy circles on your chest, her breath warm against your skin.

"You are a fierce lover," she murmured, her voice laced with satisfaction. "Perhaps you should take these urges out on me more often."

"You are always the source of them," You chuckled softly, pulling her closer as you nuzzled into her hair.

Lae'zel’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile as she settled against you, her presence soothing the last of your devilish urges.

"Good," she said simply, before drifting off into a contented sleep. As you lay there, holding her close, you felt a sense of peace that you hadn’t experienced before.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The first signs were subtle. You’d find yourself tensing whenever someone else’s gaze lingered on Shadowheart for too long, a simmering heat building in your chest. It started as a prickling irritation, easily brushed off as nothing more than a passing annoyance. But then, it grew stronger, harder to ignore, until every interaction she had with anyone else felt like a personal affront.

It was the nymph blood in you, you knew that much. The heritage you often tried to downplay, to keep under control, was now manifesting in ways you hadn’t anticipated. The intense jealousy, the possessiveness, the irrational need to keep Shadowheart all to yourself—these were emotions you had never wanted to display, especially not to her.

You tried to hide it, to push those feelings down deep where they wouldn’t see the light of day. But it was like trying to suppress the tides; the more you resisted, the stronger they surged back. You began avoiding her, distancing yourself in the hope that it would ease the tension within you. Yet, every time you saw her laughing with someone else, heard her voice calling someone else’s name, the jealousy would flare up again, fierce and uncontrollable.

Shadowheart, of course, noticed. She was patient at first, giving you space and allowing you to come to her when you were ready. But as the days passed and your behavior grew more erratic, more distant, she couldn’t ignore it any longer.

One evening, after an especially difficult day where you had snapped at her for something trivial, Shadowheart finally cornered you. The two of you were in the small grove near camp, the trees surrounding you providing a semblance of privacy. You were trying to calm yourself, hands clenched into fists as you stared out at the darkening sky, when she approached.

“Alright, enough of this,” Shadowheart said, her tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve been acting strange for days now, and I want to know why.”

You stiffened, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew you couldn’t keep this from her any longer, but the fear of her reaction was overwhelming. What if she found you repulsive? What if she decided she couldn’t handle the darker side of your nature?

“I… I don’t know if I can explain,” you mumbled, still unable to meet her gaze. “It’s… it’s my heritage. The nymph blood in me, it’s causing these emotions that I can’t control. I’m jealous, Shadowheart. Irrationally, absurdly jealous. I want to keep you all to myself, and it’s eating me up inside.”

The confession spilled out of you in a rush, leaving you breathless and trembling. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her, couldn’t bear to see the disgust or disappointment in her eyes. But then, you felt her hand on your cheek, gentle and reassuring.

“Look at me,” Shadowheart murmured softly.

Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze to meet hers. Instead of the judgment you had feared, you found only understanding and a hint of amusement.

“Do you really think this would repulse me?” she asked, her voice laced with affection. “After everything we’ve been through, you think a little possessiveness would scare me off?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was trying to control you,” you whispered, your voice raw with emotion. “I don’t want to lose you, Shadowheart. But this… this part of me, it’s so intense. It makes me feel things I’m ashamed of.”

She silenced your self-doubt with a kiss, soft and tender at first, but quickly deepening as she pulled you closer. You could feel the warmth of her body against yours, her hands threading through your hair as if to reassure you that she wasn’t going anywhere. The kiss was grounding, anchoring you back to reality, to her.

As the kiss intensified, the world around you seemed to blur. Vines began to creep up from the ground, winding around your legs, your arms, and twining around Shadowheart as well. Flowers bloomed in a burst of color, their scent sweet and heady in the air. You were entwined with her, both literally and figuratively, as the vines and flowers continued to grow, cocooning the two of you in a fragrant, living embrace.

Neither of you pulled away, lost in the moment as your kiss deepened, your lips moving together in perfect harmony. It was as if the world had faded away, leaving only the two of you, surrounded by the wild beauty of nature.

The next morning, you woke to find the two of you still wrapped in the remnants of the night’s emotions. Vines and flowers clung to your skin, twigs caught in your hair, but there was something undeniably magical about it. Shadowheart was lying beside you, her eyes still closed in peaceful slumber, a serene smile on her lips.

As you gently brushed a stray petal from her cheek, you couldn’t help but marvel at how lucky you were. She hadn’t turned away from your darkness, hadn’t recoiled from the intensity of your emotions. Instead, she had embraced it, embraced you, with a love that was stronger than anything you had ever known.

When Shadowheart finally stirred, blinking sleepily up at you, she let out a small laugh.

“Looks like we had quite the night,” she murmured, plucking a flower from her hair.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice filled with affection. “We did.”

Shadowheart reached out to take your hand, her touch warm and reassuring. “No more hiding, alright? Whatever you’re feeling, we’ll face it together.”

You nodded, feeling a profound sense of peace settle over you. With Shadowheart by your side, you knew you could handle anything, even the wildest parts of your nature. And as the morning light filtered through the leaves, you both lay there, content and surrounded by the beauty you had created together.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

After the full moon, you could already feel the familiar burn creeping into your veins. The transformation had left you raw, your senses heightened, your instincts sharpened. But it wasn’t the urge to hunt or howl that clawed at your mind this time. No, it was something far more primal—an intense, overwhelming need that surged through you, making it difficult to think about anything other than Jaheira.

You knew what it was: your heat. It always came after a full moon, the residual power of your werewolf blood igniting a fierce desire within you. And this time, it was worse than ever.

Jaheira was nearby, just on the other side of the campfire, tending to something, unaware of the battle raging inside you. She had a way of calming you, grounding you, but now, just the sight of her was enough to make your blood boil.

You clenched your fists, trying to resist the urge to go to her, to claim her in the most primal way possible. She was strong, confident, and you knew she could handle herself, but this… this was different. The last thing you wanted was to lose control and frighten her—or worse, hurt her.

So you stayed where you were, muscles tensed, trying to fight back the flood of emotions. But it was no use. The more you tried to ignore it, the stronger it became, until every fiber of your being was screaming for her.

You decided to put some distance between you, thinking that maybe it would help. You retreated to the edge of the camp, away from the warmth of the fire and the sight of Jaheira. But even that wasn’t enough. The scent of her still lingered in the air, intoxicating and irresistible.

Before you could stop yourself, you were already halfway back to her, drawn like a moth to a flame. Your steps were heavy, deliberate, each one a battle against the urge to let your instincts take over.

Jaheira must have sensed something was off because she looked up just as you approached. Her green eyes met yours, and in that moment, you knew there was no hiding it anymore.

She raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk playing on her lips as she took in your tense posture, the way your chest heaved with barely restrained need. “You look like you’re about to tear something apart,” she remarked, her tone light, but there was an edge of concern there, too.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. All you could do was stare at her, your mind a whirlwind of desire and restraint.

Jaheira’s expression softened, and she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to touch your arm.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice low, soothing. That simple touch was enough to break what little control you had left. You flinched, pulling away from her, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“I… I can’t,” you muttered, trying to put more distance between you, but she didn’t let you. Her grip on your arm tightened, pulling you back to her.

“Can’t what?” she pressed, her gaze piercing, searching yours for answers. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of her, the scent of her, the feel of her.

“I’m… in heat,” you finally admitted, the words tumbling out in a strained whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

There was a moment of silence, and you braced yourself for her reaction. You expected her to pull away, to be afraid, to tell you to leave. But instead, you felt her other hand on your cheek, turning your head to face her.

“Look at me,” she commanded, and you couldn’t help but obey.

When you opened your eyes, you found her staring at you, her expression calm, understanding. “You won’t hurt me,” she said, her voice firm, leaving no room for doubt.

“But—” you started to protest, but she cut you off with a shake of her head.

“No,” she insisted, her tone gentle but unyielding. “You won’t. I know you.”

Her confidence in you was staggering, and it made your heart ache. How could she be so sure, so calm, when you were on the verge of losing control? But then again, this was Jaheira—strong, steady Jaheira, who had seen and survived more than most could imagine.

You let out a shuddering breath, the tension in your body easing slightly at her words. But the heat, the need, was still there, burning under your skin, and it took everything in you not to just give in to it.

Jaheira seemed to sense your struggle, and she stepped even closer, until there was barely any space between you.

“If this is what you need,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear, “then take it. I’m not afraid.”

Her words sent a jolt of desire through you, and before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you were pulling her against you, your lips crashing down on hers in a desperate, hungry kiss.

Jaheira didn’t resist. In fact, she responded with just as much fervor, her hands tangling in your hair as she kissed you back, matching your intensity. It was like she was grounding you, reminding you of who you were, who she was, and that you could do this without losing yourself.

The world around you faded, and all that mattered was her—her taste, her scent, the feel of her body pressed against yours. The primal need to claim her, to mark her as yours, surged up, but this time, it was tempered by the knowledge that she was here with you, willingly, that she trusted you.

You pulled away just enough to look into her eyes, your breath coming in heavy pants.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you repeated, but this time, it was more of a plea than a warning. Jaheira cupped your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away the stray hairs sticking to your skin.

“You won’t,” she whispered, her eyes filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “You could never hurt me.”

The last of your restraint crumbled at her words, and you captured her lips again, more gently this time, but still with that underlying need. Jaheira responded in kind, her hands roaming over your body, grounding you, reminding you that you were in control, that you were safe.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead resting against hers, the heat in your veins had cooled to a more manageable burn. Jaheira smiled up at you, her expression soft, reassuring.

“Better?” she asked, her voice low, intimate.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Yes… much better.”

Jaheira chuckled softly, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Good. Now, let’s get you through this, together.”

With her by your side, you knew you could face whatever your heat threw at you. She was your anchor, your rock, and with her, you were never alone.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

I lovedddd writing this and when the modding support comes out I am so downloading a nymph mod. Hope you guys liked it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[songofsoma]

sleepless

kinktober day 1: face-sitting

pairing: karlach x f!tav words: 1,374 rating: explicit

read it on ao3

Sleep eluded her tonight, that was for sure. 

Daefina had stared up at the stars for countless hours, hoping their peaceful glow would lull her to sleep. That plan had yet to be wholly successful. Instead, it had left her alone with her thoughts. In particular, thoughts about a certain woman lying next to her. 

Rolling over, she snuggled into Karlach’s side. She was so warm against the chill of the night air filtering through their flimsy tent. Daefina craved her in every aspect. She craved her closeness, to breathe in the faint smell of sulfur and amber that clung to her skin and feel the roughness of her scars as fingertips danced over battered skin. 

Even now, she found herself doing it. The arm draped over her chest trailing the gnarled lines of her shoulder, marking where she had been burnt. The ruggedness of her exterior was a dichotomy of her heart—so loving and tender—that watching Karlach finally live her life as herself only made Daefina fall harder for her every day. 

Daefina turned her face to kiss the unmarred shoulder. She hadn’t planned for her actions to wake Karlach, but slowly she stirred. 

First, she mumbled something entirely incoherent. And after a large yawn, Karlach groaned, “Is it morning already?”

She shook her head, then realized Karlach still hadn’t opened her eyes. “No. I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“Hm,” she hummed, eyes fluttering open. “Why are you awake then?”

Daefina propped herself up on an elbow to look down at her. “Can’t sleep.”

“Do I need to tire you out?” It only sounded half like a joke. But the way Karlach’s eyes suddenly focused very seriously on her face made her realize the wheels in her brain were already spinning.

“Depends what you have in mind, Sparky,” she teased.

Karlach grinned, teeth glinting in the dark of their tent. “Come ‘ere then,” she prompted, beckoning her closer with a crooked finger. 

Daefina bent down, though it was Karlach who eagerly surged to catch her lips. Large hands cupped her face to draw her in closer. Her tongue swiped against Daefina’s bottom lip, begging to be granted access. Who was she to deny her? 

She was practically lying on top of Karlach in order to kiss her properly. Not that she seemed to mind. In fact, it was further encouraged when Daefina felt an arm slip beneath her and was guided to straddle her. 

Her hair that had long since fallen out of her braids hung around them like a curtain. It was as if they existed in their own little world within the canvas of the tent. Nothing could touch them except each other. 

Karlach’s hands slid up her thighs and beneath the loose tunic she wore to bed. Daefina shivered, even though her touch was like sitting in front of a roaring heart, both in temperature and pleasure. Fingertips played with the hem of her underwear at her hips. 

“Take these off,” she murmured against Daefina’s lips, still refusing to fully break their kiss until the last second. Mournfully, she had to pull away to execute Karlach’s command. 

With a bit of help from Karlach and awkward maneuvering, her panties were tossed to the side.

“Changed my mind. This off too.” She tugged on the nightshirt. 

Swiftly, Daefina stripped it off. Much easier than her bottoms in this position. 

As she perched on Karlach’s hips, straddling her, she couldn’t help but smile under the weight of Karlach’s gaze. Fiery eyes drank in every detail of her as if she were witnessing the sight of Daefina’s body for the first time all over again. It was like this most times. Karlach adored her too much to let any memory go to waste, those were her words. 

Finally, hands squeezed her hips and tugged her forward, much to Daefina’s surprise. 

“You want me to—?”

Her question was cut off by Karlach’s vigorous nodding. All prior evidence that she had been fast asleep moments ago seemed like hours in the past. “Sit on my face? Fuck yeah, I do.”

With a soft laugh, Daefina allowed herself to be guided until her hips hovered over Karlach’s face. She heard her breathe in deeply, unable to stop the blush that flooded her cheeks as Karlach moaned just at the scent of her arousal. 

“No wonder you weren’t able to sleep. Way too worked up.” Thumbs spread open her cunt as she admired just how wet Daefina already was. “Fuck, baby.”

She had no time to form a response before Karlach lifted her head, tongue running up the length of her sex. It elicited a gasp from her. There was not a chance to ground herself on her own, either. Before she knew it, Karlach was pulling her down to fully be flush against her face as her tongue eagerly continued its path.

Daefina couldn’t staunch her cry when her attention focused on her clit. Karlach circled and flicked it with the tip of her tongue until she squirmed. But the iron grip Karlach’s arms had wrapped around her thighs allowed her to go nowhere. She couldn’t slink away from this pleasure, not even when Karlach sucked the swollen bud greedily. 

As she teetered forward, she found herself grasping Karlach’s intact horn for support. It was rough against her palm and the engraved runes pressed into her skin, most likely forming indentations. She didn’t care and instead grasped it for dear life.

In turn, it made Karlach moan as Daefina inadvertently began to guide her movements. Daefina was lost in a blur of pleasure as hips ground against Karlach’s face. 

She took it in stride and adjusted Daefina’s hips so she speared herself on Karlach’s awaiting tongue. 

“Gods, Karlach,” she mewled, blissfully allowing herself to be led to fuck herself with Karlach’s tongue. It was nice having a big, strong girlfriend. It was easy for her to take control when Daefina turned mindless, too wrapped up in her ecstasy to think clearly. And Karlach loved it. 

She loved fucking Daefina so well that she couldn’t think. She loved it when she had to take over, assisting in every move of her hips to allow that satisfaction to continue. But, she also loved what Daefina did when her body just took over. Like now as she ground herself against Karlach, tongue still buried deep inside her. Every roll made Karlach’s nose bump against her clit, intensifying the feeling.

Daefina used her grip on her horn to press herself harder into her, moaning and gasping into the silent night as she clawed her way to the peak. And when her rhythm stuttered, Karlach anchored her in place and lapped at her clit like it was her last meal. 

It was more than enough to send her crashing into a climax.

She trembled and panted as the orgasm electrified every fiber of her being. And as she hunched forward, struggling to recover, Karlach continued to milk out every last bit of pleasure there could be had.

Daefina struggled to even out her breath, slowly coming to her senses again. She had enough to realize she was probably suffocating Karlach and scrambled backward to sit on her chest. Her lover seemed to be in a daze judging by the smile so big it threatened to crack her cheeks and a look of pure adoration in her eyes.

“That was fucking awesome,” she said dreamily. The bottom half of her face glistened and she seemed to be in no rush to clean herself up.

“I don’t know who enjoyed that more. Me or you,” Daefina mused, grabbing her discarded shirt to wipe Karlach’s face. 

“Oh, definitely me. Successfully fulfilled a fantasy I had no idea I had until now.” Her hands fell back onto Daefina’s thighs, not protesting as she was cleaned up. 

She snorted as she slid back down Karlach’s body to straddle her hips once more. “Glad I could help. Though, I’m not sure I can sleep after this.”

Karlach batted her hand away and caught the back of her head, pulling her down into a crushing kiss. “There’s no way I’m letting either of us get any sleep now. That’s a promise.”

[girlwtdragontattoo]

Halsin x TAV Fanfiction "Until we meet again, my heart"

DISCLAIMER: SPOILERS FOR BALDUR'S GATE 3 ENDING. My TAV is a tiefling, so I wrote it with that in mind. You can substitute whatever race your TAV is, if you'd like :)

If you want me to continue, please let me know! I wrote this, because I am truly a sucker for everything Halsin and I wish for soooo much more in the Romance Ending, although I am really happy with the Canon ending of it. I hope you enjoy!

_________________________________________________________

Halsin cupped TAV’s face with his hands and initiated a long, deep kiss. They leaned into him, wrapping their arms around his broad back as much as they could and enjoying the overwhelming surge of belonging, relief, love and peace. The Absolute was finally defeated and Baldur’s Gate could finally return to its former self. The wind blew gently around them, as the city lay before them, engulfed in golden light.

Slowly, the druid released his lips from theirs and stared into the starry eyes of his lover. TAV smiled and noticed that his took a bit longer to form than usual.

“Is something wrong?” they asked carefully.

“No, my heart. Nothing is wrong.” His hands dropped from their face, but he still stood ever so close to them. “But I feel a greater purpose coming out of the shadows. One that I cannot ignore, as much as I’d like to.” His eyes were confusing. On the one hand, the tiefling felt the radiating love they always emitted. On the other, there was a spark suddenly appearing and they agreed, it was hard to overlook.

“What do you mean?”

Halsin sighed briefly, and gently rubbed TAV’s cheek. “We have defeated the Absolute. And I am overjoyed at our victory. But there are so many displaced citizens, refugees, orphans... animals that need my help. Nature needs to heal and it is my calling to help it do so.” There was a slight pause, as he blinked slowly. “I cannot stay with you here, if I am to fulfill my duty.”

A sting. TAV felt their stomach collapse within itself, heat engulfing their spine and neck. They felt as though their body would erupt. But all they showed on their face was a slight consternation that swiftly turned to understanding. They smiled, as much as they could, mirroring the forced one the druid was displaying: “I see. It pains me so much to see you go, but…”, they took hold of his hand on their cheek, kissed it gently and held in their own, “I understand.”

Halsin sighed once more, this time deeply and TAV couldn’t tell if it was out of relief or sadness. He pulled them into an intense hug, one where his arms shook slightly from the pressure. TAV reciprocated and held onto their bear as if their life depended on it. There was no telling when they would cross paths again, so this moment needed to last. TAV felt the druid’s breath in their ear: “My heart, I adore you. This isn’t goodbye. We will see each other again, I promise. But this is something I have to do.” TAV sunk into the embrace even more: “I will miss you dreadfully, until then.”

The embrace lasted eons to TAV, but even that wasn’t enough time. Halsin released his grip, looked into their eyes again and gave them another, long, passionate and gripping caress. Finally, after smiling gently down at TAV for a while, he stepped away, turned to leave and said with his head still turned towards his lover: “Until we meet again, my heart.”

The druid walked away.

TAV stood at the same spot and watched Halsin walk with purpose, once again. They couldn’t help it. The sting, the heat, the overflowing cataclysm of sorrow overwhelmed them and as much as they tried, they couldn’t stop the tears from streaming. Turning to the lake, having the setting sun warm their face, TAV crumpled down on the landing stage and sat there ever so still, letting the tears run down silently.

Not much time passed and TAV’s three closest friends started to gather around them on the landing. Karlach sat down behind TAV and pulled them into a bear hug, her legs dangling with theirs. Shadowheart joined on TAV’s left side, sitting down gracefully and looking into TAV’s tear-stained face. Lae’Zel finally completed the foursome, plopping down on TAV’s right, staring intently into the setting sun.

Karlach tightened her hug and said: “Don’t be sad, soldier. We’re here for you.”

Shadowheart continued to look at TAV, analyzing the state they were in carefully, and choosing her next words with extreme care: “Love can be a wonderous thing. But terrible at the same time.”

TAV nodded, closing their eyes and letting another tear run down. Shadowheart rested her head on TAV’s shoulder, unsure on how else to comfort.

Lae’Zel didn’t say anything, but placed her hand on TAV’s, continuously looking at the horizon.

Finally, Karlach spoke once more: “You really love him, don’t you?”

Those words intensified the heat even more around TAV’s throat. Barely able to control the water leaking out of every orifice, TAV finally nodded intensely and let out a painstaking "Yes". All three companions edged closer to them, offering only their company as solace.

They sat together on the docks for what felt like ages. Being together, having survived the most intense and horrifying battle any of them ever have and probably will in their lives, was a gift they all appreciated greatly. TAV had convinced Lae’Zel to stay with them, which meant they would need to outwit the githyanki, who will surely come after her at every turn. TAV even convinced Karlach to go back to Avernus, promising fiercely to visit as often as possible, letting Karlach come back into Baldur’s Gate occasionally, and most importantly, letting her live. Shadowheart would accompany TAV and Lae’Zel, seeing the little camp of theirs as a new family and one she truly belonged to. Their company would ease some of the pain TAV felt, but it would never fill the hole that Halsin left. They travelled through Faerun together, making camp or allowing themselves a nice stay in a city once in a while, frequently returning to Baldur’s Gate, to see Astarion, Gale, Jaheira or Wyll, but mostly so that TAV could see if Halsin wrote.

It took some time. Too long. To the point where TAV convinced themselves that the druid had forgotten about them. The companions were walking the streets of Baldur’s Gate, Lae’Zel disguised as a halfling by Shadowheart, when a duck fluttered in front of TAV’s face. Surprised, TAV stared at the flapping poultry in front of them and finally noticed a small, rolled up piece of paper stuck to the bird’s leg. Hastily, TAV untangled the note from the animal’s leg. As its duty had been fulfilled, it plopped down on the ground and greedily pecked at the cobble stone for nuggets of food. They unraveled the note and read quickly:

TAV, my heart,

I hope Collin finds you swiftly in Baldur’s Gate.

TAV looked down at the duck vehemently pecking around their shoes. This is “Collin”, supposedly. They continued to read, with a beeming smile on their face.

There have been so many amazing things, that have happened along my journey. I have found a lovely group of helpers, some former refugees, who have assisted me in building homes, repairing the land and adopting children. Most importantly, through my travels, I got to see Thaniel and Oliver again. The former shadow-cursed lands are truly a sight to see. And I want to show you what you have changed here.

If this note finds you, meet me at the Last Light Inn on the day of the full moon.

I have much to tell you and we have much to catch up on.

I miss your eyes, lover.

Until we meet, my heart.

Yours,

Halsin

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 19, "Last Light"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: The party teams up with a group of Harpers and it takes all of their efforts to make it to safety. Áine convinces Jaheira to let them stay with the aid of an unexpected familiar face. While Karlach gets a second upgrade, Áine and Astarion run into the devil they know in Last Light and Astarion suggests grounds for a deal. Jaheira explains their plight concerning the shadow curse, what may lie ahead at Moonrise, and their most formidable enemy yet: Ketheric Thorm.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Graphic canon-appropriate fantasy violence; angst; descriptions of trauma-related anxiety; a little bit of Karlach x Dammon; lightly proofread

Word Count: 8.1k

Listening to: Artificial Nocturne - Metric

“YONAS, NO!”

“MEYGAN, DON’T, HE’S BEWITCHED!”

The earth itself hissed at their feet, writhing like snakes of pure shadow. The trees themselves seemed to bend low, their roots clawing upward, enticed by towering, spindly wraiths that emerged from the most innocuous darkness cast to the dirt. Great crackling screeches surged past maws that weren’t quite mouths, fingers as long as a forearm swiping at flesh and fire, desperate to swallow the light that weakened them for the prey that was wielding it. 

This was, doubtless, the home Áine remembered.

“HARPERS, STAY TO THE LIGHT,” Lassandra cried, but there was only so much she could do with a simple torch and she knew it.

“Quickly, to me!” Shadowheart shouted at their party, radiant energy surging from her fingertips. The light formed a swirling circle of tiny shining guardians around her. An obscured wraith lurking near her burned in its glow with a disjointed wail.

Instinctively, Áine looked for Astarion. She found him backing toward the circle, unloading arrows into an especially large encroaching wraith, its form and its eyes outlined red. Her eyes flickered to a movement near the rocky outcropping they passed, the muscle memory of old survival instincts taking over as she caught on the faint outline of another wraith reforming. With a flourish, she dashed in with her lost scimitars’ replacements at the ready.

Astarion was wary of wasting each of the few arrows he had left on this wretched thing as he exchanged them for knives. Not thirty paces into these cursed lands and they were already in a desperate fight for their lives. When Shadowheart had first beckoned them all into her circle, his most hated parts of himself had snarled despite knowing by this point that the tadpole would protect his undead body from her magic. Just another upside to the illithid worm in his skull.

Finally, the wraith before him began to falter, but he realized almost too late that it was because he had nearly backed into another of its kind. As he began to pivot to try to keep himself from being corralled between the two, he saw Áine dart in from the side, her shortsword imbued with radiant magic already dragging up the torso of the wraith behind him. It shuddered and disintegrated in a puff of smoke, leaving a spherical husk in its wake.

“Much obliged,” Astarion gritted as he swiped up through the red-tinted wraith still before him with his dagger, back-to-back with Áine as she swiped her sword at another advancing but much weaker wraith. 

“Switch with me!” Áine ordered and they spun in formation. She brought the flat of her blade up to block a downward swipe from the reddened wraith and her shortsword glowed with a radiance that threw the shadow just off-kilter enough for Astarion to duck under her arm and stealthily kill it while Áine distracted it. 

“Shadowheart!” they heard Gale shout, both turning to see the guardian circle flicker and then extinguished as the cleric failed to recover from a particularly hard hit to her head that sent her to her knees. The remaining wraiths grew impossibly taller as they descended on the group. Karlach began to reach down for Shadowheart but remembered herself and growled pure frustration at her infernal engine as she took her anxious rage out on their enemies instead. Wyll and Gale bent to try and hoist her up, repeatedly having to fend off the creeping shadows as they reached for them and their fallen. 

“Chk, out of my way!” Lae’zel hissed as she shoved past the men and hauled Shadowheart over her shoulder, lunging into a sprint after the retreating Harpers, who were calling for them to follow while Halsin ran in bear form with them up ahead, carrying two of their collapsed warriors on his back. “Keep them off us!”

Karlach cut down what she could after Lae’zel ran past her with Shadowheart and Wyll held at the tiefling’s flank, the Blade in full form as he swirled his rapier and loosed bolts of eldritch power from his fingertips. 

“We need to go!” Áine cried and Astarion followed her gaze to the top of the outcropping, where more shadow-cursed creatures were beginning to unravel from the death-dried brush and twist free of the dark. The two turned tail and Astarion gripped Áine’s hand as they ran to ensure they weren’t separated. 

“Come on, come on!” Gale urged them, his eyes rounded with horror as they flickered past the pair. A conjuration of dancing lights hovered around him, just barely throwing a glow against the intensifying darkness, and when Astarion and Áine caught up with him, he extended his hand as well. Áine caught it in hers and the conjuration extended along their line, encircling Astarion and burning away the hooked hand of a wraith hovering just inches from his silver head.

The three sprinted to join Wyll and Karlach, who ran alongside them as soon as they saw their full party accounted for. Wyll shot another red blast from his hands at a wraith attempting to attack Lae’zel and Shadowheart just ahead of them, successfully burning a hole through the creature’s essence.

“Almost there!” Wyll cried.

An enormous globe of moon magic parsed the dark like a beacon and it was where the Harpers were leading them all. In quick succession, the party bowled through the barrier, stumbling into and over each other as soon as the light was breached. Áine, Gale, and Astarion were the last ones through and only realized just how close behind them their enemies were when Harper Yonas, gnarled and rotting alive in streaks of black and sickly green, neared the barrier in his pursuit and screamed unholy murder when it burned his undead flesh.

Áine’s chest heaved with exertion, letting go of Gale’s hand but keeping Astarion’s as she breathed thanks to the wizard. That had brought back memories. She supposed that she should get used to things doing that in this place. A cool hand on her cheek brought her eyes upward to meet her lover’s. He was just as winded but looked more concerned about her. 

Astarion parted his lips to speak when his gaze suddenly shot up to look over Áine’s head. She followed suit and saw a formidable woman in High Harper garb advancing on them and looking none too friendly. 

Áine let go of Astarion’s hand, feeling him try to snatch her back, but she deftly wove between his hands and hurried toward the front of the group. She barely had time to say a thing before she nearly doubled over, her feet held in place by a restrictive tangle of vines wrapping around her ankles and up her calves.

Behind her in a hushed voice, Áine heard Karlach gasp, “Oh Gods, that’s Jaheira!”

At least Karlach seemed to think that was a positive thing, she supposed. The apparently well-known Jaheira stopped in front of Áine, a green glow emitting from her palm that mirrored the aura of the vines. It was an improvement only in that this green resembled the lushness of a healthy forest rather than the sickly hue of necrotic magic they’d just evaded. 

Jaheira gave her a narrow, speculative look after taking in her companions, who all looked disarmed at their welcome and further on edge after Áine was ensnared. Áine grumbled as she tried to free herself, leveling a glower at the druid. 

“Just once I wish people would just say ‘hello’,” she muttered.

Almost pleasantly, Jaheira smirked at the bard and said, “Hello.”

Áine snorted and ceased her struggling, just aiming to stand up straight as she and Jaheira took each other in. Behind her, Gale quipped, “We save your Harpers and this is our thanks?”

“Kindness is too often a decoy,” Jaheira snapped.

“It’s okay, Gale, I’ll handle this,” Áine said over her shoulder, raising one placating hand. He inclined his head and fell silent, kneeling to check on Shadowheart instead as Lae’zel set her down.

“You most certainly will,” Jaheira agreed, her eyes back on Áine as she produced a glass bottle from her robes. Áine’s eyes fell to the bottle and her jaw tensed. There was an illithid tadpole inside. “This is why we’re here, you see. It is a curious creature that hides all manner of secrets. But if there’s one thing that we know…”

Áine stiffened as Jaheira walked closer to her, extending her hand holding the bottled parasite. “...it’s that it knows its own kind.” As if on cue, the parasite’s attention shifted to Áine and it swirled in its prison, thin razorlike teeth snapping at the glass. Her own tadpole pulsed with recognition. Bastards.

Satisfied, Jaheira stowed the tadpole again and glared at Áine as she slowly drew one of her blades. “You should never have come here, True Soul.”

Áine heard steel begin scraping free of its sheathes behind her as her companions readied to defend her and she held out both her hands between her party and Jaheira. “Just hold on, this isn’t what you think, I’m—”

“STOP!”

A shrill, familiar cry rose to Áine’s aid. She searched for the source, only to draw up empty until she lowered her gaze. A tiefling child with a bandaged eye scampered to the forefront, tail swishing agitatedly. Áine’s eyes widened. “Mol?”  

“What are you doing?” Mol demanded of Jaheira, her audacity seeming perfectly intact. “She’s the one who saved us!”

Jaheira regarded the child with shock and disbelief. “She’s the one who protected the Emerald Grove?” she asked. The doubt was palpable in her tone.

“Yup!” Mol chirped. “Didn’t leave a goblin standing! Not so bad to hang around with either.” She tossed a cheeky grin Áine’s way. “Saved two of my friends, too! One from a harpy and one from a mad druid with a snake.” She shrugged at Jaheira as if it were just that simple and the druid was the fool for thinking otherwise. “I’d pretty much trust her with my life.”

Áine was surprised and impressed that Jaheira believed her. “A True Soul with a mind of her own… How is that possible?” she wondered, looking back to Áine.

The bard’s lips pursed as she measured Jaheira’s expression, what she knew of the High Harper so far. Opting for a calculated risk, Áine reached into her pack, in a hidden pocket where the artefact rested.

“This is unwise,” the golden paladin’s voice droned in her head.

Fuck off, she thought back at the voice, still very much on the offensive when it came to the untrustworthy being in the polyhedric prism. 

The persistent “guardian” was helping her and her comrades, but the motives were still unknown and untrustworthy. She’d only for a moment considered trusting the guardian she met in the Astral and that had been when she’d considered the possibility that it could be the Oathbreaker Knight in another form. Now that she knew that wasn’t the case, she bristled every time she was reminded that the stranger existed.

Áine’s fingertips found purchase on the artefact and she slid it from her pack. She held it out for Jaheira’s inspection, only wary of it being snatched from her although it did seem to have a penchant for finding its way back to her hands.

Jaheira eyed the strange object with the glowing seams and symbols and produced the bottled parasite again, experimentally holding the bottle near the prism. The tadpole inside shuddered and beat itself against the glass a few times before falling into a state of inertness. Jaheira’s eyes widened. “What in the Hells is that thing?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Áine admitted the half-truth. “So far though it’s been a lifesaver.”

“Hmph,” Jaheira hummed, satisfied enough to stow the static parasite and sheathe her drawn blade. “Well, congratulations. You’ve earned yourself the benefit of the doubt.” She turned to address her crew. “Hear me, Harpers! All clear. At ease.”

The vines dissipated from Áine’s legs and the Harpers around them put away their weapons and returned to their tasks. Lassandra shot Áine a relieved look and a nod as she passed them to lead her wounded troop to the inn.

“Are you alright?” Astarion whispered near Áine’s ear, startling her a little as she hadn’t heard him approach. Then again, when did she ever? 

Áine looked up at him and smiled, nodding. “I’m fine,” she affirmed, her hand finding his again like a magnetic pull. He threaded their fingers together in much the same way.

“I’ll not pretend to understand what that artefact is,” Jaheira said, addressing them again. “But I’m old and wise enough to recognize a sliver of hope when it crawls out of the dark.” She cocked her head a little as she took in their party again, with curiosity this time rather than caution. “Tell me, why have you come here?”

Áine smirked. “Would you believe me if I told you I was on holiday?”

Jaheira smirked back and Áine had a feeling she may have found a kindred spirit. “Well, lucky for you, you’d be just in time for happy hour,” Jaheira quipped, confirming Áine’s hope. She gestured behind her toward the buildings teeming with Harpers and tieflings. “Welcome to Last Light. There’s food in the inn over there. Beds too if you require rest. And aloe oil on the shelf in case the vines gave you a rash.” Jaheira’s gaze fastened anew on Áine. “Settle in. Then come join me for a drink. You just might be the godsend we’ve been praying for.”

She left them to their own devices at that and Áine finally let some of the tension fall from her shoulders. Áine glanced at Shadowheart, now upright and looking a little better. At her inquisitive glance, the cleric simply nodded her reassurance.

“Do you think Dammon’s here too?” Karlach asked suddenly as she, too, noticed several familiar faces in the crowd.

“It looks like a lot of the refugees ended up here,” Áine murmured, recognizing face after face the more she looked. They should’ve been to the city by now. “Gods above, what happened?”

The party divided—some finding a space to set up their tents to afford the other inn residents the beds inside and some accompanying Karlach to go look for Dammon. It left Áine, Astarion, Halsin, and Wyll to investigate the inn itself. 

It didn’t take long to lose Halsin to a side room, in which he apparently saw or heard something of interest. The remaining three found Alfira at the inn’s center and managed to catch up on the refugees’ troubles from her and another tiefling nearby, a paladin who had much to say about Zevlor and his abandonment of his people. 

Initially, Áine had been shocked to see so many of them here, but now that she really looked around her, she realized how few of them were left. Her insides twisted.

“If you are bound for Moonrise Towers,” Alfira murmured, her laugh lines lax in her terrified expression. She winced at her own words. “If you must go, please see if you can find the others. If they are still alive, they’ll be there.”

The name, as ever, sent a chill through Áine’s bones. “We will look for them and, if they’re there, we’ll get them out,” she promised. She half-expected to hear a scoff from Astarion behind her but was surprised when that wasn’t the case. 

“Thank you,” Alfira whispered, her voice cracking. “But please, please be careful. I can’t lose anyone else. I don’t think I could bear it.”

Áine smiled, gently squeezing Alfira’s hands before she turned to face her companions, only to find them both gone. A cursory glance around the inn revealed that Wyll had strayed to the bar and appeared to be chastising a very inebriated Rolan over his treatment of the nearby children. And Astarion…

Her eyes widened and she immediately started walking to the far side of the building. Her steps brought her closer to Astarion, who had his back to her, and yet another familiar face past his shoulder. This familiarity, however, was no friend.

“A proposal?” Raphael was musing as she walked over, seeming to raise his voice just so she could hear while on her way. “If you’re hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than Wyvern Whiskey.”

“This is serious business, devil,” Astarion snipped. His tone wavered as he explained, “My old—well, a long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I’d rather like to know what they say.”

“Astarion, what are you doing?” Áine asked, managing to startle him. She suspected he was more startled at being caught than at her presence. She looked to Raphael, who just smiled at her coyly as always. “And you. Are you following us?”

“Good to see you again, Áine dear,” Raphael addressed her silkenly, ignoring her question. “I’d ask if you’d made any progress with your little problem, but the telltale twitching of your eye is answer enough.”

“The last thing we need is your meddling, Raphael,” she warned him. 

The fire of her words just seemed to encourage him. “You wound me. I’ve only tried to be a friend to you—just as to the poor souls here, where hope hangs by a single thread. I can mend it or cut it…depending on what they ask for.”

“I suppose that answers my question as to why you’re here,” Áine murmured. “You get off on this.”

“Not quite, pet,” Raphael scoffed with a wave of his hand. “It’s simply sumptuous. My last contract here fed me for decades.” A faint sneer tweaked his lips. “Something you may know quite intimately.” Áine parted her lips to fire back, but he interrupted her, “Alas if you want to know more, I could work in the exchange of such precious knowledge into the terms of your future deal. But the time for quibbling over clauses and contracts hasn’t quite arrived. You’ll be limping back to me soon enough.” He smiled, relishing the image.

“Your business tonight lies with me, devil,” Astarion growled. “Not with her.”

Áine’s heart twinged at Astarion’s protectiveness and she leveled a look at Raphael. She didn’t like that Astarion was entertaining a deal with a devil, but she’d at least ensure he got more details. 

“I don’t think he knows,” she implied loftily of Raphael’s knowledge regarding Astarion’s scars, challenging the Infernal’s ego.

“Really?” Raphael drawled, the look he turned to her now devoid of amusement. He glanced back to Astarion and Áine almost shuddered at the look of hunger in the devil’s eyes as he addressed her partner. “It’s something very important to your master. But is it a love letter? A warning? A deed of ownership? I could give you all the gory details.” He sneered. “But, of course, you’ll have to do something for me first. Let me think about it and get back to you.”

Astarion scoffed. “You’ll ‘get back to me’?! This is important, devil!” He grappled with the situation for a moment before finally relinquishing and asking, “...When?”

“Don’t worry, I’m motivated to help you. Scars often tell such wonderful stories… I think yours might be truly exquisite.” Raphael smiled sinisterly at them both. “I’ll see you soon.”

The devil disappeared in a quick flash of light, leaving the couple on their own. Áine looked up at him imploringly and he avoided her eyes. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… Are you mad?” she asked, worry plain on her face.

Astarion sighed. This was precisely why he’d seized his opportunity to talk to Raphael alone while Áine was discussing the refugees with Alfira. “I’m desperate, darling. There’s a slight difference,” he snipped back. 

“But why?” Áine asked. “I mean, of course you’d want to understand them, but so much that you’d contract with a devil? Why not ask anyone else first? Why not ask Karlach even?”

“I did,” Astarion said, turning to face Áine. The way he was looking down his nose at her made her want to flick him in it. “The dialect is too ancient. Even knowing some Infernal from her time in Avernus, she couldn’t make horned heads or forked tails of it.”

Áine sighed, giving him a doubtful look. “Why didn’t you mention it before? That you wanted to ask for Raphael’s help?”

Astarion felt cornered and acted accordingly. Beneath the irritation was the source of truth—he was anxious that he’d done something wrong or that, even if he hadn’t, he’d still managed to upset her. That truth was buried under layers of masking. “I was under the impression from you that I didn’t need your permission to go about my business,” he said with a sharp tone.

Áine flushed with chagrin and he felt the part of a true villain. It wasn’t nearly as fun as he’d always thought it would be. “You don’t,” she said coolly, her mouth drawing a thin line after she spoke.

Astarion huffed and waved a dismissive hand toward where Raphael had stood. “Right, well… What’s done is done. Now why don’t we stop talking about it and just get on with things?” he griped.

“Fine,” Áine sighed, not particularly liking the way this was wrapping up, but knowing she’d not make it any better by prolonging it. 

I wish you wouldn’t push me away, she posited silently instead, knowing what old learned survival instincts of his had brought those tones and accusations to the surface and still finding they stung. 

Astarion frowned, watching Áine lead them from the inn, presumably to go find Karlach and the others before they sat down with Jaheira. He knew they weren’t perfect—far from it. They bickered regularly, but fairly, and usually over her taking up odd jobs for little to no cost out of the goodness of her golden heart. He’d not been fair with what he’d thrown her way just now and he’d known that from the second he’d wound back to pitch. He’d still thrown the blow. And Áine was very good at holding herself back from fighting with him when that happened. He wanted to vent his frustration, he wanted to not be questioned, and she complied in the one way he couldn’t spar with. It was her checkmate and it worked every time.

For an instant, he mused over how long it had been since she’d last had to use it. He felt apologetic, but unwilling to apologize and potentially invite further pushback. He had to know what these runes meant. He had to seal that aspect of his past if he was damned to carry it with him physically for the remainder of his existence. Even if it necessitated a deal with a devil.

A loud hiss nearby snapped him from his reverie and he looked over just in time to see an offended-looking sphynx cat loping away from where Áine stood, stock-still and looking guilty. She straightened from her crouch and awkwardly rested her hands against the back of her neck, her expression disheartened but understanding. 

When she turned and met Astarion’s eyes, she looked sheepish. His sour mood melted some. “What on earth did you do to it?” he teased her.

“I just offered my hand!” Áine insisted, genuinely looking aggrieved that she’d been so viciously rejected. “I couldn’t help but try. It was a cat! I can’t remember the last time I saw a cat…”

Astarion couldn’t help the soft smile that eased his expression. He hesitated to move closer to her, but couldn’t help that either, and crossed the short distance to place a doting hand against her hair. The span of his hand nearly covered her crown. “I should have known you’d have a soft spot for cats as you’ve had for everything else mildly domesticated that we’ve run across,” he mused. 

“I kept you, didn’t I?”

“Funny,” Astarion remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. His eyes flickered after the little bald beast that had fled their vicinity. “I would hardly call that a cat though.”

Áine peeked up at him from under his hand. “Don’t be rude,” she chastised him gently.

He chuckled and shifted his hand down to her shoulder, tucking her into his side as he resumed their path out of the inn. “It was rude to you,” Astarion reasoned and, as a sidelong apology, noted, “and I won’t have my little love’s feelings be wounded by some common mole rat.”

That got through to her. Áine smirked as she held back a laugh, dropping her head forward to hide her blush as she playfully knocked her shoulder against his side. Astarion chuckled and squeezed her close enough to drop a kiss on her head, stabilizing her through the little stumble he caused her in doing so.

The couple located the rest of their group, save for Halsin and Wyll, gathered near the stables, watching with bated breath as Dammon worked the infernal iron they’d gathered into a usable part and turned to hand it to Karlach. 

Áine noted the little sparkle in Dammon’s eyes when he looked at their beloved barbarian again—it wasn’t even close to the first time she’d seen it either. Every time they’d come to see him since Karlach joined their ranks, he had an extra glow about him that wasn’t just the light thrown off Karlach’s engine. It was very sweet.

A mechanical clank met their ears as they stopped near the others, the sound of the new part finding its home in Karlach’s chest. She paused heavily, seeming almost scared to ask, “Well… Did it work?”

Dammon smiled and the expression was nothing short of affectionate. “Only one way to find out,” he suggested. As Karlach hesitated and cast him a shy, questioning glance, Dammon chuckled and opened his arms. 

Áine felt the faint sting of tears at the corners of her eyes as Karlach moved closer, hesitantly at first and then more confidently when Dammon didn’t immediately catch on fire. Well, in the literal sense, at least. Karlach’s watery laugh of disbelief as she embraced Dammon—embraced anyone for the first time in years—was the bard’s undoing.

“You little sap,” Astarion accused her low in her ear when he caught her getting emotional. 

Áine just shrugged. She couldn’t disagree with his statement. She just leaned her head against his shoulder and was humbled yet again by the plights of her dear friends that, as much as she’d suffered in this world, there were still a great many things she’d never suffered that she’d always taken for granted. Despite his teasing, Astarion tightened his arm around her, his thumb tracing soothing paths against the curve of her shoulder.

Karlach had immediately started doling out hugs to anyone who would let her, babbling through heavy streaks of tears that rolled unevaporated down her beaming features. “My second family and I can finally hug you, I can’t believe it!” she half-sobbed as she held a very content Shadowheart and a confused but willing Lae’zel in each arm.

By the time she turned her gaze to Áine and Astarion, Áine was practically vibrating with anticipation. All the times she’d wanted to give Karlach a reassuring pat, hug, or squeeze up to this point (at times just barely remembering the peril before she laid hands on the red-hot tiefling) were accumulating into the voracity of the hug she was about to bestow on the woman. Astarion was a little less sure but unleashed Áine from his arm like a wolfhound to buy himself some time.

Áine and Karlach both squealed like schoolgirls as the bard ran and leapt into her waiting arms. Astarion chuckled at the display, thinking he might give Áine a tidbit of hell later for never being that excited to hug him. The thought alone surprised him—he’d come quite far from where he’d started in her company. Once artfully dodging every reason to have physical contact with anyone now that he was no longer forced to, he craved her touch in the simplest sense. 

He smirked to himself. How utterly strange.      

“Astarion…?” Karlach inquired carefully, getting his attention away from his musings. She was practically bursting with affection and it unnerved him, but she was waiting on his decision. Giving him the reins. 

A pang of dread lanced through him despite not being able to assign any rational reason to it. It was Karlach after all. She respected his boundaries. She was asking his permission with that puppy-dog look she always got in her bright emotive eyes. And yet still there was that fear deep down that would probably exist until he at least tried. That had been the case with Áine after all, he’d just had more of a drive to bridge that gap with her for both selfish and unselfish reasons.

His anxious gaze met Áine’s, who had since been set back down on the ground. She was observing them both and Astarion tried not to acknowledge that the others were watching them as well. Astarion cleared his throat, trying to pin down his feelings. He…wanted to hug her, he realized. He wanted to try anyway. And yet he was rooted to the spot.

Karlach was about to brush it off with more kindness than he believed was due, but Áine spoke first. “I think I have an idea,” she said with a gentle smile to the nervous vampire nearby. She could feel it rolling off him in waves, but she could also see the ache in his eyes. 

Astarion regarded her curiously and, as soon as he seemed open to whatever that idea was, Áine nodded for him to go up to Karlach and her still-open arms. He drew in a shaky breath out of pure habit and ventured in like a frightened animal, skeptical of there being any plan until he felt Áine step in behind him. Were it anyone but Áine, he would have felt boxed in, but he trusted her. Even so, Astarion wasn’t entirely sure what difference having her behind him would make until they were both folded into Karlach’s embrace and the tiefling’s hands rested against Áine’s back instead of his. 

A lump formed in his throat. She was shielding his scars.

As if to confirm it, Áine dropped a featherlight kiss to the leather of his armor, right over where they both knew one of the runes lay. Through that reassurance, Astarion found it in him to lift his arms and very lightly place them against Karlach’s sides, patting her back for good measure. It wasn’t his first hug in recent days, but it was his first time hugging anyone other than Áine in over two centuries. Still, Karlach was being very cautious not to crowd him, he noticed. Her arms were secure but didn’t feel like anything he couldn’t maneuver out of if he wanted to. 

Oddly, he found he didn’t want to. As it turned out, a friend’s embrace wasn’t so bad either. And even though her engine had been cooled considerably, she was still unbelievably warm. It was…pleasant.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he groused after a moment, softening it with a small smirk as he stepped back and the girls let him go without a fuss. He glanced between Karlach, who was somehow even more wet with tears, and Áine’s features positively radiating love and pride. “Both of you stop what you’re doing this instant. Avert your eyes if you must.”

“Oh, FANGS!” Karlach squealed with a little choked sob. “Thank you!”

“Yes, yes, you’re welcome,” Astarion muttered back bashfully, refusing to acknowledge all the soft looks he was getting from the rest of their party. Bleeding Hells, he’d have to murder one of them to maintain his reputation at this point.

The high spirits dampened with unease when the group, gathered in full once again and approached Jaheira as requested. She was poised over a small desk, the surface of which was spread with maps and what looked like an unfinished battle plan. She carefully tucked the documents aside as she placed two goblets and a bottle of wine on the surface instead. 

“Please. Be welcome. Have a drink,” Jaheira suggested, her sharp eyes on Áine as she filled both goblets. She raised hers in a toast. “To your very good health.”

Áine smiled back at her and raised her glass toward her lips. However, instead of sipping it immediately, she inhaled the bouquet, earning a mix of strange and approving looks from her gathered companions. As anticipated, something was in hers. It smelled herby and, as she sifted through the potent aroma of the wine, familiar even. It was klauthgrass. A natural truth serum. One of many smells she’d been introduced to young and taught to avoid.

In truth, she probably still held some measure of tolerance to the stuff. She briefly considered drinking the spiked wine to let Jaheira think that she was under the herb’s influence while her body easily overrode its effects, but she didn’t want to start on that foot with this woman. If Jaheira wouldn’t be honest, Áine decided she would be.

“It doesn’t spoil the taste if that’s what you’re wondering,” Jaheira remarked with a knowing look, watching Áine all the while.

“Mm, it does spoil the trust though,” Áine said, setting the full goblet back on the table. By now any strange looks that had arisen behind her had faded, catching that there was something extra in the drink. While Áine was turned away from them, unable to see their faces, she could sense their tension ease away and she perhaps unfairly wondered what she’d done to still earn so much skepticism from certain members of her party.

You’re really going to judge them for questioning their leadership? You? she chastised herself, almost snickering at the irony.

“Humor me,” Jaheira pressed, her tone implying no room for leeway. 

“Add some to yours as well and I’ll be happy to,” Áine suggested. “I seek a level ground and I’ll settle for nothing less.”

“Suit yourself,” Jaheira said, sipping long from her own wine. Áine took a mental note that Jaheira hadn’t paused to entertain her suggestion of a compromise. Interesting. “Well over a century old and yet it still hasn’t lost a bit of flavor. Still not quite so sure about you though.”

Áine tilted her head. “In what sense?”

“Well, people tend to lose more than flavor when illithids get their hands on them. I speak from experience,” the druid explained, surprising Áine with her admission. She must’ve been a thrall in another time and had somehow survived it. Newborn respect settled in Áine’s gaze and Jaheira was pleased to see it although it didn’t curb her nerves. “There’s an air about you. Something…alien.” Jaheira’s brow furrowed and turned almost pleading despite her tone remaining firm and commanding. “Answer me true and do not lie: the parasite is changing you, isn’t it?”

Áine considered her question with no intent to lie but with intent to give a fair answer. “From what we know, our parasites exist in a stasis right now. The artefact is keeping them that way when others would have transformed by this point,” Áine tried to explain. “There’s a tadpole in my brain. There’s no refuting that and there’s no refuting that it must be changing me somehow. However, past a handful of abilities I’ve seldom used, I feel that I’m the same person as when we began.”

Jaheira seemed satisfied with Áine’s answer. She wouldn’t have believed a firm “no,” but she did wish for it for the sake of those she protected. Jaheira gestured with her free hand toward the inn surrounding them. “Look around you—good men, good women. Stranded here with two feet in the grave. If we’re to survive, I have no choice but to trust you,” Jaheira stated. Her eyes narrowed. “Can I?”

“You can,” Áine said, “but will you?”

“I have every reason to be cautious. It is far from anything mirroring personal. I’ve traced people like you, people with parasites in their brains, all the way from here to Baldur’s Gate,” Jaheira explained. “The cult of the Absolute is spreading throughout the city—quietly, quickly, and with unsettling deliberation. We tracked them to this ancient village only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago.”

Áine’s blood ran cold and she was glad someone else took that moment to insert a clever quip because she had none to spare.

“If he’s back, maybe you should’ve hit him harder in the first place,” Wyll implied, earning looks from Halsin and Karlach both. He quieted—that was an intimidating combination of scoldings to earn.

Jaheira was unoffended. “Believe me, he was well and truly dead. I locked his corpse in the Thorm mausoleum myself,” she said. 

The surname alone made Áine’s heart start to pick up its tempo. Yet again, only Astarion noticed her distress because he could hear it. He had questions, but he made mental notes of them all, reserving them for later away from Jaheira and the rest of their party. 

“He was a Sharran once,” Jaheira was saying. “Took to building an army of Dark Justiciars beneath this very village. Alongside the local druids, we made it our business to see him deposed. Dead and buried. But he has returned.” Jaheira’s expression became something nearing distressed. “Not only does General Ketheric Thorm live again, but it seems he’s no longer mortal. He has become, in fact, invincible.”

Ice in her veins. Thunder in her heart. Still, Áine found her voice. “Come again?” she asked. The trouble was that she already knew, as much as she could know, the answer to her own question. But she needed to ask it. Perhaps something had shifted with the arrival of the cult. 

“We met him on the road here. Commanding an army of the Absolute, intent on destroying Baldur’s Gate. I put an arrow through his eye, myself, only to watch him pluck it out like a splinter,” Jaheira explained, pantomiming her memory of his movements. “He healed right in front of me. Chased us into the shadows. Things looked hopeless, but experience has taught me that no matter how bleak things look, there is always hope.” She sighed, looking almost sorry as she said, “You are that hope.”

“We’ve been hearing that quite a bit lately,” Shadowheart sighed. Áine wondered if her interest had been piqued at the mention of the Dark Justiciars.

“Protected by your artefact, you can infiltrate his forces at Moonrise Towers posing as a True Soul. Find out what it is that makes him invincible so we can strip him of his advantage,” Jaheira implored them. “Once Ketheric is without his shield, together we will assault his tower and put an end to this blight.”

Áine nodded slowly, sighing through her nose. What choice did she have? “Alright,” she agreed.

Jaheira was surprised by her response or at least her lack of pushback, that much was clear. “Without a cure for your infection, your days are numbered, too. Yet you selflessly offer to spend them fighting alongside us…,” she murmured. A crooked smile crossed her lips. “I like you.” 

Áine smiled back. “What have we got to lose, you know?” she asked. The question was rhetorical but somber, too, and that wasn’t lost on Jaheira.

The druid nodded. “I promise I will do everything I can to make sure you survive this. But any cure starts with understanding the disease. Whatever magic Ketheric’s using to control these tadpoles, it has to be at Moonrise.”

“What about the shadow curse?” Gale asked. “We need more than torches if we’re meant to be out in those shadows for any length of time.”

“You are not our only secret weapon,” Jaheira said. She nodded her head toward the upper floor of the inn. “Isobel—a faithful cleric of Selûne and a light in the darkness. She cast the moon shield around the inn. It’s the only reason we’re still alive. She’s upstairs in her chambers—tell her I sent you and she’ll see you through the shadows safely.”

Isobel? Áine wondered. Surely that couldn’t be a coincidence? Her gaze slanted toward the room Jaheira had indicated. It was heartening to her that, if this was the same Isobel, she’d chosen to resist the sins of her father. 

At least if her assumptions were correct, they already had something in common.

“Well, you’ve finally made it back to these godsforsaken lands, Halsin,” Wyll mused later, the bubbling of Gale’s stewpot and the grind of Lae’zel’s whetstone providing familiar background noise in their little setup beneath the dome of the moon shield. “How does it feel?”

Halsin smiled sadly toward the fire, running a hand over his scarred but handsome features. “It feels bitterly familiar,” he said. “What Jaheira said about the first time Ketheric Thorm was lain in the ground? I was there. I was among the druids who fought him back, who killed him only for him to come back unkillable. And he took the vitality of this land with him.”

“Do you think there’s any way to break the curse?” Gale wondered as he stirred their dinner.

“There must be. And I will find it,” Halsin said, not an ounce of his tone to be disbelieved. “Earlier before we spoke with Jaheira, I discovered something in the inn. A man. Near-comatose but somehow still very much alive despite, I believe, existing within the Shadowfell for quite some time.”

“Impossible,” Shadowheart said, her brow creasing. “No one could—”

“Just what I thought as well,” Halsin agreed. “He spoke of Thaniel repeatedly in his sleep. The spirit of this land, long lost to the dark. If there is a way to get Thaniel back, to trace where he may be in the Shadowfell, where I can only imagine Ketheric or his justiciars imprisoned him…then perhaps we can free this land of its malignance as well.” Halsin shook his head. “I need more information though. I must see this through.”

Gale had just taken up a ladle to serve dinner when his glance around the camp came up short. “Say, where’s Karlach? And Áine?”

“Karlach is off flirting with Dammon, I believe,” Shadowheart said cheekily. “And Áine… Well, I don’t know where she snuck off to. Astarion?”

The vampire’s vermillion gaze flickered toward the cleric at the mention of his name. He was lost in his thoughts, still parsing their conversation with Jaheira and also mulling over his exchange with Raphael, wondering when he’d be “graced” with the devil’s presence again. Not knowing what would be expected of him in their potential deal for a translation of his scars was putting him firmly on edge. 

To Shadowheart, Astarion said, “Resting by the water, last I knew. I intend to bring her some dinner.”

Gale nodded, setting up a bowl of stew packed full of fresh ingredients from the inn and fresh bread as well. Astarion took the food when offered it, feeling a little strange at handling actual food for the first time in who knew how long. He supposed since he’d sliced up that apple for Áine the morning after she’d let him drink from her for the first time.

“Bit odd for her to wander off,” Wyll noted, leaning back a little to try and see down to the dark lakeshore. “She’s been acting peculiar since we got here, has anyone else noticed?”

“Difficult to say,” Shadowheart said, her tone a bit pointed in defense of her friend. “Since we immediately ended up in a fight for our lives and were then threatened and interrogated and we’ve just been granted some respite. I don’t blame her for taking a moment to herself.”

Their debate faded behind Astarion as he took his spoils away from the firelit circle of tents. He glanced toward Scratch lying nearby and gave a quick whistle that captured the dog’s attention and brought him in step with the vampire as he sought out his lover. It didn’t take him too long to find her—she sat under a tree on a small ledge overlooking the water, her eyes fastened skyward on the moon.

Scratch pranced ahead of Astarion and snapped Áine out of her trance with a lick to her cheek, startling her. She smiled as she petted the dog affectionately but her expression didn’t touch her eyes. 

When she saw Astarion bringing her dinner, her features softened. “What have I done to earn such service?” she wondered, adding a thank-you when he bent to deliver the food into her hands.

Before he answered her, Astarion gave a scolding click of his tongue toward Scratch when the dog started to beg. “Not a whine out of you, you’ve had yours,” Astarion informed the pup, who exhaled the dog equivalent of a sigh and settled down at Áine’s side, placing his head on his paws. “Don’t believe him, Gale fed him plenty while he was cooking.”

Áine laughed softly and nodded, settling the food on her lap and resting her head back against the trunk of the tree. “Can’t blame him for trying.”

Astarion reclined in the grass beside her, looking up at her with his head propped up by his elbow. She looked pale. She made no move to eat and her eyes simply looked dull and melancholy. “You should eat, darling,” he urged her, nodding toward her cooling stew. “You haven’t eaten since our last suppertime.”

Áine rolled her head against the tree to peer down at him, her smile at least holding a bit of playfulness this time. That was an improvement in his eyes. “Keeping tabs on me, love?”

“As if it’s anything new,” he mumbled, squinting a little at the fathomless look in her dark eyes. He slid his free hand to rest against her thigh. “What’s wrong?”

Áine’s features hardened the slightest bit, almost imperceptibly. “What do you mean?”

Astarion’s brows rose at her tone, almost offended until he reined himself in. What he was feeling now was how she’d felt earlier when he’d spoken to Raphael, he wagered. Two could play her game then. He exhaled his frustration at her dodge and instead of fighting back, reframed his approach. “Don’t push me away, sweet girl,” he murmured, a silent “please” threaded into his words.

Her eyes rounded a little and she looked immediately guilty, her throat tightening as she looked away from him, down at her food. He watched her jaw work as she warred with herself and waited for her to respond. Maybe he’d just upset her more and thwarted his chance to pick her brain. He was halfway to damning his efforts when she seemed to reach a resolution.

Finally, Áine sighed and it looked like that single breath had taken the wind fully from her sails. “I know Ketheric Thorm,” she admitted, refusing to meet his eyes. “Not personally, not exactly. But enough. What Jaheira’s saying about him, the healing he’s able to do from what should be fatal wounds, is true. He’s indeed undead, but as long as he’s been undead, he’s fed off of two things to become essentially deathless: a relic—and the extent of my knowledge is that it’s a relic and that it exists—and a covenant.”

“The cult of the Absolute?” Astarion inquired, trying to follow before he began asking his questions in full. 

“Now, yes,” Áine said. He could hear her heart raging against its cage. “But not always. Not before… The covenant extends far past that. Generations of oathbound souls to feed his immortality through the gaps of what he’s siphoned from the relic and carry out his will. Slaughtering Selûnites, razing whole villages, silently slitting throats in the Gate’s upper city. Whatever he wanted.” She drew in a shaky breath. “And now that he has the cult as well, possibly supplementing him in both of those ways, he’s… He’ll be more resilient than ever.”

Astarion’s frown deepened. “How do you know all of this?” He had a feeling though that he already knew and was only just putting it together.

Áine’s throat worked and she closed her eyes, her features pinched with shame. When she looked at him, he could tell she was forcing herself to do so. “Because his covenant’s bloodline is mine,” she told him. “I grew up in these wretched, heartless lands. I was born to die in his service. My broken oath is the oath I took in service to Ketheric Thorm.”

Next chapter: Chapter 20, "Oathbreaker"

[asylummint]

A Warm Evening

I absolutely love Halsin, Hes adorable and hes one of my favorites besides karlach (which is also in the works lmao)

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As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the verdant landscape of the Grove, (Y/N) and Halsin found themselves nestled in a secluded clearing, surrounded by the tranquil beauty of nature. The air was filled with the sweet scent of wildflowers, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze created a soothing melody.

(Y/N) gazed into Halsin's deep, emerald eyes, feeling a flutter of butterflies dancing in their stomach. Halsin's smile, as soft and radiant as the morning sun, warmed (Y/N)'s heart with its tender affection, melting away any lingering doubts or worries.

Halsin reached out a hand, his touch as gentle as a caress of the breeze against (Y/N) skin. "My dear (Y/N)," he whispered, his voice like a melody that stirred the soul, "there is something I've been longing to share with you."

(Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat, anticipation coursing through their veins like a gentle river flowing with excitement. "Yes, Halsin?" they replied, their voice barely above a whisper, tinged with eager anticipation.

Halsin closed the distance between them with a single step, his presence radiating warmth and tenderness. "I have cherished every moment we've spent together," he confessed, his voice laced with emotion. "You have brought light into my life, and I am grateful for your presence each and every day."

(Y/N) felt a rush of warmth flooding their cheeks, a surge of love swelling in their chest like a blossoming flower. They reached out, their hand trembling slightly as they took hold of Halsin's, their fingers intertwining in a delicate embrace.

"I feel the same way, Halsin," (Y/N) confessed, their voice filled with sincerity and affection. "You have opened my eyes to the beauty of the world around us, and I am grateful for your wisdom and guidance."

Halsin's smile widened, his eyes shimmering with love and tenderness. "Then let us cherish this moment together, my dear (Y/N)," he murmured, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss against their lips.

Time seemed to stand still as (Y/N) melted into the kiss, the world around them fading away into a blissful haze of warmth and contentment. In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the warmth of their love, (Y/N) and Halsin knew that they had found something truly special in each other.

Together, they stood hand in hand, their hearts entwined like the roots of the ancient trees that surrounded them, ready to face whatever challenges the future may bring, knowing that as long as they had each other, they could overcome anything.

And in that moment, bathed in the soft, golden light of the setting sun, (Y/N) and Halsin knew that they had found their happily ever after.

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[cactusnymph]

kiss 41 shadowheart/lae'zel please :o)

Shadowheart wishes that she could control her dreams. If she were able to Lae'zel would certainly feature in none of them—except maybe in those where Shadowheart gets to kick her ass. Sadly those dreams never seem to visit her in her sleep. Instead Shadowheart finds herself betrayed by her own subconscious as it keeps dragging the memory of Lae'zel kissing her to the surface.

That forked tongue in her mouth shouldn't make her feel as excited as it does and it definitely shouldn't keep invading her sleep—Lae'zel pressed up against her, her long tongue in Shadowheart's mouth, licking the side of her throat, wandering lower.

If anyone told her at the beginning of this insane journey that she would have wet dreams about Lae'zel she would have laughed and left. Now she finds herself with soaked underwear in the morning and a burning anger and shame in her guts whenever it happens.

The bandage around her palm is still there and Shadowheart should probably have ripped it off by now. Instead her fingers keep touching it, pressing against the rough fabric, feeling the seams of the wrapping that has gotten more skillful over the past few days since Shadowheart started teaching Lae'zel first aid—or, how Lae'zel keeps referring to it: Patchwork.

Shadowheart can tell that the others are eyeing this new development between the two of them wide-eyed (Gale), disbelieving (Wyll) and amused (Karlach). Teaching a githyanki warrior about medicine and how to close a wound instead of cutting into it deeper is a surreal experience. But Lae'zel seems determined so Shadowheart refuses to be left behind.

In the next dream Lae'zel is on top of her completely naked, pinning her to the ground with a knife against Shadowheart's throat. There's something to be said about the state of her mind and specifically her subconscious that this is something that gets her going. But right now everything is hazy and hot and there's that forked tongue right next to the knife's edge and—

When she wakes up the knife is still there and so is Lae'zel—although in the real version of it all there is no tongue at her throat and Lae'zel is fully dressed.

Lae'zel sneers down at her.

"You've been feverish and making pained sounds in your sleep. If you're turning into a ghaik I'll give you a quick death", Lae'zel hisses and the blade presses against Shadowheart's skin like a promise. Despite the seriousness of the situation she almost has to laugh. Maybe there should be fear lingering underneath all of it, but all Shadowheart can really focus is on the cold steel on her skin, the weight on top of her and the heat between her legs.

Great.

"I'm not turning into anything, you absolute lunatic", she hisses back, heat rising into her cheeks as she tries to struggle against the iron clad grip of Lae'zel's hand.

"There is sweat on your brow", Lae'zel prompts. Shadowheart thinks that Lae'zel must be the stupidest person she's ever met.

"So what? You never sweat in your sleep? Are gith above sweating now?"

She could swear that Lae'zel is inhaling. Shadowheart thinks that maybe she has to ask Karlach to hit her really hard with a hammer so she can stop being insane about damned Lae'zel.

"Then what of the noises?", Lae'zel asks and she leans even further down as if she's trying to find a Mindflayer staring back at her from the depths of Shadowheart's eyes. Shadowheart is mortified enough about having been found out while having a wet dream about Lae'zel of all people, but the fact that Lae'zel makes into so big a thing is really starting to annoy her. Why can't Lae'zel mind her own damn business?

"My noises are none of your concern", Shadowheart presses and struggles again. Lae'zel's pupils widen.

"They are when you keep me from sleeping."

"I didn't think a small whimper could disturb you this much."

"It does when it's coming from you. You are the most—"

Shadowheart doesn't allow Lae'zel to finish. She surges upwards and presses her lips against Lae'zel's, causing the knife to dig deeper into her skin. The second their mouths collide, Lae'zel drops the knife and then they're kissing again.

Gods, it's so much better than it's been in any of her dreams. Lae'zel's tongue slides into her mouth and Shadowheart opens up willingly, wrapping her legs around Lae'zel's waist to pull her down. Lae'zel's breath is coming in short pants and Shadowheart is pleased to know that she's just as affected by all of this.

"So my noises keep you from sleeping?", Shadowheart pants into the kiss. Lae'zel snarls.

"Shut your mouth."

"Why don't you make me shut it?"

"Guys, please. Please find a tent", Gale's tired and strangled voice comes from his bedroll and Shadowheart can feel Lae'zel tense and pull back and before Shadowheart can say anything Lae'zel is gone.

[coreene]

Zethino's Love Test Questions

So... I am writing about the love test Zethino the Dryad gives you at the circus and it made me realize I should make it so both my Tav and their partner answer the questions.

While I think about what the answers (and questions) for my Tav would be - here are Zethino's questions (with every companion) so you can ponder them for your Tavs and Durges.

This will be long so they are under the cut

Shadowheart

Shadowheart: an endless storm surges behind sharp eyes. Listen. Think. From where does Shadowheart draw comfort on a cold, dark night?

The heart craves comfort, but needs respect. How does one earn the dark-haired maiden's respect?

Shame sits in the soul of all - to tame it, we must name it. Shadowheart - what is her deepest shame?

Lae'zel

Lae'zel: passions of the heart and the blade wage war in her soul. Listen. Think. What does she most desire?

Many things delight the heart, but only one makes it sing. Tell me, what is the githyanki's fondest memory?

Life is brief - finite. When the warrior dies, what legacy will she leave behind?

Karlach

Karlach: her fire within can incinerate an enemy or warm a beloved.  Listen. Think. Who does she loathe above all others?

Many things delight the heart, but only one makes it sing. Tell me, what is her idea of a perfect day?

The sweetest loves dance lightly on the tongue. But they sag and suffer with age. The future brings many trials. A decade from now, what will the mighty Karlach do? Where will she be?

Astarion

Astarion: a tumultuous past hides behind a mirthful grin. The heart is fraught, so let us begin with the joyous. When is he happiest?

Many things delight the heart, but only one makes it sing. Tell me, what does he desire more than anything?

Fear sits in the soul of all - to tame it, we must name it. Astarion - what is his deepest fear?

Wyll

Wyll: the courageous heart tormented by the infernal. Listen. Think. What, on his darkest day, would make him smile?

We cannot live this life without others - others to guide us. To aspire to. Who does the Blade most admire?

Life is a difficult and tumultuous thing. With every smile, a tear often follows. What is Wyll's greatest regret?

Gale

Gale: the learned wizard. The charming gentleman. The walking apocalypse. Listen. Think. If the wizard were given the choice, what food would he be?

The heart is fraught, so let us turn to the joyous. When is Gale happiest?

We often gaze through a veil of roses, but love accepts both the petal and the thorn. Gale - what is his greatest flaw?

Minthara

Minthara: a mask of ice hides a heart of pure fire - you do well to call her close. Listen. Think. What does the drow miss most about the Underdark?

Many pass through our lives, their touch rippling across time. But who does Minthara admire the most?

Those with an icy façade hide their true selves well - but pain breaks us all in the end. What is the worst thing your love has ever done?

Halsin

Halsin: nature's gentle steward - and furious defender. Listen. Think. When is he most comfortable?

We strive to do our utmost - to prove ourselves worthy. Tell me - of what is Halsin most proud?

Life is full of victory and loss. You cannot have one without the other. Halsin - what is his greatest failure?

[thefanficsideblog]

Moonlight And The Break Of Dawn - Astarion (Part 1/5)

Content Warnings: Mentions And Reference To Abuse, Trauma and Consent Issues. Canon Compliant Trauma, Violence and Threat. Canon Divergent Powers. No Use Of Y/N, Tav Supplemented. Gendered Pronouns Used (she/her). Not Beta/Proof Read.

This was written for a friend and myself but I thought I might aswell share it here.

Behind every exquisite thing that existed there was something tragic – Oscar Wilde

No grave can hold my body down, – I’ll crawl home to her – Hozier

Your presence will be sun in winter – Alfred Lord Tennyson

The road is long and the path is winding, you had never really given it any thought before but the days under your feet that put distance between you and the crash, are both exhaustingly long to comprehend and not far enough. Though you wonder if any distance could be far enough. Your head is throbbing, an irritating repeating painful pulse that surges through your mind between steps. You wish you could blame the pain on the tadpole swimming around in your cerebellum but you know the much more likely truth- you're dehydrated. And more than that, you're lacking a decent amount of blood in your system to compensate for that. You let your eyes shift to your left where Astarion walks a few strides ahead of you, he is walking with such energy and a strange type of confidence, even for him. You wonder if he knows what you do, you wonder if he has the slightest clue that he hasn't fooled you, not for a moment, not even the smallest amount. He thinks he has everything laid out, this perfect little plan, he thinks he is playing you like a fiddle. But you're smarter than that, smarter... but not wiser. You can read his manipulation like a favourite book, because in some ways that's exactly what it is. You've done this before. You recognize this. In it's twisted way, it feels like coming home. He is using you, and you're letting him.

You want to feel guilty about it, you want to be mad at yourself for not falling for his facade but actively walking directly into this trap of his. But you cannot bring yourself to be. Because for all the planning and scheming. For everything he is trying to achieve with you, you know one more thing, one thing that maybe he doesn't even know yet. You know why.

His hands flex in the sunlight and you know he is pretending it's not stunning him, but it has been a lifetime since he got to be in sunlight, you don't blame him for basking in it. It’s almost enough to keep him from complaining about the bugs as you navigate the wetlands.

Astarion swats away a bug with his hand and mutters a few curses under his breath. “I cannot wait to be free of these bug infested woods,” he says, as if it was everyone else’s responsibility to make that happen.

“Used to fancier environments are you fancy boy?” Karlach asks.

“Most certainly, it’s not hard to have higher standards than somewhere where these little cretins bite you for taking a step,” Astarion points out. “I know the better places in Baldur’s Gate, no nasty little buzzing critters guaranteed.”

“Blood suckers,” Shadowheart muses at the mosquitos. “You think you would have more sympathy for them Astarion.”

The look he shoots her way is a smile, but it’s so full of malice that it is much more of a grimace, “Oh so you can make jokes?” he asks. “Not forbidden to laugh under your false god?”

“Let’s not,” Karlach laughs, clapping her hands together, “let’s not start anything that I will have to finish.”

“I say let them have it out, fighting will only make us stronger,” Lae’zel offers up, swiping at a vine that leans too close to her body for her comfort.

“Let’s keep the fighting for the enemy, if we start fighting amongst ourselves, then we are truly fucked,” you point out, walking faster to put yourself as a social shield between Astarion and Shadowheart, who look equally likely to attempt to draw blood.

“Sunshine to the rescue,” Astarion teases. If you weren’t too busy trying to decipher if he is genuinely irritated with your interference, you might pay more attention to the way he calls you that: Sunshine. You might be able to see the layers within it, read all the implications in such a simple word. Sunshine: something he has been denied for years, something he never thought he would get to have again, something he didn’t know he missed until it wasn’t able to access it. Something he is scared of losing again. But you notice none of that, not while you’re trying to read past the gentle slumping of his body against a nearby tree, the way he cocks his head to the side, watching you. The tiny curve in the corner of his mouth that might be all that slips through in an attempt not to smile. He leans back like a bored rake eyeing up his next conquest, something that on anyone else would be unflattering, but on him it’s ungodly elegant, and you have to look away.

“Hello,” comes a voice from the rocks. The whole party glances up to see a man moving in a hurried manor down to greet you. His hair is long and his movements determined, but he still meets your gaze with an attempt of a smile.

“Hello?” you echo back at him.

Astarion eyes the man with reproach which you admit it’s new for him, everyone is either someone worth charming or someone he would rather not be bothered by, this man certainly seems to be the latter. “Must we stop and speak with every wayward walker?” he huffs.

“I won’t take up too much of your time,” the man assures you, eyes flitting to Astarion, “I’m Gandrel-,”

“Oh, you are Gur,” Astarion says, stopping his slacking, and standing up really straight, arms crossed neatly cover the cotton of his black shirt. “Monster hunter, come to cast some type of curse?”

You elbow Astarion and he looks genuinely confused as he complains at the almost violent interaction. Gandrel laughs it off, looking not half as inconvenienced as you would have expected. “And every other thing people think my kind can do, honestly I wish I could do half of it,” he says, “but alas, we are mere mortals.”

“Brave words for men who hunt monsters,” Shadowheart says, looking almost apprehensive at the man in front of them. “So what are you hunting?”

“Let me guess,” Astarion says, moving his hands around as he speaks, all theatre and brimming with a strange type of enthusiasm. You’d almost think he was nervous, but you haven’t seen him nervous before, why would he start now? “Wendigo? Or better yet some winged horror?”

“Nothing that exciting I am afraid,” Gandrel states, his smile is welcoming, “some vampire spawn.”

If Astarion could get any paler, he would in his moment, his muscles stiff and his words threatening to falter, you sense his panic without as much as a glance. “A vampire spawn?” you ask, hints of laughter in your voice. “Not even a full vampire, how is that worth your time?”

Astarion glares at you, but he knows what you’re doing so he holds in a pout before adding. “I don’t know, spawn can be quite a handful, powerful things,” he says.

“Your friend is unfortunately right, and this spawn… he is particularly dangerous,” you don’t take your eyes off Gandrel, afraid if you look at Astarion you might see him smirking, “I was wondering if maybe you’ve seen anything.”

“What do you know about this spawn?” you ask, scorning yourself mentally for not coming off more subtle.

“His name is Astarion,” he starts, and you don’t hear much more after that, he begins to explain why he is hunting him, and what he has done, but the words just blend into the wind, and you are doing everything you can to try and act calm. You hear the words dangerous and volatile and in some deep met instinct you step back and in front of Astarion, leaning into him, you look afraid. You look like the man’s stories are bringing you concern, like you’re seeking comfort. But you’ve learned enough from wolves to know how to play this game. Astarion doesn’t know how to respond to your sudden proximity and just stands idle, listening to the man talk.

“Well I…” you look for the right words, the right approach to take.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Gandrel assures you. You feel sick to your stomach, this man is trying to be kind, his concern is genuine, and you know as well as the others that Astarion is not a saint, he is no pinnacle of good, he has done things. He has done unthinkable things. But he was surviving, and you cannot think you would do any different. Not that he ever had a choice in those awful things, Astarion has not had a choice in anything in two hundred years. “But you should be careful.”

“It sounds like this is a real threat,” you manage.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Astarion asks, “maybe we should… do something about the threat?”

“What would you do, if you found him, kill him?” Shadowheart asks, taking a little too much joy in this situation.

“No, I am on orders to bring him back alive,” Gandrel explains. The fear rolls off Astarion in waves, somehow that is worse, somehow that is so much worse. You’ve not doubted for a moment, since he told you, since you found out what he is and how he became it, Astarion would rather die than go back to Cazador, and he really doesn’t want to die.

“We shall keep a close eye out,” you say. You feel Astarion’s discomfort. He does to express something, annoyance perhaps but you look up at him, and he can hear you in his head, clear as that first moment when he saw your memories from the crash.

‘Trust me, I am not letting him find you, just trust me.’

And it takes all his effort, fighting every instinct he has, but he does. The others start to continue moving, and you watch Gandrel setting up camp. “I’ll be right with you,” you tell the others, letting yourself fall behind.

Gandrel is a good man from all you’ve seen. You know Astarion wants him dead. You can understand why he would feel that way, because as far as the eye can see it’s the way to keep Astarion safest. But you have another idea, a long shot, probably will end up the same way, but you’re going to try it anyway idea. And it has your hands shaking.

“Can I help you?” Gandrel asks, looking up at you from where he is laying out his bedroll. You cannot do this with his eyes on you, so you force yourself to do something you’re not very good at. You think on your feet.

“Strange question but you don’t happen to have any… wispweed do you?” you ask, eyeing his bag. “I have some payment, I just am running low.”

He gives you a smile and your heart plummets into your stomach. “Let me look,” he says, turning to reach into his bag.

You reach forward as fast your can a hand either side of his temple and you blood all of your power into freezing his muscles, you wait a short moment, checking that it has worked, but when all you can hear is the slow beat of his heart you move with more conviction. You haven’t done this in a long time, and you’ve got to get it right. You’re navigating his mind, looking for the right place, the right centre to alter, finding the pulses and the pathways. When you find them you can feel your own nerves starting to burn, this is not easy magic, this is not careful magic, it is unstable and you need it over quickly. “You don’t know anything about Astarion, you are not looking for him, and you will not find him,” you start saying, feeling the magic changing the pathways as you command it to, “even if you found him, you could not see him, you could not hear him, you would not know who or what he was, and you can never learn,” you feel sick but you know the last thing, the other thing and it tumbles from your lips before you have time to reconsider, “and if you were to be at risk of causing him harm, you would slit your own throat before putting him in danger.” You step back and your mind is swimming, the tadpole is feeding off the energy and you take no comfort in that.

Gandrel pauses before resuming what he was doing, he turns to you, empty handed. “Sorry,” he shrugs, “no luck.”

“No worries,” you say, voice shaking, “I will keep looking,” you turn on your heels, “Gandrel?”

“Yes?” he asks.

“Good luck on your hunt,” you pause, “what are you hunting again?”

He is quiet for the longest time, “A… hag?” he sounds unsure, “must be, that’s what I know is in this area.”

“Keep yourself safe,” you tell him. He tells you to do the same as you disappear to catch up with the group.

“Smart move that,” Karlach is saying to Astarion, “she has quite the head on her shoulders.”

“What?” Astarion asks, he hadn’t been paying attention, trying to listen at a distance to what you were saying and failing.

“Tav,” Karlach says, “pulling the whole wolf bit.”

“What in the gods are you talking about?” Astarion asks. Karlach eyes him, surprised that he missed it.

“When she stood in front of you,” Karlach says, like it is obvious. “Playing scared, it’s a wolf trick. When a wolf is being threatened their female mate often cowers underneath, hiding close, it looks like she’s afraid but really she is protecting the softest and most exposed part that the enemy could attack, the throat,” as Karlach explains it becomes painfully obvious that was exactly what you had been doing, you’d stepped into him, to put yourself between him and the threat, you’d been acting scared to protect him, “so when she-,”

“She was shielding me,” Astarion muses, “how thoughtful, and entirely unnecessary.”

“Sure buddy,” Karlach says laughing. “Because you weren’t scared shitless.”

“I am not dignifying that with a response,” Astarion states.

You catch up to Astarion and Karlach’s stride and Karlach starts that excited gushing she does, talking about something you wish you knew more about, but are happy to listen. “He won’t be a problem,” you whisper to him as Karlach talks. He doesn’t respond, but you can see in his eyes that he is trying to process your words. “I didn’t kill him,” you manage, quick and quiet, “but he would die before he sets eyes on you again. You don’t need to be looking over your shoulder, at least not for him.” You don’t miss the way Astarion is watching you, almost like he is hungry.

You’re setting up to settle down for the night when he beckons you over, he has barely said a thing since Gandrel and you weren’t sure if you’d upset him somehow. “Can we have a word?” he asks. You nod and follow him as he walks a distance from the campfire, leaving the others in the low amber light. “What you did,” he starts, but you’re already shrugging it off.

“He was a threat to you, I couldn’t let that be the case,” you say. He is flickering his eyes over yours, searching for something.

“That pesky little moral code of yours, you couldn’t kill him,” he says.

“I didn’t kill him,” you echo your earlier sentiments. “But I neutralised the problem… permanently.”

“You used mind magic,” he realises, you try again to shrug it off like it is nothing, but his is smiling, and it’s so coy and mischievous.

“I did not expect that to give you an ego boost,” you admit.

“That’s not easy magic darling, and you went to all that effort for little old me?” He is leaning in, grinning, his fangs unabashedly on display. Your knees feel weak at the sight of him, and you know he knows it.

“I wouldn’t let him hurt you Astarion,” you tell him, “I promised you that much. What I said when I found out what you were, I meant it. I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you get your freedom back, I mean that.”

He steps forward and you step back, and your back presses into a tree. He leans, one hand resting against the bark of the tree, just above your shoulder, almost pinning you in, as his other hand reaches up to brush a few loose strands of hair from your face. “Well, I suppose a thank you is in order,” he says, holding your chin between finger and thumb. “A reward for your protection.” He kisses you, it’s heated and fast, you can feel the way he presses against you and it steals almost every thought you have. You want this, of course you want this, you don’t remember a time you didn’t want this. But something about it makes your heart sink. Maybe it was the look in his eyes as he leaned for you, like it was so rehearsed, like he was playing this role, or maybe you can just feel something wrong, something insincere. You pull away and Astarion is nothing short of stunned.

“Is there a problem,” he asks, leaning in again, trying to regather is bearings, but you just turn your head away.

"Astarion- stop," you tell him. His whole body goes rigid, completely lost in confusion.

“I guess I misunderstood,” Astarion says, and you swear he sounds hurt. It’s his fear, the rejection, you realise so quickly, like a match being lit, what he thinks is happening. He thinks you don’t want him to kiss you, he thinks you don’t want him. He couldn’t be more wrong.

"No, it's not that, gods it's not that," you assure him. "I'd take being side by side with you, not even close enough for shoulders to brush, than... anything with anyone else. That's not it."

He blinks and his voice comes out more bitter than you would like it to be as he speaks, “then what the hells is it?” He is curious, confounded, completely unsure of where this is going. He has not been rejected, not for a long time. How could anyone turn him down? He knows he is beautiful, everyone tells him as much, he is charming and this routine always works, and yet you pull away.

"Astarion, I don't want you doing this because you think you have to," you say. Astarion isn’t sure he has heard you right. He thinks the words must be in the wrong order, or that they came out wrong.

“What?” he asks, voice devoid of any tone.

“Astarion I don’t want you to… do this, whatever this is, unless you want to,” you tell him. He is slow to register your words and you can see that on his face.

“Don’t you want me?” he asks. You feel like you could snap, the need in his voice, the desperation to be loved, wanted, desired. In spite of everything, he still craves that.

“Astarion, I want that, of course, but I only want it if you want it,” you try to explain. “I don’t want anything you don’t want, I don’t want you to do this because you think you owe me. I protected you because I care, because I wanted to, I didn’t do it so you would reward me.”

Everything he has been doing was instinct, it was taught behaviour, it is exactly what he has been doing for hundreds of years to survive, but now it was different because he wasn’t doing it for Cazador, he was doing it from himself, to protect himself from Cazador, so in it’s own way nothing has changed. It was a simple plan, sweet talk, seduce, bed, create a sense of bonding and then know that there was someone in his corner, someone who wouldn’t turn on him, someone to protect him, fight with him and for him. But you were doing all the work, you were willing to fight for him, and you weren’t asking for anything in return, and more jarringly you weren’t expecting anything in return.

"How did you know?" He asks, not able to meet your eye.

"Because our wounds might be different but our scars match just fine," you tell him. "Not being able to say no, and feeling like you cannot say no are close siblings in pain."

He is watching you now, closer, like he is seeing you anew, or maybe just truly seeing you for the first time. He had thought that you were easy to manipulate, that it would be straightforward, and in ways it was, it had been, it was easy, natural even. But he hadn’t considered how strange and natural it was to you. How you looked at him with such knowing, such understanding, but never once asked for the truth when you knew what he said was lies.

He watches you look away, turning from the light, as if you’re scared of all the things it might illuminate, suddenly lay bare.

"But you want me?" He asks.

"I don't want anything you don't," you tell him. He sighs, raking a hand over his neck, a little agitated that you're not hearing what he is asking.

"That's not what I mean, you would want me," he says, more of a statement now than a question, but his eyes still beg for an answer.

"Yes," you tell him, "I don't know how well that might go, or what that would look like but yes, I want you, and I would want to, or I want to want to... it's complicated."

"I know," he says and you know he does. "When you stepped back from Karlach," he says slowly.

"I struggle with... contact sometimes," you admit. You'd known Karlach wasn't going to touch you, that she couldn't touch you but you'd flinched anyway and it haunted you. You can feel Astarion looking at your neck now and you pinch the edges of your collar to pull it down and give him better access but he doesn't move.

"Why do you let me?" He asks.

"You need it," you say. "And I want to help."

"So, after all this you're going to start keeping things from me now?" He asks, almost coy. "Come on darling, tell me the truth."

"You need it, and I want to be needed, if I can offer you this, knowing the others can't, I know you're less likely to run from me," you say, staring at the ground, "you're not the only one looking for protection. You wanted it from the world, I wanted it from being left behind."

“You are protecting yourself,” he whispers. His eyes dance over you, taking all of you in, and he cannot help but wonder, how you could reduce yourself to thinking your only worth the blood pulsing through your veins. He catches himself, and wonders how he could let you feel that way. Or worse yet, if he made you feel that way. His plan was so easy, so simple, and it felt like you were falling for it, like he could make you fall for him, the guise, the mask, the charisma, like it was second nature. But that’s what he had been wrong about, you had fallen for him, it was obvious in those eyes that were staring right back at him. He had you at this point, this moment in time, where you would leave the entire world behind for him. But not the him he meant for you to feel this way about, the act, the rake, the smooth talker with the smile like a devil. It was the part of him that he buried under that, the man behind the vampire, that was the Astarion you were so desperate to help, to hold onto. He can not understand this care you have for him, or the feeling in his chest that is blooming from it. He doesn’t know how to do this right, not when he is known, when he is seen, when he is wanted in all the ways he had long forgotten you could want a person. Before Cazador and the betrayal and the sex and the death. The way you can want a person exactly as they are, no conditions, and no strings. You look at him and everything you do not say with words is written clearer than daylight on your face: ‘show me your sharp edges, show me your thorns, show me the most dangerous, unlovable parts of you, and I will show you my hands, open, waiting, willing to bleed.’

“You give up parts of yourself in the name of protection,” Astarion says, ringing his hands together, trying to look less fidgety, but the more he watches you, the more he understands the more this warmth spreads up his neck, this strange flush in his chest. It feels as if by some strange miracle of existence, his heart is trying to beat.

“But I am telling you,” you insist, “you do not need to do that for me, I am here, I will stand by you Astarion, hells or high waters, so you don’t need to pretend, you don’t need to do something because you think it is what I would want from you.”

“I am not pretending,” he says, a little more honest than he expected from his own mouth. “My attraction to you is genuine, my connection with you is…” he pauses, unable to find a way to make it make sense, “confusing. But I am not pretending.”

“You were pretending, you were manipulating me,” you point out.

“And you were letting me,” he says. You shrug.

“I am not stupid enough to imagine I was more than useful Astarion, which is why I want to continue being useful, we can have each others backs, and no one is left without someone in their corner, but you do not need to try and… you don’t need to make yourself uncomfortable on my behalf.”

Never in his life has Astarion wished he could hold someone without that feeling of disgust and guilt, never has he wanted to kiss someone more than in this moment. But he knows what follows, he knows how Cazador has seeped into everything, and tainted it all. Ruined it all. He doesn’t even know where to begin to undo that damage, he doesn’t know if there is a way to undo that damage. But never has he wanted more to try. He looks at you now, and he wants to kiss you, to kiss you without it being this strange twisted regret that it always becomes. He want to be real, he wants to kiss you and mean it, and let it be only what it is and not a reminder of everything that has happened to him. But he doesn’t know how to do that.

“I do care about you, you know, and I wish, I wish I knew how to be different,” he says, “but I haven’t had the time to figure that out.”

You shrug. “You’ve got all the time in the world to figure out whatever you need to figure out for yourself Astarion, and I am doing everything I can to keep that true, so we need to keep moving, and get these nasty little fuckers out of our heads, and separate Cazador from his, and everything else, we can figure out after.”

“You truly do just want to help me, don’t you?” he asks. True, selfless love, that wanting for another person, not for what it mean to you, but just so they can get what they deserve and be happy. If he asked you to stay, you would, you would drop everything to stay, and if he asked you to go, you would do the same, because you only want what is best for him. Astarion has never known a feeling like that, and he is chasing it, clawing at it, trying with both hands to get a good grip so it doesn’t slip through his fingers and run out of his grasp. He doesn’t think he could find this again, he doesn’t think he would want to. He just knowns he can’t lose this, this feeling like a beating heart in his chest when he looks at you.

“I do,” you say. “So, are we going to do this?”

“I think so Sunshine,” he says, letting that smile return, even if it is just to disguise this nervousness that is pounding at his skull.

“Okay good, then take what you need and we can get on with things,” you say, pulling your collar aside so he has best access to your neck. He looks at you and lets his eyes wander to the slope of your neck, he places a hand on your side pulling you closer and you let yourself be calm, let him do this. He leans down for the bite, lips pressed against the pulse point, and you wait for the soft pain, the dizzying feeling, but it doesn’t come. His lips brush soft and cold against that pulsation and then they pull away, leaving you with nothing but a ghost of a kiss where teeth marks should be.

“You’re worth more than that to me Sunshine,” he whispers, close enough to your ear that you can feel his words against your neck. “So much more,” and he pulls away, not giving as much as a glance as he walks back towards the others, leaving you puzzled with your heart thundering in your chest.

“Oh Star,” you whisper, to the wind more than to anything or anyone. “You are never going to be able to be unloved by me.”

[sorcerous-caress]

happy halloween!!! could I request you to write were!shart reacting to the full moon for the first time and how the companions are on the receiving end with tav coming to control their puppy?

sending love love your writings!!!

Thank you so much!

Full moon and werewolf Shadowheart

[ fluff, nb!reader, were!Shadowheart ]

Shadowheart

Throughout her life, she'd always felt abnormally restless around the full moon. As if its light was desperately attempting to pull her closer with no avail, a call left unanswered.

She had always chalked it up to that moon witch and her unpredictable tricks, that it must be a pathetic attempt to steer her away from Shar. Not once did she suspect that it was her own body that was to blame.

After her lycanthropy reared its head out of the blue during your gang of misfits adventure through Faerun, did Shadowheart become acutely aware of the sudden changes in herself.

While the enhanced hearing and sense of smell was an added benefit, she could easily bury the primal surges of emotions that would come up every now and then. As long as she wasn't sprouting a tail or ears, as far as she was concerned, it was going smoothly.

Well, one night, when the moon seemed larger than it normal is, its light shining directly onto her. Tossing and turning ontop of her bedroll, Shadowheart woke up in cold sweat in the middle of the night.

Something was deeply wrong, she felt cold and hot at the same time. A primal scream left her throat as she curled around herself.

Waking up all of the camp, Shadowheart finally stood up in front of them. A fuzzy pair of ears twitching above her head and a wild agitated tail of fur swishing behind her.

Her eyes met yours, She growled, her teeth sharper and larger

Something deep insided screamed at her to bite, mark and claim you. She lunged at you in a second.

Laezel

She was the first to act and immediately pull Shadowheart back when her teeth were mere inches away from your neck. Laezel quickly yelled at Karlach to come and help her restrain the midtransfomation werewolf.

Even the both of them struggled to restrain Shadowheart with her unusual strength.

Laezel barely reacted to any of the threats and promises of a brutal death that Shadowheart threw her way, it wasn't until Shadowheart started challenging her and targering Laezel pride did it start agitating the githyanki.

"Shut your mutt's mouth, or i will see to finding a muzzle myself." She sneered your way.

Karlach

"Settle down now, Soldier." Karlach still kept a friendly demeanour as she held Shadowheart down, laughing awkwardly at her attempts to bite Karlach's fingers off despite the growing worry inside of her.

Man, this really wasn't the way to wake someone up. She was soundly sleeping, and now she has to keep a wild dog under control, oh well what else are friends for then?

"Uh Gale...a little help here, please?" With Laezel bickering with Shadowheart again, Karlach felt the werewolf taking advantage of the distraction to slip through her hold.

Gale

"A lycanthropy transformation in front of my own eyes, and i missed it." Gale was too occupied observing Shadowheart's state as a mage hand wrote down all the details in a floating scroll near him.

With curiosity filled eyes, he stepped closer to insept Shadowheart's teeth with no regard to the absolute chaos the three women in front of him were going through. Only when Karlach spoke to him did he snap out of it.

"Oh yeah, of course." With a simple incantation, he immediately paralysed Shadowheart with a hold spell. "Now, where was i?"

Getting even closer, Gale began inspecting her ears that seemed to have magically sprouted with no visible strains on her skin or head.

Wyll

When Karlach let go of the now frozen Shadowheart, Wyll couldn't help but feel like it was a bad idea. While he didn't personally hunt down any werewolves before, he had heard many tales about how unpredictable they become when exposed to direct moonlight.

And true to his words, from the corner of his eyes he could see the fuzzy tail slowly breaking out of the magic hold.

Wyll wasted no time in pulling Gale away. The wizard was mere seconds away from getting his face clawed off by Shadowheart's sudden attack.

"Goddammit, Shadowheart snap out of it." He pleaded, attempting to speak reason to his friend.

What else could they do when a now fully transformed and unrestrained werwolf stood in front of them, bathing under the moonlight in all of her glory.

Astarion

Shadowheart was going to tear them all limb from limb, Astarion was sure of it.

Chaos ensured as everyone frantically scattered and attempted to defend themselves, with no armour or weapons they were practically a slab of delicious meat on a silver plate for Shadowheart.

He needed to think of something and quickly.

His eyes met yours.

In quick motion, he immediately pulled you to his side, whispering in your ear to just play along.

Turning his attention back to Shadowheart who was tearing down the table Laezel was using to defend herself with, he took a deep breath then yelled.

"HEY! FILTHY DOG" he was immediately regreting his stupid idea, "HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE ME DRAIN YOUR LOVER'S BLOOD DRY?"

To seem more convincing, he bared his needle sharp fangs against your neck.

A single droplet of blood tickled down youe throat, he could taste the delicious thing against his lips.

Huh, you know, you actually taste pretty go-

The world faded to black.

The aftermath

"Is he still not waking up?" You stretched your arms above your head, sitting down to your kneeling lover as she casted yet another healing spell.

"Chk. He's as fragle as dry twig." Laezel tended to her wounds on the opposite side, Wyll helping her disinfect the claw marks on her back.

"Well, that dry twig is the reason any of us kept our throats attached to our bodies," Wyll tried to reason as he eyed Shadowheart cautiously.

"Amazing, truely amazing." Gale was sitting on the other side of Shadowheart, occasionally searching her head for any traces of the ears that were there the night prior. "It just disappeared, a whole structure of flesh and bones with perfect connection and nerves vanishing overnight."

From afar, you could see Karlach finally coming back with the buckets full of water from the nearby river. "How is Astarion's condition? Still sleepy?"

"Yeah." You answered, looking at the elf laying unconscious on the bedroll in front of you. The idea of pouring water on him to wake him up did cross your mind for a second.

Feeling someone's eyes on you, you turned your head to face Shadowheart.

"How's your neck?" She whispered with concern in her eyes. "I didn't go too far, did ?"

Rubbing the marked flesh on your neck, you saw her eyes follow your fingers as you traced over the teeth and bite marks.

[fandom-go-round]

Hi, bebe! I would love a thing on how each of the magic-using bg3 party members feel when they're channeling their different kinds of magic through their bodies to cast it, both physically and emotionally--i.e. druidic magic and channeling nature for Halsin, Shadowheart and her divine casting, Wyll and the power he draws from his Patron, Gale and what it's like for him to manipulate the Weave. One thing I'd love to see with Shadowheart in particular is the ways in which it feels different for her to channel divinity from different goddesses as her relationship to the divine changes. Thank you so much!

Warnings: Act 2 Spoilers, Act 3 Spoilers, Shadowheart Quest Spoilers, Gale Quest Spoilers, Halsin Quest Spoilers, Wyll Quest Spoilers, Magic Talk, Implied Self Image Issues, Relationship Issues (Gale)

Halsin:

His magic feels like a warm breeze, grass between your toes, laying in a sun patch. Casting druid magic always feels like the earth is responding, reaching out to the call. It’s one of the reasons Halsin loves being a druid so much. Nothing makes you feel connected to life than the world responding to your pull. It’s more complicated than that of course and the type of spell also means a lot. Healing magic is like warm water, rolling across wounds. It can cause people to jump in surprise if they’re used to divine healing magic which is more of a ‘sinking into the skin’ sensation.

Being in the shadow cursed lands makes everything hard. Summoning the power of the land is nearly impossible so it pulls more from the caster. Halsin focuses mostly on changing shape than complicated spells; it feels like spell slots go twice as fast. He has to admire the other druids who make it look easy. Part of his issue is that he’s distracted by Thaniel; with so much to focus on, magic is hard to come by.

Baldur’s Gate is easier and harder at the same time. It’s easy to find life in the city but only humanoid life. There are patches of plant life here and then but it’s a weak cry to the forests he’s been living in the last hundred years. Halsin finds it jarring to be around as so many people and longs for more open spaces. He takes small pleasures in warm bathes and interesting food but it can feel hollow. He’ll never say it but he enjoys breaking the cobblestones with his spells when he has to fight, letting nature push its way through. He’s not going to tear the city down but he knows that he can’t stay permanently. The sooner her can feel grass between his toes, the better.

Shadowheart:

Shar’s magic feels like a crisp breeze; it can feel jarring but also makes her feel more alert. Little the first nipping of winter on her cheeks. A pinch on the cheek from a teasing relative. The cold keeps her alert on a normal day. The magic makes her numb eventually; after a long day Shadowheart feels like she’ll never get warm again. She does find it comforting and to feel close to her Lady is something that she wants every day.

After she renounces Lady Shar, magic feels empty. It’s almost worse than the cold sinking into her bones. The feeling of going to call for a spell and simply feeling void; it would be funny if it wasn’t so cruel. There is a god that answers (she can still cast magic) but she tries not to think about it too much; she’s not ready to commit herself to another god yet. It makes it hard to be a cleric and she’s in pain on two fronts; losing her god and also her purpose.

Where Shar’s magic was cool, Selune’s is warm. The first time she feels the connection Shadowheart doesn’t finish the spell, the surge of warmth making her panic. To feel safe and warm makes her want to cry but she pushes through, healing Karlach so fast most don’t even notice her hesitation. Warm hands cupping her cheeks, a hand on her shoulder. She’s in awe that worshipping can feel this good and has to sit with that. Devoting herself feels easy when it’s like standing in the sun.

Wyll:

Wyll’s magic always has a heat to it. Even if it’s an ice spell, his fingers tingle like being held too close to the fire. It makes sense, he figures, since his powers do come from a devil. He was never someone who thought he would wield magic but the longer he has the powers, the more he enjoys it. They give him the power to protect people and what he loves. How can you not appreciate them, even when he’s on the edge of falling in deeper?

The issue is that the magic changes, over time. The first few years it’s a warm tingle and now, after seven, the flames are licking up his arms. Wyll feels tired after he casts a spell, even as he’s able to cast more spells. It feels like the magic is an inferno and could swallow him whole. It’s a blessing when he first gets the tadpole, it blocks some of the heat and makes it easier to think. It’s during this period he realizes the truth; the magic is wearing on him. Physically and mentally.

Wyll has to decide if he’s going to keep the magic or try to get out of his deal. His Infernal powers are addicting in the best and worst ways, like stretching a muscle and feeling the burn. He wants the power to save people and he does a damn good job at it. If he loses his magic, then what? Wyll knows he’ll still be a hero but if he can save more people… it’s not something that he’ll decide just yet but it weighs on his mind the entire journey.

Gale:

The Weave is something that Gale can’t live without. It’s one of the constants in his life and tapping into it is almost as easy as breathing. Sometimes it’s easier. When he was with Mystra it felt like every time he cast a spell he could smell her, feel her all around him. A comforting embrace that shielded him from the outside world. If he felt lonely with her, it was worth it to feel wonderful doing magic. To push himself deeper and deeper into study so that he could feel good again. Was it healthy? Maybe not. And that’s a hard pill to swallow, even years later. But in the moment, it felt like everything he ever wanted.

After her has the orb, magic feels like a vice. The comforting hand turns into a clenched fist and Gale has to stumble through learning to cast even minor spells. It’s like wading through mud in the dark; he’s lost and the Weave threatens to consume him entirely. The first few times he pleads with his goddess to set him free, to help ease the burden but she doesn’t reply. Eventually, he learns how to navigate these new feelings. The sensation of being swallowed turns more into water lapping at his ankles, cold and icy.

The Weave will never feel the same way again and Gale accepts that. After the crown, after the tadpole, he’s happy to be able to touch magic and not feel pain. It’s not longer a lover’s embrace anymore and he needs that, to heal. It’s still warm, still comforting but more like a pair of gloves than entangled bodies. He has a lot of feelings about Mystra but he does still respect her and he’s glad that she respects him. The Weave makes him feel whole and it’s not something he’s going to take advantage of again.

[animentality]

I'm planning out an Honour mode run(which will also be origin Astarion run) and I was wondering if you have any tips for it? All my characters will be multiclassers and I'm planning which weapons and armor to use, but I'm just curious what someone with probably one thousand hours in the game thinks could help

Ironically, I just this week beat the Honor Mode with a friend of mine, hee hee.

Alright, so here goes!

My Personal Team Comp

Paladin/Fighter (My buddy)

Paladin/Fighter (Astarion at first, Minthara later)

Storm Sorcerer (Karlach for me but it could be anyone, really, I was just trying to get the dating achievement- Karlach is actually a terrible Sorcerer because her race gives her smite spells...which she can't use effectively, as a staff user...)

Ranger/ Rogue/ Fighter (Me)

Reasoning:

Two frontliners is always good, to keep the aggro off of the squishier half of the party. Plus, the melee classes get to hit multiple times, which is just, insanely good, and lets you destroy targets. Paladin is obviously the most broken class, but a Paladin Fighter is a great multi class for Action Surge and Battle Maneuvers! Make sure to grab Disarming Attack and prioritize stealing weapons so enemies can't hit you very hard anymore!

You might want to have some kind of Rogue, for sneak attack, and disengage potential as well! Good for long range picks, and quick killing of high priority targets. Plus, two frontliners make it so you always have advantage.

And you of course need an AOE spellcaster of some kind. I think the Warlock is pretty powerful, mostly because of Eldritch Blast and Hunger of Hadar cheese, but the Sorcerer is the strongest magic caster with all their excellent Metamagic passives. They can also regain a lot of spell slots and have a ridiculous DPS output. But Hunger of Hadar is an excellent spell; it is without question the BEST AOE spell in the game.

The key to beating BG3 in any mode is to make distance.

Force your enemies through tight choke points stuffed with magical obstacles and just pick them off as they try to get through.

Hunger of Hadar is broken because not only are they blind, but they're also SLOWED and you get ADVANTAGE on them when they're in it, AND it does damage, AND as I mentioned before, you can throw them back INTO it when they try to get out with Eldritch Blast, which is also just excellent for throwing enemies away from you.

So Sorcerer or Warlock are excellent choices, but I personally have more of an affinity for Sorcerer.

Now.

Why Storm Sorceror specifically?

Because they get the best passives. People say Draco Sorcerers are the best, but their passive is only helpful early on. The Storm Sorcerer passive lets you cast FLY as a bonus action every time you use a level 1 or higher spell! The disengage potential is critical for Honor Mode, plus it's great for just repositioning whenever you want. Plus you get excellent passives like Heart of the Storm, AND you get immunity to multiple damage types, instead of just one!

Why the Ranger/Rogue/Fighter?

Check out this guy's comp, which I used. It is insanely powerful.

You can dual wield two one handed crossbows, and just SHRED everything you come across.

I was literally playing with two paladins and I WAS HITTING HARDER THAN THEM.

Ranger gives you dread ambusher, then you can hit TWICE as a melee class, which the Rogue doesn't get, and then you can get Action Surge, and do it all over again, PLUS as a thief subclass, you have two bonus actions, for your offhand attacks!

It's honestly broken as fuck, and it's perfect for the long range, disengage potential.

Now you have my suggested comp. Keep in mind that you can have just about anything you want, but remember, two frontliners, at least one magic caster with dps potential, and then the fourth should ideally be a long range specialist.

Now then...

I recommend you pick the Dark Urge.

Why?

For a million reasons.

It is MUCH easier to 1v1 Orin in the end rather than kill the whole Temple and deal with her bullshit Unstoppable nonsense.

You want the deathstalker mantle, which is insanely good for rogues, and everything in general

You WANT To kill Isobel so you can have the Slayer Form, which will get you out of tight spots, plus it makes Orin even easier to deal with.

You also want access to Bhaalist armor for accepting Bhaal as your master.

Also, you want to accept Bhaal so you can get Power Word Kill, a very useful one time use ability, which can uh, hint hint, be used on the Netherbrain to end the game very quickly

You also want to have the Bhaalist buff, which helps you crit more during the final battle.

But this now segues into...

Equipment

Now, if you're the Dark Urge...do not kill Alfira.

Knock her out every day in Act 1 until Quil Grootslang takes her place!

You want the robe Alfira will give you in Act 2 for saving the tieflings from Moonrise! It's called the Potent Robe and it's GREAT for sorcerers! But you can have both it AND the Deathstalker mantle so long as you're vigilant and knock her out every day!

Just be careful, because Arron will kill you if he catches you! So try to knock her out in one hit, if you can. Put the game in turn based mode, if you must! Or use sneak attack.

Other equipment:

Spellsparkler! Insanely broken for Sorcerers and magic missile users. You can use it till the end of the game.

Make sure to get the staff Lorroakan is hoarding inside Sorcerous Sundries! It gives you Kereshka's Favor, which is excellent for Storm Sorcerers.

Also make sure your final feat as a Sorcerer is Dual Wielding, because if you dual wield that staff AND Cazador's staff, you get the abilities of both staffs! You can also use something other than Cazador's staff, and use Arcane Battery twice! So you can cast something ridiculous like, say, Disintegrate, more times than should be allowed! Also, there are like, two amulets and one staff that will allow you to regain spell slots! Make sure to gather as many as you can. Sorry I can't name them off the top of my head... I know one is a pearl necklace that you can buy from Omeluum, one is Caitlin's staff, and the other one you can get from the Warden in Moonrise...make sure to grab them so you can restore spell slots. Oh, also, if you do the House of Hope...you can grab the staff that's in his secret treasure room! Which is also great.

Make sure to buy the Risky Ring from Araj! It gives you advantage on EVERY attack, it just also gives you disadvantage on all saving throws...but if you give it to a rogue, and they have the deathstalker mantle, then they don't have to worrry about being hit ever, lol, plus they have sneak attack ALWAYS. no allies next to enemies required!!! it's a broken item, so definitely grab it from Araj in Act 2!

If you have two heavy armor wearers, use the mold from the Grymforge Heavy Scale mail twice. Make sure to then replace one of them with Ketheric armor later on.

You also want the aformentioned Bhaalist equipment. The Bhaalist amulet is great, as is the Bhaalist armor you can buy from the dragon seller in Sarevok's chamber.

Speaking of Sarevok, kill his ass! You want his excellent sword and helmet.

If you're feeling brave, kill Ansur too, because his helmet is awesome, as is his sword, but be careful! That lightning bitch is an honor mode run killer! I've almost lost two runs to him.

Even though he's hard, I do recommend killing Raphael! The Constitution amulet, the gauntlets of hill giant strength, and the staff in his treasure room are really worth it.

And uh.

Yeah!

Good luck!

Let me know if you have any more specific questions, and trust me.

I know...way too much about this game.

But this is just my starting guide!!

I had a blast in Honor Mode, I bet you will too!

Oh.

And don't kill Gortash. Not because he's my boyfriend or anything, but because, he's not really worth fighting, especially not for the loot he gives you!

If you must kill him, do it at the Morphic Pool instead of Wyrm's Rock!!!

[moonselune]

Sorceress tav riding on karlach's back flinging spells and defensive magic while their lovely lady teddy bear hacks and slashes

So so so so so cute I wish Larian would let this be an option in combat

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach x Sorceress!reader | Deadly duo

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

"Babe, please this is the perfect chance-"

"-Karlach no, it's ridiculous,"

"-But babe pleeeease!" Karlach whined, pouting and kicking the blood soaked dirt beneath them. You had rolled your ankle and you needed to get across the battlefield, however there were still an abundance of goblin scouts out there, that despite being goblins, would even manage to pick you off eventually. Then there were the worgs and the- and the more you thought about it, the more you rationalised Karlach's idea.

"Fine."

Mounted on Karlach's broad, muscular back, you held onto her tightly with one arm wrapped around her neck, your other hand free to weave intricate spells and cast defensive wards. Karlach's skin was hot beneath your touch, but you had long since grown accustomed to the heat, finding comfort in the warmth that radiated from her.

"Hold on tight, love!" Karlach's voice boomed over the din of battle, her tone laced with excitement and determination. She surged forward with the ferocity of a charging bull, her massive greatsword cleaving through enemies like they were made of parchment. Each swing of her blade was precise and devastating, her strength unmatched as she carved a path through the opposition.

As she fought, you kept a keen eye on your surroundings, your mind attuned to the ebb and flow of the battle. A group of goblin scouts aimed their bows in your direction, and with a swift incantation, you conjured a shimmering shield of magical energy that deflected their arrows straight back to the source, taking them out in one blow.

"Nice one, babe!" Karlach called out, her appreciation evident even as she continued to hack through the enemy ranks.

"Focus, my love," you replied with a playful grin, "there's plenty more where that came from."

A goblin warlock stepped forward, chanting a spell with dark intent. You responded in kind, your voice ringing out with authority as you unleashed a bolt of lightning that struck the mage square in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground, lifeless.

Karlach let out a hearty laugh, the sound a mixture of exhilaration and pride. "That's my girl!"

You couldn't help but smile at her praise, your heart swelling with love. The two of you were a force of nature, unstoppable and unyielding. You channeled your magic into Karlach, casting a spell that enhanced her already formidable strength and speed. She roared with renewed vigor, her attacks becoming even more deadly as she tore through the enemy lines. When a particularly large and menacing ogre stepped into your path, Karlach barely hesitated.

"This one's mine," she growled, gripping her battle-axe with both hands. You held on tight, and shut your eyes, anticipating the gore that was soon to follow, and soon to decorate you. As expected Karlach and yourself were coated in blood as Karlach leapt and swung her battle-axe across its neck. Karlach roared with strength and carried forward and you wiped the blood from your eyes, a light laugh leaving your lips as you held on for dear life now.

As the battle raged on, you and Karlach continued to fight as one, at one point, surrounded by enemies, Karlach dropped to one knee, giving you a stable platform from which to cast a devastating spell. You raised your hand high, chanting the incantation with power and precision. A massive explosion of arcane energy erupted from your palm, engulfing the surrounding foes in a brilliant display of light and force. When the dust settled, the area around you was clear, the enemies either defeated or fleeing in terror.

Karlach stood, grinning up at you with fierce pride. "Impressive, as always."

You leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. "And you, my fierce warrior, are incredible."

The battle began to wind down, the remaining enemies either retreating or surrendering. You and Karlach stood amidst the aftermath, breathless and exhilarated. You slid off her back, your legs a bit unsteady from the adrenaline and exertion, your ankle still throbbing. Karlach caught you, her strong arms pulling you close.

"So, you have to admit that it was a pretty great idea," She murmered, a cheeky grin spreading across her lips.

"Okay, okay, it was perhaps quite a good idea," You smiled, resting your forehead against hers. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?"

"The best," she agreed, her eyes shining with love and admiration. "Now, let's get back to camp and get you healed up."

You nodded, allowing her to pick you back up, this time cradled in her arms, bridle style. On the way back Karlach raved about your shared performance, you looked up at her, love in your eyes and smiled, nodding along with her, perhaps you two would do that again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope y'all enjoyed it - Seluney xox

[blackjackkent]

Karlach doesn't respond immediately when Hector calls her name. She's standing stock-still, staring out at the water, except for her shoulders which twitch as if with tears, or with some monstrous effort.

"We did it, soldier," she says softly. "The city's going to be all right." Her voice shakes, cracks painfully. "And so are you."

She turns towards him, meets his eyes steadily, her gaze full of equal parts love and pain. And he realizes what is happening only a millisecond before the flame bursts up around her.

She collapses to her knees with a cry of agony. The engine in her chest is making a terrible grinding whine, and winding tendrils of flame shoot around her body.

He remembers the night in camp so many months ago when the flames almost consumed her, how he struggled to calm her, how he felt the first moment of realization that he could lose her. But that was when they still had hope the engine could be fixed. There is no such hope now, only brutal implacable certainty. There are no words he can give her that will calm the inferno.

How much effort was it taking her, all day, just to ensure that she could hold on until the fight was done and they could say goodbye?

Gods, he thinks, and it is a prayer to which he expects no answer. No, no, no... no... please... I thought we might still have more time... The heavy weight of future grief that has sat with him for so many months becomes a lead ball in his chest.

Unthinking, he barrels towards her, falls on his knees in front of her. The heat is tremendous; sweat pours down his face, into his eyes, blinding him, mixing with the tears.

She forces her eyes open to meet his. "Engine's finally cooked," she whispers. "Held on just long enough."

She tries to smile-- in spite of everything she tries to smile, and gods, he loves her, he loves her so much and he feels like something clawed and monstrous is ripping at his heart. "So...?" she gets out shakily. "H- how'd I do?"

He feels choked with grief and love. He ignores the heat and the way it starts to blister his palms at once, and reaches out to cup her face in both hands, unwilling to spare even a moment's remaining touch. He is crying freely now, no sign of any of his control remaining. Before her he has no secrets left. "You were spectacular," he says, his voice thick. "In every way..."

She manages a strange, shaky laugh that catches and sticks in her throat. "For you..." she groans. She presses her hand against his cheek; he feels the heat sink into him and hisses a breath out between his teeth but doesn't pull away. "And for the city, and for myself, and blah, blah..." she says, and laughs again, just a tinge of hysteria in the sound. "But most of all, for you..."

For you... He clings unashamedly to her, struggling for any words that might articulate what he's feeling. It was always for you too... everything I learned, everything I became, every bit of bravery and hope and struggle, it was all for you, always, for how you made me see this city and this world and myself... gods, please, don't leave me...

Don't leave me alone...

There's another burst of heat around her; the shockwave intensity of it sends him back onto his heels. Her hand drops from his cheek and he feels the pain of the burn her palm left in his skin. "Careful," she chokes out. "Hot..."

She hunches over, her breath coming faster now, the animal panic struggling to overcome her remaining composure. "How'd I do?" she whispers, more to herself than to him. "Spectacular..." Another hoarse laugh. "It's the one thing I can't beat, isn't it. Same below as above..."

The surge eases; she tips her head towards his again, her eyes drifting closed. "I love... you..." she mutters fiercely.

Her eyes open again, fix on his; he sees the flame in her eyes and along her body start to take on the blue hue that rises when the emotion between them is particularly intense. "You. More than anything. I saw-- GODS!"

She screams, spasms with the rush of pain, and the agony on her face feels like a knife in his own chest.

She tries to lift her head again, and it takes more visible effort this time. The tears and sweat on her face rise in a burst of steam. "Goodbye, sun..." she whispers. "Goodbye, sea. Goodbye..."

He feels empty. Hollow. Unreal, as if he's watching the moment from a distance. He can't bear it; he wants to scream, to rage, to tear apart reality if it will keep her with him a little longer. But he can't move. He can only watch as the flame begins to consume her.

An unexpected voice breaks the moment from behind him.

"No. Stop. I won't allow this."

Wyll has moved up to Hector's side. His eyes are full of pain and sudden urgency. "Karlach," he says emphatically. "You're coming with me - back to Avernus." He turns his head, meeting Hector's eyes; Hector can barely see him through the haze of grief and tears. "We can't let her die," the Blade insists. "Not like this. Not now."

Hope stabs through him suddenly - hope, indomitable in spite of everything that stands against it. Hope he learned from her.

Karlach has always insisted that she cannot go back to the Hells, that it would be worse than death, and it has been so important to him that he honor that, so important that he hasn't even considered other options, not really. He would have been ready to go back to Avernus with her, if that was what she chose... he decided that before they even left the Shadowlands.

But it was never on the table, because she was convinced that Zariel would be on her in an instant, that she would be taken back into slavery in the devil's army, and she would rather die.

But the last time they talked about it was months ago. Surely... with how far he's come, and with Wyll going to the hells as well... surely between them they could see to it that Karlach remains free and lives...

And Wyll would not be alone in his new life as a hunter of devils, he would have friends at his side...

And perhaps one day Zariel would fall to their combined might, and Avernus be truly free of her cruelty...

Surely...

Surely death can't be better than that hope?

Karlach struggles to inhale a hoarse, sobbing breath. "You can't. You..."

He reaches out through the flame again, takes her hand, holds it tightly. "Enough, Karlach," he says softly. "The three of us will make a new life in Avernus... together..."

"So what do you say?" Wyll asks. "Die here, now, or live on with people who love you?" He crouches at Hector's side, reaches out a hand to her. "Zariel won't touch you. I swear it, Karlach."

Come with me, please... please... Hector thinks desperately. I will follow you into damnation if only you will lead me there. I will carry Selune's light into that burning place and be at peace. Just please... come with me...

If she denies it again, he will not fight it. He will stand here and watch while she lets the flames consume her. He will honor whatever she decides in this moment, however much it might kill him to do so.

But she doesn't fight it. Her eyes open-- and he sees his own hope reflected in her gaze. Maybe it is that she sees, as he does, that there are new possibilities now, with how powerful they have all grown and with the city once again safe behind them, or perhaps in this moment of truth she has simply realized that she is not ready to die.

But whatever it is... she agrees.

"All right. All right..." she gasps out hoarsely. "But we have to go. NOW. I can't hold on much longer."

If the grief and pain were tremendous, the relief that shoots through him now is so staggering that he feels dizzy. His heart clenches painfully and the tears do not stop, and he reaches out and takes her hand in both of his, pulling her to her feet.

"Thank the gods you've seen sense," Wyll says excitedly. Hector suspects he's almost as relieved to have friends coming at his side to Avernus as he is to see that Karlach will live - although Wyll is even more selfless than Hector himself, and Karlach's fate is the only thing top of mind for him at present. "Come! To Avernus we go. Our next adventure awaits."

Their goodbyes to the others are fumbled and hasty. They will find some other way to do it properly when Karlach is safe. There's only one thing on Hector's mind now - the portal in the Devil's Fee, the gold it will take to get Helsik to open a path... and the hope of calm on the other side.

He is no fool - what they are deciding to do in this moment is to abandon the hope of rest and celebration and go to a new war, almost at once. But he does not care. It is more than he ever dared to hope for.

He kisses her fiercely, ignoring the heat burning through her, and they all break into a run.