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[thunderwavesolveseverything]

It's A Plan

[Astarion x Named Tav]

Her steps halted, the world narrowing to the point of a needle. How much is a mortal worth? The answer came to her, not in words. She spun on her heel, determination fueling her stride as she marched back to the campfire. The arguing ceased as she stood before them, her posture unyielding, her chest puffed out. All eyes were on her. Her question wasn’t just one of currency—it was a challenge, a call to action. She wouldn’t be the wildcard; she would be the game-changer. “How much gold do we have?”

(word count: 2,115)

Read on AO3 or below :)

Masterlist

Leave me a like and a comment 💜

The sun dipped below the horizon. The camp was quiet for the most part, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the occasional clink of cookware as Gale stirred the bubbling pot over the flames.  The aroma of stewed herbs, spices, and woodsmoke wafted through the air, promising much-needed rest. 

Karlach found a spot beside Phayelynn, who seemed lost in thought, her gaze distant. The faintest trace of brimstone still clung to Phayelynn— a scent Karlach knew all too well, a scent that spoke of danger and dark deals.

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Karlach started, her voice low and steady, “but I’m the expert on devils here. If you need a shoulder to cry on or lean on—figuratively, of course—I’m here… or Wyll.” She gestured subtly towards the warlock, who was quietly observing them from across the fire.

Scratch, the scruffy white dog, padded softly toward Phayelynn as if sensing her discomfort. He had only become their next unexpected companion that morning—the poor thing waiting for his master who would never wake up. Scratch eventually crossed paths with the group en route to the goblin camp, with Phayelynn having him wait down by the river where they intended to set up camp after they checked out the stronghold. 

With a gentle nudge, he rested his head on her lap, his presence a silent offer of comfort. Phayelynn pulled from her reverie and began to stroke his head mindlessly, her fingers tracing patterns into his fur. 

The magic of her earlier spell still lingered, allowing her to understand Scratch’s simple yet poignant inquiry. “Are you alright?” the dog’s thoughts came through, tinged with concern.

Phayelynn’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile, and she gave Scratch a soft nod, her hand moving to scratch behind his ears. She turned to Karlach, knowing she couldn’t ignore her forever. Her brow furrowed as she considered Karlach’s offer, but her guarded posture silently confirmed her reluctance. 

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about, but—” she narrowed her eyes, the lie slipping out easily yet carrying no weight. She let out a sigh, “Thanks though…I—I appreciate the thought.” Phayelynn replied, her tone measured.

Karlach’s nod was subtle, her horn casting a shadow in the flickering campfire light. “I take it this isn’t where you thought you’d end up being, huh, soldier?”

“Oh no,” Phayelynn shook her head. She shifted in her seat, her frown deepening. The firelight danced across her face, accentuating the furrows of concern that pulled against her features. “Not at all.” 

Karlach chuckled softly, “Same. I know where I’d be—still trapped in Avernus with the Blade of Frontiers on my tail.” she quipped, tossing a sly glance at Wyll. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Blade of Frontiers?”

Wyll, with a knowing smirk, chimed in from his place by the fire. “I guess our meeting does make for good campfire stories, doesn’t it, Karlach?” He glanced at Phayelynn, his eyes softening. 

Karlach hummed in agreement. She then leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. She gave Phayelynn a side glance, “What about you? Where’d you be right now if not for the creepy crawlies in our skulls?” 

Phayelynn grimaced at first, only momentarily pausing her hand over Scratch’s head before curving her lips into a wistful smile and continuing her petting. Scratch’s tail thumped gently against the ground.

“I’d be with my uncle—probably back on the road to Silverymoon by now, most likely— I miss my bed.” she mused. Guilt crept into her tone, “And him….he’s probably worried sick. It’s been days now.”

Karlach’s expression soured, her own losses flashing in her mind. Her shoulders slightly slumped, “Ah, man—to have someone to worry over you—that’s real love.” She reminisced, “My family’s long gone.” she frowned for a second before pulling on a hopeful smile, “Hey, maybe once this is all said and done, we can find him together—make sure he knows you’re alright! I’ll even show you my favorite chow hall before you head back home.” 

Phayelynn’s eyes brightened at the offer, a small spark of hope amidst the uncertainty. “Thanks—I’d—- I’d like that.”

Gale began distributing bowls of the hearty soup to each of them. He retrieved his own, settling beside Phayelynn, but not without protest from his knees. “Nourishment for body and soul. Eat up, my friends. A full stomach makes for a lighter heart,” he said, offering a bowl to Phayelynn with a gentle smile. “And we’ll need all the energy we can for tomorrow.” 

Phayelynn took the bowl with a quiet thanks, offering Scratch her bread roll. 

Lae’zel took a seat across from Phayelynn, her armor clinking softly. Her gaze was piercing and direct. “Human attachments are perplexing. They cloud judgment and weaken resolve,” she stated flatly, her tone devoid of judgment but full of curiosity.

Astarion, lounging against a log, let out a soft, amused snort. “Oh, Lae’zel, where would the fun be without a little clouded judgment?” 

Shadowheart, her bowl cradled in both hands, sat down with a sigh, her expression tense. “Let’s just focus on surviving first,” she muttered, almost to herself, as she stirred the soup absentmindedly. “We need to start forming a plan on how to get Halsin out of the cells.” 

Deep within the goblin camp, they had stumbled upon the worg pens—a place of desperation and confinement. And there, amidst the snarling beasts, they found Halsin. His bear form held both gratitude and desperation, eyes pleading for freedom. But the guards surrounding him halted any swift escape. 

To free him from the pens without a proper plan was to free him from a fortress within a fortress. 

“They’re just goblins. Filth beneath our boots—hardly a challenge.” Astarion scoffed, his gaze dismissive. 

Karlach chuckled, leaning back on her hands. “Yeah, remember that mess back in the village? That gnome we saved? Piece of cake.”

Shadowheart, her spoon suspended mid-air, cut through the banter. “Numbers don’t lie. We’re outmatched. And let’s not forget the bugbears, orcs, and whatever else is lurking in there.” She took a spoonful of soup. Her frown aimed squarely at Astarion and Karlach.

Astarion’s laugh had a wicked edge. “Oh, and that priest with the chains and whips,” he added, his eyes glinting with dark amusement.

Phayelynn’s spine prickled at the memory of the priest’s unsettling offer, which she quickly declined. “Yeah, let’s not meet him again,” she agreed, her voice low and resolute.

Karlach tapped her chin, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Didn’t we let loose an owlbear too?”

Gale nodded, “Indeed, Phayelynn persuaded the goblin to free it.  Let’s hope it’s causing chaos somewhere.”

Karlach snapped her fingers. “That little furball was adorable. Hope it’s safe.”

Phayelynn sighed, a small smile on her lips. “With any luck, it’s safe and sound, just like Scratch found us.”

Astarion groaned dramatically, tilting his head back. “Please, no more pets. One is more than enough, thank you.”

Scratch whined in offense, making Astarion laugh. 

Phayelynn set her bowl aside, her voice taking on a playful lilt. “Aw, don’t listen to the mean old man,” she cooed at Scratch. “He’s just jealous you’re cuter and sweeter than he is.”

Astarion’s laughter halted abruptly, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Old? I’ll have you know that ‘vintage’ is a term more suited for my… distinguished years,” he retorted, his voice laced with a venom that hadn’t been there moments before. 

Phayelynn smirked and raised her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, ‘vintage’ it is,” she said, trying to smother a giggle. She gave Scratch another exaggerated pet: “I’m sorry that the mean ‘vintage’ man is jealous of your superiority.” 

Before Astarion could open his mouth again, Lae’zel looked between them, her confusion clear. “You are the oldest one here, are you not, Astarion?” she asked, genuinely puzzled by the exchange. 

Astarion let out a huff, crossing his arms over his chest and raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Gods below.” 

Shadowheart’s patience had worn thin, her voice slicing through the laughter like a knife. “Enough!” she snapped, her eyes flashing with urgency. “We’re walking into a slaughter if we don’t get serious.”

Wyll, sensing the rising tension, stepped forward with a calming hand. “She’s right—we’re outnumbered, yes,” he conceded, his gaze steady and reassuring, “but a good strategy can level the field.”

“A full frontal assault then,” Lae’zel declared, her voice cutting through the night air. Karlach and I will spearhead the charge. Astarion and Wyll will cover our flanks. Gale and Shadowheart will provide ranged support.”

Shadowheart’s frustration was palpable. “What part of ‘outnumbered’ did you not understand?” she retorted, her hands tightening around her bowl.

Lae’zel’s eyes narrowed, a spark of her warrior’s pride igniting. “My people thrive in such battles,” she countered coolly.

Shadowheart shot back, “In case you’ve forgotten, we aren’t Githyanki.”

“And, um, hello, what about me?” Phayelynn’s voice rose, “Don’t I get a part in this?” 

Lae’zel turned her gaze to Phayelynn, her expression unchanging. “You,” her eyes glinted with a harsh truth, “Your victory over the priestess was a fluke,” she said coldly to Phayelynn. “Your tendency to exacerbate situations is a liability. It would serve us all if you simply stayed out of the way.”

Phayelynn’s retort was swift and sharp. “Oh, I’ll stay out of the way, just like your tact seems to have,” she shot back, her sassy edge cutting through the tension.

This time, Karlach intervened, “Easy now, soldiers, it’s not a bad start.” 

Wyll nodded, “We can refine it. We can use stealth to our advantage.” He suggested, “Astarion, you and I can take out sentries silently. Lae’zel, Karlach, you create a diversion, then act as our heavy hitters. Gale, Shadowheart, prepare to unleash hell when we give the signal-” 

Phayelynn’s frustration surged like a tempest, her voice slicing through the air. “Again, what about me?” she demanded, her voice rising sharply, causing Scratch to skitter back in surprise.

Wyll hesitated, caught between diplomacy and honesty. “I don’t—” he began, only to be interrupted by Astarion’s biting retort.

“He’s trying to find a place for you where you won’t cause more chaos,” Astarion said, his tone as sharp as a dagger’s edge. “Yes, you took down the priestess, but you didn’t exactly tell us how.” His gaze lingered on Phayelynn, assessing her, “And yes, you’ve…contributed to our past battles, but let’s face it, darling—you started most of those fights. Our ranks are already thin, and we can’t afford to dwindle further, caught up in your next panicked thunderwave.”

Gale’s brow furrowed,  “Now, if I may interject,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “Phayelynn has been under my tutelage. She’s more than capable. I don’t think you all are giving her enough credit.”

“She’s saved our skins more than once, including yours, Astarion. Don’t forget that.” Shadowheart added with narrowed eyes.

Astarion’s arms remained firmly crossed, his expression inscrutable.

Shadowheart’s glare intensified. “Exactly,” she said, her gaze piercing.

“Your bardic inspiration is vital, Phayelynn,” Gale attempted to explain. “It could turn the tide of battle, keep us sharp, and make our attacks more precise.”

But Phayelynn was already standing and retreating, her steps fueled by anger. “I get it,” she spat back, her bitterness clear. So much for proving she could do this.“You all can handle it. I’ll just get in the way.”

The cool night air did little to soothe the burning in her chest, the sting of being doubted yet again. Each step away from the fire was a heavy beat; her mind was a whirlwind.

 She had fought alongside them, bled with them—for them—yet here she was, questioning her part amongst them. 

But then, Withers’ gaze met hers, a silent conversation in a single glance. His nod was subtle, but it ignited something within her—a spark in the dark, a flicker of an idea. She remembered their first exchange, the weight of his question still hanging between them: What is the worth of a single mortal’s life?

Her steps halted, the world narrowing to the point of a needle. How much is a mortal worth? The answer came to her, not in words. She spun on her heel, determination fueling her stride as she marched back to the campfire.

The arguing ceased as she stood before them, her posture unyielding, her chest puffed out. All eyes were on her. 

Her question wasn’t just one of currency—it was a challenge, a call to action. She wouldn’t be the wildcard; she would be the game-changer. 

“How much gold do we have?”

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

My heart 😭😭😭

Mortal Astarion X F! Human Tav. Ummm, angst.👀

For decades, this manor offered him a place to call home in the truest sense. 

The hallway was a sacred gallery, adorned with paintings that were not mere canvases, but tangible echoes of their life together. Each brushstroke, lovingly rendered by her hand, captured the essence of cherished memories.

Whenever he opened the door at the end of the hallway, he was greeted by the radiant smile of his beloved, and the hearth beckoned him to surrender to its comforting embrace. Yet, it was the vast window next to it that held the greatest significance. The tender caress of sunlight danced across his skin as he lost himself in the pages of a book beside her. It was here, bathed in the golden rays, that he could truly revel in the miracle she had bestowed upon him – the cure to his vampiric curse, a gift of life, a reminder of the depths of her love and the power it held to transcend even the most insurmountable of boundaries.

Here at home, he had found everything his heart desired.

But nothing is ever truly perfect. Life simply doesn't work that way.  Even the mightiest of fortresses cannot withstand the relentless march of time.

He thought he was ready for it, but not like this.

Never like this.

_________

The poem cited is "When You Are Old" BY W.B. Yeats. One of my favorites.❤️

Alright, thanks for reading the second installment of my "this did not really happen to my couple". After delving into the mortality of my Tav, Amaara, I found myself confronting a fear more profound than death itself – the fear of morbidity, of life's vibrancy fading before its inevitable end. So I decided to yank my CP around this theme. Self-indulgence at its finest.😊

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

Astarion in Early Access: "Hahaha yes I'm very charming and deceptive and evil and sex is so much fun and I really don't care about anyone."

Astarion in the Full Game: "I haven't had bodily autonomy in 200 years and I've forgotten how to be intimate with someone beyond using it to lure people to their deaths and I have so much trauma regarding sex and I seduced you because it's what I've had to do to survive for literal centuries and I needed you to be on my side but I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you but you're so kind and amazing that I fell anyway and I'm terrified of real emotions but I want *us* to be real because you deserve it and I really care about you but I need you to help me because this is all so new and I'm so scared but I want this to work and I-"

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

Bg3 companions as Dungeon Masters xD

lae'zel is always good for a last joke

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

Sorry but

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

Protective Astarion (the mother hen-ing continues)

Tav: You're the love of my life, my best friend. I would do anything for you. Astarion: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleeping schedule. Tav: Absolutely fucking not.

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

Bane of my existence..

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

Unique Appetite

[Astarion x Named Tav]

“I must say, you are full of surprises, my dear,” Astarion purred, a playful note in his voice as he closed the distance between them. A mischievous glint was in his eye as he leaned closer to Phayelynn. “You know, there’s something oddly attractive about a woman who knows her way around…” Astarion’s voice dropped to a sultry whisper, “Discreet body disposal,” Caught off guard by Astarion’s sudden closeness, a warm blush spread across her cheeks. She stumbled over her words, “Well, I—uh-” but quickly found her footing. She couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation not lost on her. “Well, Astarion, I’ll take that as a compliment. Though I must say, your standards for attraction are as unique as your… appetite,” she quipped back, her tone light and flirtatious. She added, “But I guess, like you said, I’m full of surprises.” Astarion’s smile broadened, “Oh, I have no doubt about that. Unraveling you might just be what I’ve been craving,” he said, his eyes locked on Phayelynn with an intensity that made her heart race, “to satisfy my unique appetite.” he finishes, his tone rich with implication.

We're almost to the goblin raid, and I can't wait…..I have so many ideas, and it's been so much fun…also we're closer to the Tiefling party……👀👀👀👀

(word count: 2,628)

Read on AO3 or below :)

Masterlist

Leave me a like and a comment 💜

The chapel door groaned to a close behind Phayelynn and her companions, sealing away the secret of Gut’s fate. The rest of their party—Wyll, Karlach, and Lae’zel— eyed them with a mix of relief and expectation. 

Astarion couldn’t contain his mirth, and his voice tinged with wicked delight. “Well, let’s just say Phayelynn has a knack for… tidying up loose ends,” he said, a devilish grin playing on his lips.

Karlach’s nose twitched, the tang of sulfur and ash flooding her senses. he fixed Phayelynn with a piercing stare. “Why the fuck do you reek of the hells, Phay?” 

Phayelynn met her gaze, unflinching, “The hells? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can we just go now?” Her mind, still buzzing from her short trip to Avernus, waved away the question. “We have more pressing matters—Halsin,” she said, her voice firm, her tone brooking no further questions as she strode ahead.

But Karlach wasn’t convinced. Her eyes followed her, suspicion etched into her features. “Something doesn’t feel right.” 

Shadowheart’s agreement was silent but clear. 

“What happened in there?” Wyll asked, eyeing the three. 

“I have no idea,” Gale frowned. “She didn’t give us any details.” 

“Just that she took care of the priestess.” Shadowheart finished for him. 

Lae’zel, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Enough. We waste time with idle suspicions. Our mission is clear. It’s time to act.” Her eyes, hard as flint, betrayed no patience for hesitation. 

With Lae’zel’s words cutting through the tension, the party moved forward, falling into step behind Phayelynn. 

Astarion sauntered after her, his approval clear. 

“I must say, you are full of surprises, my dear,”  he purred, a playful note in his voice as he closed the distance between them. A mischievous glint was in his eye as he leaned closer to Phayelynn. “You know, there’s something oddly attractive about a woman who knows her way around…” Astarion’s voice dropped to a sultry whisper, “Discreet body disposal,” 

Caught off guard by Astarion’s sudden closeness, a warm blush spread across her cheeks. She stumbled over her words, “Well, I—uh-” but quickly found her footing. She couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation not lost on her. “Well, Astarion, I’ll take that as a compliment. Though I must say, your standards for attraction are as unique as your… appetite,” she quipped back, her tone light and flirtatious.  

She locked eyes with him, a playful challenge sparkling within them. 

She added, “But I guess, like you said, I’m full of surprises.” 

Astarion’s smile broadened, “Oh, I have no doubt about that. Unraveling you might just be what I’ve been craving,” he said, his eyes locked on Phayelynn with an intensity that made her heart race, “to satisfy my unique appetite.” he finishes, his tone rich with implication.

Phayelynn’s initial fluster transformed into a coy smile as she met Astarion’s gaze. “Your appetite for surprises may be as insatiable as your… other appetites,” she teased, her voice a soft murmur. But as they walked, a commotion ahead abruptly tore her attention away.

Two goblins were in the midst of their cruel sport, kicking a prisoner towards a pit where hungry spiders awaited.

Astarion sighed dramatically, his gaze lingering on Phayelynn with a mix of frustration and amusement. “It seems our moments are always destined to be cut short,” he lamented, his voice carrying a playful undertone. “One of these days, we’ll have a conversation without an audience of goblins or other beasts.”

Karlach’s gaze was fixed on the pit below, where two goblins cackled with glee, their prey, now a meal for the spider-infested abyss. “This place is a cesspool,” she growled. “Let’s just hope our druid isn’t spider-chow already.”

Wyll gave a somber nod, trying to rally the group, “We can only hope we aren’t too late.” 

Shadowheart, arms folded, surveyed the scene with a critical eye. “Knowing our luck, we’ll be joining that poor sod soon enough,” she quipped, though her eyes betrayed her concern.

Phayelynn, her conversation with Raphael still fresh in her mind, shook her head and stepped forward, mindful of the edge, “We don’t know that yet. We need just to find whoever’s in charge here— the drow, I think, is our best bet.” she stated, her gaze briefly resting on a hobgoblin warlord inside the room not too far from the pits, seeing him through the open doorway. She took in his large form and the group of goblins inside with him before moving on. “But let’s avoid unnecessary confrontations.”

---

The goblin camp’s corridors were a maze of dread and whispers. The walls, slick with the dampness of untold secrets, seemed to close around Phayelynn and her companions as they moved with purpose through the dimly lit passage.

Gale’s attention was drawn to a scrying eye floating not too far from them, its watch unyielding. “Careful,” he murmured his voice barely a breath. “We’re being watched.” 

A goblin, lounging against a nearby wall, overheard Gale’s caution and barked a sharp and mocking laugh. “Hope you’re not shy,” he sneered, his yellowed teeth bared in a grin. “Unless you like a good game of hide-and-seek when you’re trying to take a dump.” 

Phayelynn squared her shoulders, meeting the goblin’s challenge with a glare as fierce as any blade. “Let it watch,” she shot back, her voice a defiant chord in the oppressive silence.

The goblin’s smirk stretched wider, a grotesque caricature of amusement. “If you enjoy the attention, give it a wave,” he taunted. “The higher-ups at Moonrise get a kick out of that.”

The mention of Moonrise struck a chord within in the group, a silent tension rippling through them. Wyll’s jaw tightened, the name a bitter reminder of his father’s fate. His hands clenched into fists, a silent vow etched in his stance.

Gale caught the shift in the air, his eyes meeting Wyll’s with a look of understanding. Shadowheart’s gaze flickered to Wyll, a subtle nod conveying her support without words.

The goblin, oblivious to the gravity of his words, continued to leer, but the party’s focus had shifted. As the goblin sauntered off, Phayelynn’s thoughts raced. She could feel the weight of Raphael’s words, the push to prove herself. She wouldn’t falter, not here, not now. With a steely resolve, she led her companions deeper into the den of vipers, ready to face whatever horrors awaited.

---

The tension in the drow’s office was thick with the scent of fear and Authority. Minthara’s voice was a whip, each word lashing out at the cowering goblin before her. 

“You’ve already failed me once, and now you dare question me?” her voice sharp and unforgiving, each word striking with the precision of a well-aimed arrow. 

She didn’t need words to showcase her intimidation—her power. Her intricate metallic armor etched with elaborate patterns spoke of her high rank and deadly prowess. 

The goblin before her was the antithesis of her grandeur, a wretched thing groveling for mercy that would not come. “I, er… didn’t mean nothing by it, yer ladyship. Honest, I didn’t.” His voice was a pitiful mewl, the sound of desperation incarnate.

Minthara’s cold and unyielding eyes fixed upon the creature. “Your life, much like your words, is meaningless, whelp. End the latter to save the former—your scouting party has not returned, and half of the intruders escaped your guards.” Her verdict was as chilling as the deepest winter. “Until their sanctuary is found, I will take something precious from you every hour that passes. A trinket… a tongue… a limb…” Minthara’s promise was a dark lullaby, a countdown to oblivion.

“I ain’t no use without my limbs! The lads make the prisoner squeal soon enough, I swear.” The goblin’s plea was a feeble attempt to delay the inevitable.

“Silence now, creature, or I will silence you forever.” Minthara’s threat hung in the air, a specter of death.

As her gaze shifted to the party, Phayelynn felt the drow’s mind intertwine with hers, a cold hand caressing her brain, a sensation both invasive and intimate. The chamber around them seemed to dissolve, revealing a void where reality and visions merged. Phayelynn saw a pale-eyed young woman whispering to Minthara, one of the chosen, before the vision shattered like glass.

The drow’s lips were silken threads meant to ensnare: “A true soul—in such a grotesque form? Tell me, faerie, who are you, and why are you in my camp?” Her tone dripped with disdain, the title ‘faerie’ a barbed insult aimed at wounding.

Phayelynn felt the sting, a hot flush of anger at the term, but she swallowed it down, her face a mask of calm. She knew the game she had to play, the delicate dance of words and wits. “We are seekers of truth, just as you are,” she said, her voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil within. “Sent by the Absolute to aid in your quest.”

Through the connection of the tadpole, she felt the ripple of reactions from her companions—Astarion’s surprise flickered with a spark of delight, his lips curving in a sly grin at her audacity. Shadowheart’s approval was a quiet surge of solidarity, her eyes gleaming with newfound respect. Gale’s amusement was a soft chuckle in the back of his mind, impressed by her quick thinking. 

Wyll’s encouragement was a steady pulse, a silent cheer for her to continue. Karlach’s thoughts were a storm of conflicted emotions, her warrior’s instinct clashing with the need for subterfuge. Lae’zel’s reaction was a fortress of stoic approval, her mind a bastion of focus.

Minthara’s eyes gleamed with malice, her mind lingering on thoughts of victory, of unbelievers’ blood spilled. 

“Thieves have tried to breach our camp. Those who did not meet our blades are our prisoners. The one whimpering in our dungeon will break soon enough— we will continue removing parts of him until he tells us where the weapon went.” she said with a cruel smile.

Phayelynn felt Shadowheart’s anxiety—the weapon the Absolute seeks had to be the artifact she carries. The very same which protected them when entering the camp.

Phayelynn, masking her alarm, pieced it together—Aradin’s crew, Halsin likely the prisoner. This was their chance. “I’ll get the truth from him,” she stated confidently, seizing the opportunity. “I can be very persuasive.” 

“Good. Just keep him alive,” Minthara ordered, “Rozzark, be of use and show this True Soul and her companions to the dungeons.” she snapped her fingers at the goblin. 

“Yes, mistress,” Rozzark replied obediently.

With that, they followed Rozzark, each step taking them deeper into the heart of darkness, where the fate of Halsin—and perhaps their own—hung in the balance.

As they tread softly through the dimly lit corridors, Shadowheart leans in, her voice a hushed whisper to Phayelynn. “No prizes for guessing what this ‘weapon’ they’re after really is. The artifact.”

Phayelynn’s response is a mix of awe and trepidation. “This is—this is insane,” she murmurs, her mind racing with the implications.

Their conversation abruptly ends as they notice the scrying eye hovering nearby, its unblinking gaze a silent sentinel. They exchange wary glances, understanding the need for silence, and continue on their path to the dungeon. 

---

As they entered, the sight of a man strapped to a torture rack—a tableau of suffering—greeted them. Rozzark, with a grunt, pulled the torturer aside. The brute clutched his club, his scowl deepening into a snarl before he stalked out, leaving them alone with the prisoner.

Phayelynn’s eyes swept over the man, her heart lurching at the absence of elven features—this was not Halsin. 

As silence enveloped the chamber, and she was sure there were no cultists nearby, she rushed to his side regardless of whether this was the druid, her movements were swift and sure. 

“I’ll keep watch,” Astarion murmured, his eyes scanning the shadows, alert for any sign of danger.

The man’s pleas were a raw, desperate whisper, “Please—please… let me out—”

“Shush—we aren’t going to hurt you, it’s going to be okay.” Phayelynn soothed as she reached for his chains.

Karlach and Lae’zel stood sentinel at the entrance, their eyes sharp and vigilant, while Wyll, with gentle hands, helped support the man’s weight as the chains were undone.

Shadowheart, ever-focused, interrogated, “We’re looking for a druid named Halsin. The grove has sent us.”

“Halsin? The grove? I… I don’t know… he changed into a bear… but I lost sight of him. I don’t know if he’s still alive… that’s all I know… now please—”

“It’s okay,” Phayelynn said, her fingers working on the manacles with a determination that belied her trembling hands. 

Astarion, relenting—Karlach and Lae’zel were watchdogs enough—moved to assist, his hands steady and efficient.

Gale and Shadowheart exchanged a look, their frustration palpable. “Dammit,” Shadowheart cursed under her breath.

“Another dead end,” Gale added, his voice tinged with disappointment.

Phayelynn, undeterred, pressed on. “He could still be here—are there anywhere else they’d keep prisoners?” 

Wyll caught the man, helping him upright once Astarion freed him from his chains. The man was clearly in pain, and Phayelynn frowned but urged him to answer the question, “Please, we need to find him to help the grove…” She kept out the part about the mind flayers in their heads.

“Below—below… there are more cells below,” the man gasped out, his voice a threadbare sound of hopelessness.

Astarion’s authoritative and urgent voice cut through the tension: “Get out of here before the vermin return.” It was an unexpected gesture.

Shadowheart moved forward, uttering a few healing spells, allowing the man to be strong enough to leave on his own. 

“Get to the grove, warn them,” Phayelynn instructed, her voice firm. Then she turned to her companions. “Now, let’s go find Halsin and think of a plan to get him out of here.”

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…has someone made this joke before??

Every time I see “Dark Justiciar Shadowheart” abbreviated to “DJ Shart”, this is what my brain thinks of 🤣

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

astarion dialogue spoilers

your cat when you haven't fed him for 2 minutes

sry xD

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[thunderwavesolveseverything]

CRYING 😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣

When the netherese orb in your chest ruins your love life for a SECOND time 🤣

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all of you guys may have moved on but mentally, I'm still here:

I know a lot of people don't like it, but this movie was just so chef's kiss for me in so many ways, I have so much love for it and I can't even really put into words why

y'all are just sleeping on it

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

The Devil's Call

[Astarion x Named Tav]

Raphael began to circle Phayelynn, his movements deliberate, almost predatory. Each step was measured, the soft sound of his footsteps counteracting the racing of her heart. His voice was a low hum when he spoke, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the air. “You wish to prove your worth, to be the savior rather than the saved,” He leaned in, lifting her chin with a finger, compelling her to meet his gaze. His breath was warm against her ear. “You are not the sum of their doubts. You have a fire within, a light that can blaze through the darkness. Let them see that fire, let it burn bright and clear.”

Okay, honestly, I think this chapter was my favorite to write so far. I really REALLY like writing Raphael- also, hey, Raphael is here! I hope you all like this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it....this chapter really starts to set up Phay's 'companion quest,' lol.

Let me know what you think, or if you just wanna say hi down in the comments 💜😊

(word count: 2,525)

Read on AO3 or below :)

Masterlist

Leave me a like and a comment 💜

The Devil's Call

Phayelynn’s footsteps hesitated at the threshold of Gut’s room. The air was thick and heavy with the scent of iron and blood, eluding her to the room’s true purpose. She could taste the metallic tang on her tongue and, beneath it, the musty odor of decay and other, less identifiable, vile things that made her stomach churn. 

Gut urged her into the room before closing the door behind them. 

The room was a grotesque sanctuary of the Absolute. Candles flickered in their sconces, casting an unholy glow on the stone walls. The shadows they threw writhed like specters, and the air seemed to pulse with a silent chant only the devout-or the damned-could hear. 

In the center stood an altar, its surface slick with forest blood that dripped to the floor in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Phayelynn’s gaze was drawn to the figure sprawled upon it, a lifeless follower once filled with zeal for the Absolute. Around the room, bones lay scattered without care, remnants of rituals past, and a banner with the Abosulute’s mark loomed like a silent witness to the chapel’s dark deeds. 

A shudder ran through her as she took it all in, the reality of her situation settling like a weight in her chest. 

“What the hells am I doing?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her heart. Doubt gnawed at her, and a sense of foreboding crept up her spine like cold fingers. 

The priestess seemingly didn’t hear her. 

“Ready to clear your head?” Gut’s voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something indefinable in her tone. 

Phayelynn eyed her warily. She scanned the room uncomfortably before returning her gaze to Gut. “What exactly are you going to do?” 

“Whatever the Absolute tells me to,” Gut replied with a reverence that bordered on zealotry. “Don’t worry about that pretty ‘ittle head of yours—she loves you. I can tell.”

Phayleynn squirmed. 

Gut’s next words were a gentle command, “Now, open your mind—open yourself to the Absolute, and I’ll do the rest.”

Before Phayelynn could protest, she felt every probing tendril of Gut trying to gain access to her mind. It was like icy drafts slipping through the cracks, searching for a way inside, cold and calculating. She could almost hear the creak of her mental defenses straining under the pressure, the intrusion insistent and unyielding. 

“It’s all slippery in there. What are you hiding?” Gut’s voice was a distant echo, her words laced with a mix of curiosity and an unsettling eagerness.

Phayelynn’s breath came in sharp gasps as she fought to maintain control, to keep her secrets locked away. She envisioned her thoughts as a series of doors slamming shut, one after another, but Gut worked like smoke, seeping through keyholes and under doorways. 

Phayelynn focused on the infection, the dark spot in her mind where the mind flayer’s presence lingered like a shadow. The image of the creature was vivid, its tentacles reaching out, and she could feel Gut recoil, then redouble her efforts, pushing against her with renewed force. 

“Hells.” Gut’s voice was urgent, a note of genuine concern breaking through, “We need to fish that thing out before it eats any of the important bits of ya’ brain.” 

Phayelynn sighed in relief when Gut retracted. Her retort was half-hearted; her attention spilled between the conversation and recovering from the intrusion. “I’m pretty sure one of these things is squirming in your head, too.” 

Gut’s chuckle was a low rumble, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes, “No, that thing’s got your mind in knots. You’re seeing things—probably hearing voices too, yeah?”

As Gut’s hand lunged forward, Phayelynn recoiled, her stance rigid with resolve. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, her voice a mix of defiance and warning. 

Gut’s grin widened, a predator amused by its prey. “Oh, you think ya’ just going to walk out of here?” She scoffed, her amusement souring into determination. “Ya’ ain’t going nowhere ‘til we get to the bottom of this,” She insisted, her eyes narrowing as she took another step closer. 

Phayelynn retorted swiftly: “You can’t keep me here.” She glanced at the door, where the others waited on the other side. 

Her mind raced with the consequences of calling for aid—exposure, a battle they were ill-prepared to face, the potential ruin of everything they had worked for.

“I guess we’re doing this the hard way then,” Gut muttered, reaching for her club and shield.

But before she could grab them, Phayelynn’s hand was quicker, darting to her side to grasp the hilt of her dagger. She swiped at Gut, but the goblin dodged, slicing her blade through the air. Gut grunted, a sound cut short as she extended her hands, flames flickering at her fingertips, ready to unleash a spell of burning hands upon her.

Phayelynn winced, bracing for impact, but before the spell could manifest, a puff of red maic burst behind Gut. 

Korilla appeared as if conjured from the very air. With a swift and deadly motion, she plunged her blade into Gut’s back and twisted. The goblin hardly let out a gasp as the internal blade pierced her flesh. She fell, the life extinguished from her in an instant. 

Korilla looked up to Phayelynn, her expression unreadable-like always. Phayelynn’s heart skipped a beat. Raphael, the devil she knew all too well, had intervened. 

“Korilla-” 

The warlock held up a hand to silence Phayelynn before she could finish her thought. “You need to watch your back,” Korilla warned with a twitch to her brow. “Raphael can’t always be around to save you. But for now, he would like to speak with you.”

 Fear coiled in Phayelynn’s stomach. She looked back to the door but knew better not to run. There was no escaping the devil’s call. 

The air shifted in the room, quivering as if in anticipation. A heavy scent of brimstone heralded his arrival. Raphael materialized, his presence commanding yet enigmatic. With a glance, Korrilla vanished, her departure marked by a swirl of crimson smoke.

Phayelynn’s eyes searched Raphael’s face for any indication of his thoughts— his disappointment in her. 

“Ah, Phayelynn, my cunning little mouse,” Raphael’s voice was a caress, both comforting and disquieting. “What a tangled web you’ve woven. A path to redemption or a descent into damnation? The tale has been captivating, nonetheless.”

“You’ve been watching?” Phayelynn’s voice faltered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

“Indeed, since your escapades in Baldur’s Gate,” he confirmed with a nod, his gaze taking in the squalor of the chapel with a subtle wrinkle of his nose.

“Raphael, I… I failed you,” Phayelynn’s confession was cut short by his dismissive gesture.

“You made it out alive, which is sufficient,” Raphael reassured her, his tone lightening. “I am here, after all, to help. However, our discourse requires discretion… and a touch more elegance than these dreary surroundings can offer.” With a graceful motion, Raphael offered his hand. “Shall we?”

Phayelynn hesitated, her gaze flickering to the door.

“Fear not. Time will scarcely pass for them,” Raphael assured, noting her reluctance.

With a resigned nod, Phayelynn placed her hand in his.

The world around them bent and twisted, whisking them away to the infernal landscape of Avernus. 

----

In Raphael’s study, flickering flames cast a dance of shadows and light across the walls. The firelight caressed the spines of timeworn scrolls and leather-bound tomes, each whispering tales of arcane secrets and forbidden knowledge—a place Phayelynn had come to familiarize herself with. 

The soft crackling of embers brought a sense of release, and Phayelynn realized she could no longer feel the presence of the mind flayer inside her skull. 

“You cured me!” she exclaimed, her hands clasping her head as if to affirm her newfound freedom.

Raphael let out a wistful sigh, the corners of his mouth turning down ever so slightly. “If only it were that simple, my dear,” he lamented. “Here, within the House of Hope, you are shielded from harm. But beyond these walls, your journey must continue. This haven is but a temporary respite, your quest remains unfinished.”

His gaze upon her was piercing, eyes like twin abysses filled with the mysteries of the cosmos. They held a curiosity that seemed to reach into her very being, searching, probing, yet there was a flicker of something else—a shadow of mirth or perhaps the glint of a darker purpose.

Phayelynn’s brow furrowed in concern. “But why? We’re so close to finding the druid…”

Raphael’s lips curled into a sly grin as he performed an airy gesture with his hand. “Consider it a ‘ninth sense,’ my dear,” he teased. “You stand at a crossroads. One skull, two tenants, and no clear path forward. Yes, seek out the druid by all means, but brace yourself—for he may offer you more questions than resolutions. Oh, my dear Phayelynn, into what a web have you woven yourself?”

Raphael’s presence filled the room, a comforting yet dominant force as he approached Phayelynn. His hand rested gently on her shoulder, a seemingly tender gesture from a being of his stature.

“It has been quite the journey, hasn’t it?” he mused, his voice a melody of warmth and hidden depths. “From the dank crypt, where the shadows clung to the walls like your desperate secret, to the wild encounters with those orcs, your life flashing before your very eyes.” 

Phayelynn’s eyes, brimming with tears, met his. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Everything—I’m so tired… I don’t know what to do,” she confessed, her voice breaking.

Raphael’s chuckle was soft as he wiped a stray tear away. “Ah, yet you’ve survived, Phayelynn. By the skin of your teeth, perhaps, but you’ve endured. And let’s not forget the little sparks of joy, hm? That blooming desire for your vampire—such a  sweet, fragile hope amidst the thorns.”

He leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with an allure that was hard to resist. “My compassion is boundless, dear one. I can offer solace, a balm for your weary soul. But remember, even the most fragrant roses have their thorns, and I am no simple gardener.”

Phayelynn’s skin tingled where his fingers traced, a warmth that seeped into her marrow. Yet, in the quiet corners of her mind, a voice of caution whispered, persistent and unsettling. Raphael was many things, but above all, he was a master of the game, and she was but a piece on his board. 

“You want something out of this?” she asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Nothing but your safety, your victorious return, and your success,” Raphael responded, his grip firm yet reassuring.

“And what is it that you gain?” Phayelynn pressed, her thoughts drifting to Wyll’s pact with Mizora. Deals with devils were never without their cost, and yet…

Raphael’s voice was smooth, a velvet cloak disguising the steel beneath. “I’ve never desired recompense from you,” he proclaimed, “I assist those I call friends.”

But Phayelynn’s mind was not at ease. She pondered the strange constancy of Raphael’s presence throughout her life, his guidance that never seemed to demand payment. It was an anomaly, a deviation from the tales of contracts and bargains she had heard whispered in shadowed corners.

“And you have…you’ve helped me a lot. More than anyone.” Phayelynn confirmed. She thought back to her companions, her gaze now clouded by unshed tears. “They see me as useless. I’m always the one being saved,” she admitted, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t want them to see me that way. I want to be useful. ”

“To accept help is not a weakness,” Raphael said, his hand gentle on her shoulder, his touch light but filled with an unspoken promise of strength. 

“But if you help us, I’m just… relying on someone else again,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Raphael began to circle Phayelynn, his movements deliberate, almost predatory. Each step was measured, the soft sound of his footsteps counteracting the racing of her heart. His voice was a low hum when he spoke, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the air.

“You wish to prove your worth, to be the savior rather than the saved,” He leaned in, lifting her chin with a finger, compelling her to meet his gaze.

His breath was warm against her ear. 

Phayelynn’s breath caught in her throat as she felt his presence behind her, the heat of him a stark contrast to the chill of doubt that had settled in her bones.

“You are not the sum of their doubts.  You have a fire within, a light that can blaze through the darkness. Let them see that fire, let it burn bright and clear.”

He stood before her, his assurance a salve to her soul,  but the promise that followed sent a shiver down her spine.

“Continue to write this story on your own. Save the druid.  exhaust every avenue, chase every hope until it frays to nothing. When all seems lost, when all paths have dwindled to dust, and hope is but a dying ember… I will be there. To extend my hand once more in the hour of your greatest need.”

Phayelynn took a few moments to take in his words. 

Gripping her hands into fists down at her sides, she nodded, her agreement laced with screaming doubts that she fought to silence. “Save the druid, find a cure- I can do that.” She nodded again to herself. 

Raphael’s smile was a crescent moon in the dark sky of his face, both reassuring and ominous. “Remember, Phayelynn, every hero’s journey is fraught with trials. Trust in your strength, and when the time comes, you’ll know what to do,” he assured her.

With a wave of his hand, the world around Phayelynn began to blur, the edges of Avernus fading into the mists of her eyes. “Go now. Your friends await, and your story unfolds. We’ll meet again when the final page is ready to be turned.”

Phayelynn blinked rapidly as the familiar yet unwelcome sight of the chapel swam into focus. Her head spun. As her gaze fell upon Gut’s lifeless form, a single, eloquent thought crossed her mind: “Shit.”

With a cautious approach, she edged toward the door, cracking it open just enough to peer through. Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion were there, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity—with Astarion’s smirk suggesting he found the situation more entertaining than alarming.

“What happened? You were gone for ages. Are you alright?” Shadowheart’s voice was laced with concern, her brows furrowed.

Phayelynn’s eyes darted between her friends, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can you… help me hide a body?”

The silence that followed was palpable. Gale’s eyes widened, the color draining from his face, while Shadowheart let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of the request.

And then, there was Astarion, who couldn’t contain a burst of laughter, the sound rich and unapologetically delighted. “Well, this is more like it!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together with glee as he strode forward, eager to partake in the macabre mischief.

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

i'm crying 😂😂😂😂😂

On this evening of the Fools, I present the dumbest comic I've ever made. For real though, one of these days I want to illustrate a multi-page comic of this scene with an ensuing romp through the city.

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Nebula: I swear to God, Star-Lord, you do one more stupid thing on this mission and I'm gonna pound you into the ground!!

Peter: ...

Peter: Oh? ;)

Nebula: ...

Nebula: Wait- NO! I'm literally going to pound-

Nebula: No, I'm gonna- I'm going to SMASH you-

Peter: Nebula, you're just making this worse for yourself.

Nebula: Forget it! You got lucky this time, Quill. Next time, I'll be the one getting lucky-

Nebula: FUCK!

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

Holy moly Kragdu is back!!!! Could you maybe doodle a tired and dirty Yondu just absolutely killing it at staring Peter down when comes in with an "I phrew up"

Local trashbag pirate gets caught dadding. Immediately turns to gaslighting.