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mochamvgz · 4 months

Text

the first snow (with you)

; enhypen x reader

; genre: headcanon, pure fluff, established relationship

; warnings: none

; 1k words

; tags: @inkelea @bunreis @sobun1est @aylin-hijabi @kbookshelf

heeseung

we all know he's a huge sleepyhead so ofc you woke up first. you staggered out of bed, rubbing your eyes and looking out the window. you caught sight of the blanket of snow enveloping the earth and suddenly you were wide awake.

“hee!! it snowed last night!”

“huh? 5 more minutes..” he groggily muttered in his sleep.

after a decade of trying to shake him awake, you finally got his attention when you said you'd make him hot chocolate if he woke up, which made him sit upright, tangled up in the blanket. can't blame the guy though, i mean, who can resist a steaming mug of hot cocoa?

jay

when I tell you this guy plans out the entire day while you're in the shower and doesn't waste a minute. he takes out the time you'll need to get ready of course, even goes as far as to pick out your outfit and helps you dry your hair and prepares breakfast while you do your makeup! (is he available on amazon??) he remembered you mentioning wanting to go out sledding with him when it snows once so that was first on the agenda, obviously.

later, you asked him if he would like to do the snowman dance challenge with you and he said yes before you've even finished your sentence. this was your first snow with jay and needless to say, it went beyond anything you'd imagined and left you feeling utterly awed.

jake

the two of you were out for a walk after dinner. you sat down on a bench for a minute to take a break and suddenly he exclaimed, “darling let's go to the namsan tower!” naturally you were a little puzzled due to his outburst but he seemed persistent.

“please we have to go! i just checked the weather forecast and it says it might snow tonight!” that got you up on your feet in an instant.

namsan tower is the highest point in Seoul and an ideal spot to visit for the first snow of the winter, there is also cage-like thing for love locks (please look it up idk how to describe it T.T)

you make it just in time as the first fluttery white particles descend from the sky. “quick! make a wish!” you giggle at jake’s enthusiasm and join your hands to make your wish as he does the same. there's no way you're going back home without attaching a love lock for you and jake.

sunghoon

he's absolutely overjoyed about it. this means he can take you ice skating!!!

“but hoon, i don't know the first thing about skating! what if i fall flat on my face?” you whine, but he shuts down your protests and reassures you that he's got you and you have nothing to worry about. it didn't take long for you to cave and the next thing you know, you're renting skates.

you soon find out that you are, by no means, a natural at the activity. your balance isn't the best and you come dangerously close to face planting a few times but your ice prince manages to catch you each time.

of course sunghoon can't resist showing off a little once you decide you've had enough and opt to watch him from the sidelines.

sunoo

snowman! snowman! snowman!

sunoo has been talking of wanting to build a snowman together ever since the day after thanksgiving and cannot wait for it to snow. looks like today's his lucky day. he wastes no time getting both of you dressed in warm clothes and getting supplies for the snowman (buttons, scarf, hat, etc) and drags you out of the house.

this was your first time making a snowman so your first few tries weren't anywhere near successful but you had the framework for a formidable-looking gentleman on your 5th try. sunoo happily claps as he surveys the frame and gets to work scouring for twigs for its arms as you give it facial features along with a scarf and hat so your new friend doesn't get too cold. sunoo inserts its arms in and you couldn't be more pleased with the result.

jungwon

he insisted on staying indoors where it's warm but you convinced him to go out for the winter carnival, eventually. how could he say no to you? as you're walking around the food stalls munching on a corn dog, jungwon squealed out of the blue, startling you. when you asked him what's wrong he said he felt something cold and wet land on his nose. without a word you took his hand and broke into a sprint, pulling him along to the ferris wheel.

“what…are you..doing?” jungwon lets out while panting, trying not to trip. you asked him to wait and make a beeline straight for the ticket counter, leaving him to catch his breath.

next thing jungwon knows, he's on the top of the ferris wheel with you as a flurry of snowflakes rain down. you pull him into a kiss and his boba eyes widen at the abruptness of it, he eventually melts into it. this is definitely going to be one of his most memorable moments with you.

niki

splat!

a gasp left you as a snowball landed on the side of your face, catching you off-guard. you look up to see the culprit snickering. “so that's how you wanna play nishimura? it's on”

you reached down to scoop a handful of snow, shaping it into something like a sphere and launched it at your boyfriend. the battle only ends once you hold up your arms in surrender. riki first bumps upwards into the air as a gesture of victory and runs over to pull you into a hug. the air is filled with your laughs.

“did i go too hard on you?” he quietly asks and only once you reassure him that you're okay does he let go.

“can we make snow angels now?” his face lights up at that.

“thought you'd never ask, m’lady” goddamn it not that smirk! you end up writing your names together in the snow in between the imprints of your snow angels later.

; note: ty @euncsace for the niki snowball fight idea! i hope you like it! exams are creeping up so y'all might not hear from me as often, might even go on hiatus but i'll try to clear out the reqs in my inbox before that!

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autistichalsin · 3 months

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Do you happen to how / have made a good timeline of The Shadowlands? What was there before? What it was called? When it fell? IIRC one of the writers confirmed that the rude pale elf in the list of customers banned from the pub was a reference to Astarion. IDK is that was canon or more a joke that stayed in. Having a collected resource on that would be amazing for plotting out fics!

I have no idea if the banned elf was Astarion- I've seen conflicting things on it. But for everything else:

So, the Shadow-Cursed Lands cover primarily the town of Reithwin along with Moonrise, in the Western Heartlands. Thaniel is the nature spirit of this land. (Sidenote: because nature spirits can't really leave the area they embody, and Halsin knew Thaniel as a child, this implies that Halsin grew up somewhere near here, probably in a nearby forest. Since he also mentions his family being buried in High Forest, which is quite far away, it seems likely that they moved at some point, or maybe they lived in the area for a few generations but still considered themselves to have very strong ties to High Forest.)

As for a timeline of the Shadow Curse:

1142: Halsin is born in a forest, most likely near Reithwin. Over the next years, he becomes close friends with the nature spirit Thaniel. Growing while Thaniel stays the same age drives him to decide to become a Druid, as he realized nature, his first friend, needed protecting. After his last family member passes away (Halsin being the youngest son of an ancient line of elves that faded out due to illness and accidents, according to Halsin's writer), Halsin is "turned over to the Druids," at a "comparatively young age" (per his writer).

Sometimes before 1392: Isobel Thorm, Ketheric's daughter, is born. Melodia, Isobel's mother, and Ketheric's wife, tragically passes away.

Sometime between this and 1392: Dame Aylin arrives in Reithwin. She and Isobel Thorm fall in love at first sight.

Roughly 1392: Isobel dies. In Early Access, this was at Halsin's hands, as a fight broke out due to Shar's influence, causing Isobel to attack Halsin, and him to stab her on reflex. In the full release version, this was cut, and no one seems to know exactly how or why she died. Ketheric is devastated by grief, converts to Shar worship, and gathers an army of Dark Justiciars.

Later in 1392: The Archdruid who served the Emerald Grove before Halsin gathers a group of Druids and Harpers (including Jaheira) to face them; they win, with many losses, but Ketheric uses Shar's powers to unleash the Shadow Curse as revenge. Almost all the Druids and Harpers who had survived are then killed by the curse. Halsin takes what survivors he can manage, gets back to the Emerald Grove, and is appointed the new Archdruid. Some days later, he returns to the Shadow-Cursed Lands looking for survivors, finds the Shadow-Cursed version of the previous Archdruid, and is forced to kill it. He keeps his glaive as a "reminder that victory can taste bitter" and locks it away, along with his journal from that day. (In the original, this glaive/dagger, called Sorrow, was the weapon Halsin used to kill Isobel, and had a different journal to go with it talking about his guilt.) This curse, of course, also causes the nature spirit Thaniel to be split in two. One half is trapped in the Shadowfell, while the other half stays in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, eventually becoming Oliver.

Meanwhile, Dame Aylin is kidnapped by Ketheric Thorm and locked away so he can leech her power to make himself immortal.

1392-1492: Halsin spends the next 100 years researching the curse and trying to gain Silvanus's favor to be able to break it. Almost everyone else abandons the land; Jaheira admits to doing so, and a note Halsin wrote laments that the Emerald Enclave wouldn't help even if he asked. The few people who do attempt to go there perish- a Druid from another community got some information from Halsin, tried to enter the land, and then fell to the Curse. Some lines Halsin had in Early Access indicated that his being there when the curse fell and his empathy with the suffering of the Shadow-Cursed Lands/its people were key in his ability to later break the curse.

Meanwhile, Art Cullagh, a Flaming Fist, is trapped in the Shadowfell with Thaniel. They form a very close friendship, and Thaniel repeatedly tells Art that Halsin- and only Halsin- can save him.

At some point, Ketheric converts to worshipping Myrkul in exchange for resurrecting Isobel, becomes his Chosen, and helps hatch the Absolute plot along with Gortash and the Dark Urge.

1492: Shortly before the start of canon, Halsin meets Aradin and his band of adventurers, who tell him they're looking for the Nightsong at Moonrise Towers. Seeing a chance to investigate both the Curse and the modified mindflayer tadpoles he's encountered, Halsin joins them, then is betrayed when they're attacked by goblins and Aradin promptly abandons Halsin to the goblins.

After that comes everything in canon with the Break the Shadow Curse quest and all of its sub-quests.

1493, roughly: In the 6 months after the curse is broken, Halsin (/and Tav, if applicable) repurpose what was left of Reithwin to become a new community for those needing a new start, the narrator noting that it's "hidden from those who are not welcome, open to any who need shelter." Halsin is noted to have "built a schoolhouse in a day" for all the nine wagonfuls of children who joined their community, and become an unofficial leader of the community. He says that the place is unrecognizable in a good way, with the scars rapidly becoming invisible even to those who know what happened.

Sadly, Art Cullagh passes away sometime between the curse breaking and the epilogue, but he remained close to Thaniel until the end, and it is noted that Thaniel and Oliver come to the community often to play.

I think that's everything for the parts of the Shadow-Curse story we don't directly play through in canon!

Random interesting fact that @ride-a-dromedary and I noticed: the name "Reithwin" is one letter off from "Relthwin", the Elvish word for "refuge". That may or may not be intentional.

#halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #shadow-cursed lands #reithwin

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animentality · 6 months

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I can't stop thinking about how Bhaal would force the Dark Urge to kill their parents, people who loved them, because he didn't want them to have a support system, or attachments to anyone that wasn't him.

And how absolutely, mind-numbingly, soul-shatteringly lonely that must've been, to walk the earth being terrified of getting close to people, until the fear wore off and the rage set in, and then the dark urge began to embrace the urge, because what else could they do, who could they turn to?

And that rage would explode out of them and they'd kill and slaughter and butcher and that little lonely child would disappear as a wrathful adult would take their place and destroy families and murder innocent children and destroy communities, and why?

Because it would've been unbearable, to look at people who loved one another, and be filled with bile, knowing you could never have what they have, so fuck them all, tear them apart, so that they might know how lonely you are inside, or even better, if they survived and inherited the same rage that wore your skin like a mask. Maybe then they'd know just a fraction of what you feel.

Misery loves company and the dark urge was a slave to the god who created them, you literally see what would've happened if they disobeyed. Bhaal would kill them. He would literally extract their blood and guts and organs and destroy them if they refused to be his vessel. Or he would have one of their worthier siblings do it. But either way, the dark urge was trapped, and so they embraced the only joy they could.

I also can't stop thinking about how they were destined to kill themselves in Bhaal's honor. A little puppet on meat strings, a morbid toy for a wrathful god to play with and use until it no longer amused him.

If they couldn't live in this world, then why should anyone else?

If they were to be punished for loving, and being loved, then they should share the wealth, they should punish and destroy people who loved, and were loved, so that they would know the depths of the dark urge's feelings, buried under years of fear and regret and wrath at the unfairness of it all.

But at the same time, they must've also, in a divinely horrifying way, been trying to speak to the world too, through the only way they knew how. That was their atrocious way of communicating, of living what little life they had. Playing with corpses, clutching leftover skin, washing their hands in bones and ashes.

They were desperate and cunning and sad and totally insane.

Their heart must've been a nest of wounds.

And that's why I love the redeemed dark urge storyline so much.

Kressa's husband says something about how the dark urge would've chosen to die rather than be brought back and humiliated, that they would've preferred death to disgrace.

But I think that's the beautiful thing about it.

The dark urge needed to die, in order to live again. They needed to be torn away from Bhaal's grasp and remember what it was like to love people, and be loved back.

All those people you help. The tiefling refugees, the grove, the last light inn, isobel and aylin, the people of baldur's gate.

Your companions, who all believe in you and hope that you can resist your own blood, your bhaal corrupted soul.

Orin destroyed the dark urge, and in doing so, she gave them a new chance, a new life, away from father.

There's just something so...so compelling about that whole story line.

You can be good.

You can be good, dark urge.

You don't need to punish anyone. You can have a family again. You can love people.

It will destroy you in the end, but as you know now, as you understand, wizened adventurer and champion that you are now, being destroyed isn't the end.

#dark urge #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers

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viennacherries · 2 months

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Hiya!! I finished Kiss the Cook a little bit ago and loved it!!! Your writing has such good pacing to it, I really enjoyed reading it!

I also have a request, if you're interested: Rolan (or Gale tbh, works with any spellcaster) is in the middle of casting a spell but Tav/reader wants to tease him so they either 1, pin his hands together so he can't do somatic components, or 2, stick their fingers in his mouth to keep him from doing verbal components. This ofc leads to some nsfw shenanigans lmao

(My ao3 is Nightreader13)

Hope you're having an amazing day, and tysm for making such wonderful content, love ya 💜💜

tried to post it as a gift but it didn't let me! sorry about that.

this got away from me a bit but i hope you still like it! as requested: fingers in mouth to shut up a spellcaster. rolan/tav because i have brainworms.

thank you for the lovely message and prompt and for enjoying my writing! hope u love it <3

read on ao3 here

~~~

Summary:

NSFW, Rolan/Tav

"His hands curl into somatic shapes by his sides, and you realise he's speaking the incantation for Ice Storm. You're both backed into a corner like fish in a barrel, if he lets the spell loose you know you're done for.

You don't think. You shove your fingers into his mouth."

~~~

Rolan's temper lands you both in an alleyway, hiding from Flaming Fists, and you do what you have to in the name of shutting him up. In the end, neither of you stay very quiet.

~~~

Rolan has a fierce temper, when it comes down to it.

It surprises you somewhat, after seeing how he let Lorroaken walk all over him. Sure, he'd backed you and Aylin up when it mattered, but it had taken weeks for all of the bruises from the previous 'master of the tower' to heal. Though, you suppose you saw hints of it at Last Light, when Cal and Lia were missing.

It has its uses, admittedly. When you were ambushed by Bhaal worshippers in Bloomridge Park, and an innocent woman was struck down by one of them, his subsequent attacks were absolutely devastating. You could've stood back and left him to it, and he would've more than managed.

The fact he looks rather pretty when he's angry is an additional bonus; all tense muscles and sharp breaths. You blame your physical reaction to watching him fight on the fact he's the first male tiefling you've been around for an extended period in years. Your stupid infernal hindbrain had been telling you to bed him since he first raised his voice in front of you at the Grove.

Unfortunately, his temper has its downsides too. Like right now, for instance.

The two of you split from the group to search for Mol, who still hasn't turned up after being snatched from the inn in the Shadow-Cursed lands. Pairs made the most sense; more discreet than the whole troupe travelling together while still ensuring everyone had back up. Astarion had smirked when suggested you and Rolan pair up, arguing it looked less suspicious if the tieflings travelled together.

"If anyone asks, you can pretend you're lovers," he'd chortled. "Oh! And if you need to hide you can stuff yourselves into an alley and-".

You had elected not to let him finish that sentence, dragging Rolan away from camp before he had a chance to protest.

It had actually been reasonably pleasant. Despite initial impressions, Rolan is rather delightful company. Sure, he's still a dick, and nearly every other sentence that comes out of his mouth is an insult, but that just makes things more interesting. You'd found you were actually enjoying spending time with him.

Well. You had been. Until now.

It was your fault. You were distracted. He'd laughed at something you said, and you were busy looking at him. You could see a peek of his canines as he threw his head back, and the movement had pronounced the sharp line of his jaw and the muscle in his neck. You'd been so struck with the sight, and the awful realisation that you were actually starting to become attracted to him, that you'd smacked straight into the chest of a Flaming Fist.

"Oi! Devilspawn! Watch your fucking step!"

The man's voice was laced with malice. It's been years since you've been to Baldur's Gate, and it seems in your absence the city has become remarkably less tolerable. You suppose it's something to do with Elturel's descent, but the casually thrown slur stung either way.

"Sorry," you'd averted your gaze in a display of faux meekness. Usually you'd have him out on his arse for talking to you that way, but the streets are crowded and full of Fists. It's not worth the hassle. "Won't happen again, Manip."

"You sure as shit better hope it doesn't, or I'll put you and your Hellspawn boyfriend in the ground where you belong." He sneered around every word, flitting his eyes between you and Rolan. "Fucking foulblooded freak."

You'd grit your teeth, and started to nod, but just as the mercenary was about to step away Rolan had piped up.

"What the fuck did you call her? Watch your fucking mouth, Nul'zereb."

And now you're here. Next to a seething Rolan, in front of a Flaming Fist Sergeant, being slowly surrounded by other Fists as they take note of the commotion.

You raise your hands up in front of you defensively, "easy, please, he didn't mean it. We've had a long journey and-"

Rolan scoffs, seemingly intent on digging his own grave. "Bullshit , I meant every fucking word. They call us Foulbloods but these imbeciles probably can't tell a shit from a stew."

You shoot him a glare, but he doesn't look at you. Clearly he plans on dealing with this the hard way. Idiot. You feel your core twist. He's going to get you killed, for sure, but the fact he's willing to fight a crowd of people because they insulted you is unfairly attractive. Stupid. Dangerous. But really fucking attractive.

"You cheeky demon bastard!" The Fist shouts at him, and yep, the hard way it is. "I'll fucking flay you!"

Rolan is shouting back now, and his tail whips around violently behind him in a display of his mounting rage. "I'd like to see you try, you spoon-eared piece of-"

Okay, yep, that's more than enough of that.

You grab his wrist and utter the incantation for Dimension Door as quickly as you can manage, teleporting the both of you out of reach of the group of mercenaries surrounding you. As soon as your feet hit solid ground again you break into a sprint, dragging Rolan with you as he makes an indignant noise behind you. You hear the group shout, and the thunder of footsteps on the pavement as they pursue you.

Luckily, clad in robes compared to their metal plating, you and Rolan are quicker. You drag him through a few side streets, and then at the last minute you duck into an alleyway. It's a tight squeeze, but it's better than nothing.

You hiss your admonishments through your teeth at him in an attempt to keep your volume down. "What the fuck were you thinking, Rolan? I thought wizards were meant to be smart! You almost got us fucking killed!"

His eyes widen in shock, and he hisses through his teeth back at you as he argues. "Are you joking? What was I doing? You're the one that fucking walked into him! Besides, did you hear what he fucking called you? I can't believe you just-"

"Shut up!" He's raising his voice with every word and you have no idea how close behind you they are. "Of course I heard, but the middle of the street isn't the ideal spot to pick a fight with a group of Flaming Fists! They would've fucking flattened us!"

He scoffs, "as if, I fucking had them."

"Oh sure , sorry, I forgot how great and mighty you are. You obviously could've taken on a crowd of twelve blokes with military training."

He grits his teeth, "I still will if they fucking find us, what sort of hiding place is this anyway? If they spot us we're fucking cornered."

"You didn't give me much choice, did you? It's better this than-"

You cut yourself off at the sound of footsteps in the street. Rolan opens his mouth to say something but you place a finger over his lips to shush him. His mouth clamps shut reluctantly.

You can feel your heart beating in your ears as the footsteps get closer. They're right within earshot now, the slightest noise will alert them to where you are. You hold your breath.

Six of the Flaming Fists round the corner, and suddenly you're peering at them from the alley perpendicular to the street they stand in, barely 10ft away. You're shrouded by darkness, but if one of them happens to look this way carefully you're sure you'll be spotted. You daren't move.

You hear muttering and turn to look at Rolan, and you realise he's preparing a spell. His hands curl into somatic shapes by his sides, and you realise he's speaking the incantation for Ice Storm. You're both backed into a corner like fish in a barrel, if he lets the spell loose you know you're done for.

You don't think. You shove your fingers into his mouth.

His head whips back around to look at you, eyes wide in shock and anger. It suddenly dawns on you that. Well. You've got your fingers in his mouth. Three of them.

Not the most elegant solution to a problem you've come up with, that's for sure. But hey, it works.

He tries to draw back to free himself, and you can tell from his eyes that he's absolutely seething, but you can't risk him speaking and alerting the guards. You press your fingers down on his tongue and push them further into his mouth. His head backs into the wall, leaving him nowhere to go, and he writhes around the digits in his mouth. You press a little deeper. He makes a quiet, strangled noise in the back of his throat, before he finally resigns himself to his fate.

You stare back out of the mouth of the alley. The mercenaries are still there, pacing through the side-streets searching for you, but they haven't spotted you yet. After a few moments, they're all out of view, and you hear their voices disappear into the distance.

As soon as you can't hear them anymore, you let out a sigh of relief.

It's at this point you remember rather suddenly that your fingers are, in fact, buried in Rolan's throat.

You turn back to look at him.

He still looks angry, absolutely. But his eyes are softer around the edges, a little glazed over, and his tail whips around wildly where it's pinned behind him. He's panting a little around the digits, and you realise there's a weight against your thigh that wasn't there before. You raise your eyebrows and smirk.

"Is that a quarterstaff in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

He scowls, and makes a noise as if he's trying to speak, but you press down a little harder on his tongue and it turns into a whine.

This is an interesting development. Not an unwelcome one, but definitely unexpected.

You feel the smirk on your face widen, "you know," you say, as if you're pondering something, "you're much less annoying with your mouth occupied."

He scowls, but his breathing harshens. You grin.

"This is the problem with wizards," you know you're goading him, but you can't help yourself. Your hindbrain has kicked in, and he's right where it wants him. "They're all talk, aren't they? Take away your hands or mouth and what are you? You couldn't even cast a simple cantrip right now, could you?"

He makes a noise like a growl, and you can feel yourself rapidly approaching the point of no return, but you're finding it hard to care with his length pushed rock hard against your leg. You push your weight against it experimentally, and he whines around your fingers.

"Gods, you make some pretty noises. You look fucking delicious when you're angry, you know that? Defending my honour in front of all those people, spitting infernal curses at them. You wanna be the only one who talks to me like that, huh?"

His eyes are locked on yours, and he hesitates.

"Go on, now, tell me the truth."

There's another brief moment of pause before he shuts his eyes and nods.

"Good boy." He groans at that, and the noise sends heat rushing to your core. "Maybe you'll get a chance, but not til I'm done with you. Wanted to fuck you since I heard your petulant grousing in the Grove, I'm gonna fucking enjoy this."

He's writhing against you now, seeking pressure against his erection, but you pull back enough that he can only brush against you. The noise he lets out is pitiful.

"Shit, Rolan. You look lovely like this. Mouth wrapped around my fingers, all needy and desperate underneath me. Suck my fingers, show me how much you want this."

He responds instantly, hollowing his cheeks around you and stroking the length of your fingers with his tongue. You moan at the feeling. His mouth is hot and warm and his tongue is enthusiastic in its movements. Your noise seems to spur him on, and his eyes roll into the back of his head as he closes them, redoubling his efforts as he works your digits. You can feel slick pooling in your small-clothes.

You adjust your stance, rearranging your bodies so that his cock is rubbing against you between your thighs. The friction is delicious, but not enough between all the layers of clothing you're both wearing. Even so, he still moans as you grind into him.

Undoing the clasps of his robes is difficult with just your non-dominant hand, but eventually you free him from the confines of his robe and undergarments, gripping his cock in your fist. The noise he makes is completely lecherous, and it has you tightening your grip and twisting your wrist on the upstroke. He's not sucking your fingers anymore, just moaning around them, but it doesn't matter. He sounds fucking obscene and you're completely addicted as you wrench every lewd noise you can from him.

He's grabbing at your own robes now, trying to undo them, but he's struggling between the movement of your hand on his cock and the distraction of your fingers on his tongue. You pull your hand from his mouth, and the minute you do he groans and pulls you into a bruising kiss. It's feral and uncoordinated, both of your hindbrain's completely running the show now, overcome with the need to rut into one another. You release your grip on his cock to give him better access to your own robes.

He makes quick work of them, pushing them out of the way and pulling your small-clothes to the side to rub his cock against your slit. You both groan, and you lean backwards into the wall behind you as you hoist a leg up to plant it on the wall opposite.

He leans into your ear, hissing in a low tone that has your walls fluttering, and you bring your hands up to clutch at his chest. "Is this why you really dragged us down here? You're that desperate for my cock that you have to accost me in an alleyway? Fucking sorcerers. So full of yourself, when what you really need to be full of is a nice fat knot."

You moan wantonly and he groans against the shell of your ear, rubbing himself against your clit. The action has you keening.

"Gods, Tav, you're fucking dripping. Not sure you even deserve anything after pissing around like that earlier. Tell me how much you want my knot, maybe then I'll consider giving you it."

The logical part of your brain knows he's as desperate as you are, hard and heavy against your core, but the feral infernal instincts that have taken over would rather die than risk him stepping away without fucking you. The words spill from you easily without a second thought.

"I fucking need it, Rolan, need your fucking cock in me. Need you to bite me and mark me up while you split me open on your knot, need your cum inside me."

He teases his cock against your entrance, but he doesn't sink in. His words are breathless. "Yeah? Yeah you need it? Need my knot?"

You wail, "yes, fuck, please I fucking need it. Had me so wet, defending me like that, wanted to mount you then and there-".

The noise he makes is absolutely ruinous, and you moan back in answer. There is absolutely zero upper brain function going on in your skull anymore, you need him to fuck you into this wall right now or you might actually die.

He seems to feel the same, and slowly he eases his length into you. He buries his face into your neck and you wail and shudder as you feel the ridges on his cock drag against your walls with every inch he sinks further. By the time he's sheathed fully inside of you, his pelvis against yours, you're panting and writhing around him. His tail reaches around and wraps around yours, and they snake together in a tight coil.

He's shown remarkable restraint given the circumstances, sinking his cock into you slowly, but as soon as you clench your muscles around him his resolve snaps. He pulls his hips back and snaps them back into you, setting a brutal and rapid pace that has you sobbing. The angle, with your leg hoisted up, has every thrust hitting the soft spot inside your walls, and when you close your eyes at the sensation you swear you're seeing colours that don't exist, that's how intense and all-consuming the pleasure is.

He teases the soft skin at the base of your throat with his canines, and the sharp drag has you whining and baring your throat to him on impulse. It's pure instinct, your body begging for a mating bite, and he growls into your skin as he gives in to his own instincts and sinks his teeth into you.

The pain shoots through you like ice in your veins, but your mind and core sing . The pinch and sting is the perfect crescendo to the mounting pleasure, and with several shaky, panting moans you come undone around him, crying out as your whole body tremors. It's the most intense orgasm you've ever had, and your toes tingle as your release crashes over you.

He cries out, releasing his hold on your throat, and his hips stutter and pace falters as he chases after his own release. You feel his knot growing every time is catches against the rim of your cunt. Just as you start to cry at the feeling, half convinced it's going to rip you in half, he sinks it fully into you and it pulses and expands as he empties himself into you with a loud shout of pleasure. With every rope of hot spend he spills into you, his cock twitches hard into that perfect spot inside you, and without warning you're met with another orgasm which has you squeezing around him as he finishes. He groans at the feeling, low in his throat, and grinds himself into you as his cock finally gives its last, valiant pump of seed.

He groans into your neck, nosing his way up your throat and planting open mouthed kisses under your ear. You whine, and slowly lower your shaking leg back down to the floor. The change in position pushes his cock into you again, and you both grunt, overstimulated and spent. You stand there, locked together and panting for breath. He laves his tongue over the spot where he bit you, sucking a mark over it. The pain is almost too much, but the primitive part of you loves the feeling and you moan despite yourself.

There's silence after that. It stretches for a long moment as you both attempt to catch your breath, stuck together in the tight space of the alley with Rolan's knot keeping you tied together. When you speak, your voice comes out hoarse and blissed-out.

"I'm sorry for. You know. I didn't actually mean to, if you believe me."

He laughs into your throat, and rubs his nose into the pulse point under your ear in an uncharacteristically intimate gesture, "I'm not sure I do, but I'm not sure I particularly care anymore, to be frank."

You laugh too, "fair enough. I'd do it again, to be frank."

You both break down into warm, breathless laughter as you hold eachother. Slowly, you feel his knot shrink and he slides out of you. His spend gushes down your thighs, and he bends sideways to look, before moaning and throwing his head back against the wall behind him.

"That's absurdly hot. Fuck . You're lucky I just knotted you or I'd have you again right here."

You rub your thighs together, and whimper quietly, "I'd let you."

He moans again, "don't fucking say shit like that. That's not fair at all."

You shrug, "wasn't trying to be fair. If you don't like it, maybe you should do something about it."

He rolls his head forward to look at you, opening his eyes and levelling you with a hooded-eyed look that has your core pulsing. "Shut your mouth, or I'll have to shut it for you."

You shrug, then smirk. "I dare you."

In hindsight, you think Rolan was onto something earlier. Doing things the hard way is much more fun.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 rolan #bg3 smut #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic prompt

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randoimago · 5 months

Text

Preparing a Bath Together

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character(s): Dame Aylin, Isobel

Type of Request: Winter Event Thingy

Note(s): These two deserve all the happiness

You could hear the giggling and soft murmurs in the other room as the loves of your life spoke to each other while you stayed in the bathroom to prepare a bath.

It's been a while since any of you had the leisure or time to relax and what better way than in a bath? Then again, with how Aylin gets, you're a tad worried about how much water will be spilled and needing cleaned up. But you push that thought aside.

"I have some extra flowers if you'd like to add lilac to the bath, love." A smile crosses your face as you glance up and see that Isobel had entered the room with a small basket of various flowers.

"I thought I said I'd prepare the bath tonight," you scold her teasingly. "And how did you escape Aylin's arms? She's not one to quit holding her beloveds so easily."

"I was promised that I could hold both of my beloveds sooner if we all helped prepare the bath." Aylin's voice comes from behind Isobel before she joins in from the doorway, one of her arms wrapping around Isobel's front to hold her close while her other hand reaches over to gently lay itself on the top of your head. You know that she'd love to pull you into her arms too, but doesn't want to cause you to get wet from the water you're heating up to place in the tub.

"I did promise that," Isobel confirms Aylin's words before smiling gently at you. "So what do you need, my love?"

"Well, if one of you wouldn't mind using some magic to heat the water up faster then that'd be great," you suggest and you see Aylin go to take a step forward but Isobel moves instead.

"It'd be safer if I did it, dear." Aylin pouts at Isobel's words but sighs in agreement before she sits beside you and you feel one of her arms wrap around your waist.

"And how may I help, love?" She murmurs gently as she leans in to place a soft kiss on your neck.

"You can stop distracting me, for one thing," you tease her and feel her nip your skin in response before moving away with a huff. "Would you like to light some candles and incense?" You ask to give her something to do.

"I can do that, my dear. Although no herb or flower smells as lovely as my loves," she says and you roll your eyes playfully at her cheesy words. She thankfully missed it as she goes to find some things to light.

"She's either going to get frustrated and grab every candle she finds or be pouty about none of them being perfect enough for us," Isobel whispers to you and you and you can't help a chuckle at the truth in her statement before she kisses your cheek lovingly and returning to her task.

"You're the one that made the promise of being held so let's do our part for our insatiable angel." Isobel smiles and nods in response. You could hear Aylin in the other room, loudly searching for candles. Even though you haven't gotten into the bath yet, you could already feel yourself relaxing with the way these two make you feel.

#baldurs gate 3 x reader #baldurs gate x reader #bg3 x reader #dame aylin x reader #isobel x reader #isobel thorm x reader #bg3 aylin x reader #bg3 isobel x reader #randoimago npc event thingy

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linka-from-captain-planet · 19 days

Text

Rating BG3 Ladies Oral Game

By popular (1 anon) demand. With a bonus segment, Does She Eat Ass?

Ratings based on vibes and also facts opinions (controversial: not everyone can be a sex god).

all the main and supporting women + my background babes: Florrick, Talli, Alfira, Lakrissa, Araj, Nocturne, Skoona, Adrielle, Z'rell, Nine-Fingers, and special guest star Philomeen

*Sex is like pizza, so average results are in fact still pretty good. Only 2, 1, and 0/10 are truly trash head. So a 5 or 6 is still a compliment!*

Lae'zel: 10/10. Her appetite is voracious. Her will is steel, and her tongue is silver. As a lifelong try-hard, Lae'zel can't settle for anything less than stellar, and eating out is no exception. She can be a bit too clinical with it at the start, but once her heart is freed from its stone prison, her sensuality comes pouring out her lips and tongue.

Shadowheart: 9/10. This is her wheelhouse. This is what she's been up to for the last 30 years. She loses a point because her brand of teasing and/or being coy occasionally doesn't translate; there's a difference between a slow burn and letting a lover go cold, and she can slip up sometimes and forget she's pleasuring, not torturing. But overall? Who knew such a delicate touch could make you come apart like that.

Karlach: 11/10. She's a natural, and she's ravenous. For touch. For affection. To please, to be good. She tunes all the way in. No notes. She's all up in and/or on that thang, front, back, side to side, not a drop left when she's done with it. The most finesse? No, but a hammer doesn't need frills and lace to knock in a nail.

Minthara: 12/10. Even better than her stroke game. It feeds her ego like no other, and what feeds Minthara's ego is also good for her lover. Dominant even when giving head, and she puts that nose and chin to werk. You're done when she's done, not the other way around. Eats 110% of it, leaves no crumbs.

Jaheira: 6/10. Frankly, Jaheira is just not that horny and so, while her skills are well-honed, she just doesn't have that killer instinct to catapult her into higher tiers. She's too busy to spend two hours between someone's legs, so she aims to get it done nice and quick, but thorough. She's no quitter, after all, and her dedication to the goal is unshakeable.

Isobel: 8/10. A little too much of a tease for anyone who's not an edging enthusiast, but she puts her money where her mouth is. She's incredibly in-tuned with a partner, so once she's zoned in, she's got it locked down. Her focus is unbreakable. Doesn't have the most stamina, but she more than knows how to make up for it. You don't need hours and hours for Isobel to take you apart.

Aylin: 7/10 or 100/10 IF her face is being sat on. My controversial take for this post. But I think that while Aylin's tongue is GOATed and she loves pleasing her partner, it's just an act that isn't enough for her. She wants to touch, feel, suck, lick, caress, tease it all, not just a fraction of her beloved. Her hands and tongue wander. She flits around, sampling it all. Keeping her in that one place, on-task, can require some input from her partner, so they can't quite relax all the way and melt under her. This is where the face-sitting specification comes in. Surrounded so, held down (even by someone MUCH smaller), being taken as much as she gives--------- that's where she really shines.

Mizora: -100/10. Again... get real.

Orin: 5/10. She is a rolling stone. She is a whimsical sort. Eating out requires focus that she certainly has, but can she employ it on a dependable enough basis? She can also get too artful with it. Sometimes A->B is the right path and you don't need to murder someone and stash their corpse in an abandoned one-room house inbetween licks, ya know?

Florrick: 9/10. Look at that profile. That nose. That chin. Those lips. Observe her delusional confidence, her endless fidelity, her relentless pursuit of her goals. Did you feel that tremble? It was your [preferred genital word]. She comes home from a long day of bossing people around and serving the greater good, ready to pamper someone, to serve herself, and she's hungry. Her only downside is that she can be a bit efficient with it; it takes her time to warm up emotionally, and not treat you like just another item on her to-do list.

Talli: 8/10. Happy to be of service, always. A very thorough, straightforward, good-game-giving mouth. Lacks creativity, but completely consistent, reliable, and (if desired) romantic.

Alfira: 8/10. A little clumsy, a little distractible, but you can't beat the dedication. Amazing breath-holding capacity. Unlike some other be-fanged women, she loves her teeth and knows how to deploy them. She keeps ya guessing, which does have a few negatives, but overall? More than makes up for her complete lack of stroke game.

Lakrissa: 6/10. She talks a big bigger game than she actually has, surprisingly. She's a little too restless, a little too fidgety. She likes to use more of her body than she can while going down, so it's kind or boring for her tbh. She likes the taste and the emotional/mental experience for herself, more than she likes actually doing it. But for her love? Anything. She'll sit down there for hours if need be.

Araj: 2/10. The future Matron Mother of the Restored House Oblodra does not get on her knees. You try to tell her that there are many other options, but she doesn't listen. Only goes down when she's trying to steal your secretions for her alchemy. It's not worth it.

Nocturne: 7/10. Like Shadowheart, she had to be entertaining herself somehow for all the decades in the cloister so her skills are above average. But she's a little more submissive, and tends to pigeonhole herself; she can't quite pull off a toppy tongue sesh. If she's not on her knees, she doesn't quite know how to do it. Certified biter, interested in the intersection between pleasure and pain.

Skoona: 7/10. A little self-conscious of her tusks, but she's always found the act romantic and fulfilling. Likes to hold hands during.

Adrielle: 3/10. She's a little self-conscious, a little too intimidated. A little too desperate to be good. In one's own head is the worst place to be when trying to go down on someone, and that's where she is. Will get you there, but hardly a world-shaking experience.

Z'rell: 1 Billion/10. Look, it's still not for YOU, but in case you were wondering: at least 17 someones out there are getting it ATE. Front, back, side to side, axes that don't even exist in our plane. You're missing out. Pathetic.

Nine-Fingers: 7/10. Makes your legs shake, but can be a little too intense. She can come on too strong. She can make it feel like a competition, or like there's something else on her mind that's not you. Keeping her engaged is a You problem, but if you can? Very good.

Philomeen: ?/10. She does not go down, ever; she's made that mistake before long ago (making the hoes think she cares about them) and she's nawt gonna make it again!!

In addition: Does she eat ass?

Eats ass completely unprompted: Lae'zel, Minthara, Orin, Z'rell Offers to eat ass: Shadowheart, Karlach, Aylin, Florrick, Nocturne Eats ass if asked: Jaheira, Isobel, Lakrissa, Nine-Fingers Considers it, but decides eating ass isn't for her: Alfira, Talli, Skoona Definitely doesn't eat ass: Mizora, Araj, Adrielle, Philomeen

#nsft #overall these skew high bc these women mostly all have that “neurotic repressed freak” vibe that lends itself to throatGOAT status #also more alcohol was involved in this one and that's prob apparent

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 8 months

Note

Okay this might be a strange request but please bear with me, so I'm not sure if you've watched or listened to this song from One Piece but basically when sung it summons the king of demons (It's called Tot Musica by Ado) so my request is what would Astarion do if Tav had the same ability? Like their in the middle of a battle or something happens that makes Tav feel hopeless or just done with everything, so they sing the song summoning darkness and etc. But as they sing its clear and obvious that it's affecting/hurting them mentally, physically, and emotionally, but they can't seem to stop, like their hypnotized.

How would Astarion react, and how would he snap them out of it and stop the song?

I never watched nor listened to One Piece but I know something similar to want you're talking with Drakenguard 3. So I can write this.

Warning: act 2 spoilers, loss of autonomy (reader), vampirism, tears of blood cuz vampires can shed tears of water (see castlevania Dracula cry), mention of trauma (Astarion and reader)

The wails of a banshee echo and bounce against the stone walls of this epic battle. The Absolute— Myrkul, Lord of the Dead, is fought by a rag-tag team of adventurers bound by fate in the shape of the worms inside their skulls. At the start of the battle they had at first gained an advantage by freeing Dame Aylin. The skeletons proved easy to dispatch but the real challenge is the Lord of the Dead.

Wave after wave of his power, his mighty form striking none directly but the ground and underground lair shook. The battle quickly began to turn for the worst… Gale readied the Netherese Orb only to be sent into the soul cage by the Dead God.

"You will suffer for your folly."

You are not going to die. You swore to outlive your master! The wail of a banshee, an old bard spell, is not one to be used lightly as it can damage the singer's voice for a time. You caused most of the undead to become frightened or charmed by your song to turn against their master.

More.

The more you sing, the more you feel the bitter sting in your eyes, your throat aches as the pain is setting. The distraction is enough to allow the others to gather themselves until…

Higher.

Soon your song is no longer a song but a screening scream piercing the very souls and God who dares challenge one chosen by the dark father!

Tears of red run down your face, the walls trembling at the might of your God's power.

Those blessed by Kanchelsis would not fear his wrath, his unholy blessed night stalkers, his children of the night. Astarion had not been affected after your song changed, the panic already driving his body and spell to get to your position fast.

Long ago you met a woman on the road, a dead one. The creepy part was her similarity to you, a young bard from a small village. Her throat was ripped out, her eyes gored out, fingers broken or ripped off. Her flute was missing.

To the others, this is another sorry murder, but you know the message— Hearing it loud and clear: He knows where you are.

The desperation, the fear, the anger, the beast feeds on this as your scream summons a piece of the Abyss, only piece is enough to draw forth the large shadow of a creature with sharp glowing red eyes. The area becomes darkness, and those with darkvision can see the many shades of grey outlining the body of the large bat-like gargoyle beast coming out of the Abyssal portal under the bony monster.

"You are mine, Myrkul." It laughs with twisted glee as its winged arms pull and tear.

Your hands wrap around your throat squeezing, everything is painful as if knives are cutting into your throat. Words whispered into your mind in a language you do not understand nor truly want to understand.

You feel someone touching you, holding you yet you are blinded by bloody tears.

Astarion tries to shake you out of the snare of the enchantment, talking to you is pointless as your mind is on the edge of truly being overtaken.

Then you feel warmth, not heat but the warmth of something familiar.

It draws you in, a hum of approval as the spell is broken.

A kiss, silly as it may seem, it worked. Gods, thankfully it worked. He clings to you as your body gives out, his arms holding on as he goes onto his knees keeping you as safe as he can, his lips never leaving yours.

Kanchelsis has claimed the upstart God of the Dead, it is not about saving the world, it is about domination.

"Such… Evil." Dame Aylin speaks breaking the silence as others down below stare in horror as gods return into the portal, color and light returned to the area.

"By the Triad."

"We all saw that right?"

"It was so cold… Colder than the Shadowfell."

Each of your companions is at a loss for words.

"Where's (Name)?" Karlach sees Wyll helping Gale but no sign of you or Astarion.

"Shadowheart, come quickly!" The distressed tone is not ideal for him to let out but you aren't responding anymore once he stopped kissing you.

"Moon Maiden have mercy."

Returning to the surface to let Isobel and Shadowheart work together to heal your body. You have lost too much blood, your magic is tainted, and there are strange blood runes all over your skin.

It is hours, far too many hours, before you awaken. Your eyes empty for a moment before the light in them returns.

"Stop!" You cry out jolting upwards as you awaken from the nightmares that trapped you. "Huh… How?" The room is not empty, every one of your companions is sleeping around the inn room of Last Light, all look exhausted. Especially the one sleeping in a chair with his head on your bed. Astarion looks a mess, though you have seen it many times after rough battles, the way he looks right now is worrisome. They all look like a wreck.

Lae'zel head lifts up and her mouth, "You're a wake." The sigh of relief. You touch your head as others start to wake up.

What happened is the question in your mind yet you know the answer and fear the consequences of it.

#reader insert #anon ask #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x mc #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 astarion #astarion bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x vampire spawn!tav #astarion

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 1 day

Text

Fic Prompt #3

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm, Shar; also features Selûne, and Balthazar, that wretched walking content warning Length: ~4000 words Summary: Aylin prays in the Shadowfell, to a mother who can't hear her - and an aunt who can.

What can silence the Nightsong? @stachless prompted "nightmare" and also drew [this art]. Brainworms heavily inspired by @featherwurm's [art] and its followup [here]. Also inspired by a bunch of Aylin's Shadowfell dialogue, the extremity of what she went through, her mother, and the Jesus-Christ-Superstar-Gethsemane of it all. Then we have my own need to see her cherished and taken care of and protected, along with a bit of weird fascination with how the Calm Emotions spell is actually supposed to work.

Hurt/comfort. Warnings for canon-typical violence and references to torture.

---

Once, there would have been a steady hum, a warmth blooming eternal in her chest. An undeniable, reassuring presence, like a hand on her shoulder, and a loving murmur in her ear as if her Mother were there, but only just out of sight. Now there is nothing.

There is worse than nothing; there is a tug, a pull, a leeching so unnatural and wrong it makes bile rise in Aylin's throat. Makes her first steps into a stumble, as she pulls herself to her feet from where the latest Sharran had felled her, leading her so close to the bounds of her enclosure that the sickly glow of the grasping claws starts to manifest.

So instead she kneels, as she has done countless times before: in magnificent temples and humble shrines, in muddy battlefields before and after skirmishes, in winter storms and in bright summer showers. Privately, or as one in a crowd of worshippers. Or, a traitorous little shard of her heart pipes up, with Isobel, whose devotion was always catching like the most pleasant of flames.

"Moonmaiden, hear me," once she finally speaks, Aylin's voice is strong to her own ears, rising clear and resonant from the depths of her chest, unhampered by her predicament or by the bitter sting of grief. It is a bracing thing to note, and it makes it easier to straighten her shoulders and persist.

The odious essence that permeates the Shadowfell makes calm, comfortable meditation a distant dream, but Aylin does her utmost to shake off the worst of it. She chooses instead to focus on going through all the well-practised, familiar, reassuring motions. Hands open, relaxed, palms resting on her thighs, eyes closed but not clenched shut, chin upturned slightly, waiting for the light of an absent moon.

"Weaver of the silver loom, look upon me with mercy and pluck the threads of my fate to lead them away from this place, away from this dungeon of loss and dark and grief."

It is easy, natural, to intone the words, even as the recitation feels slightly more formal than Aylin is used to. The conspicuous absence surrounding her and blanketing her heart does nothing to deter her.

"Guide me out of the grasp of shadow. Turn the tides, so that I may vanquish Your enemies once more and shield Your faithful from the darkness in turn, under Your watchful eye."

Ketheric will bleed, a Sharran plot that was allowed to fester and grow much too far will finally be thwarted, and Reithwin salvaged, recovered, a haven for those basking in the light of the moon once more.

Surely, whatever time Aylin has spent here… surely it is enough.

Her only answer is a coward's blow; a would-be justiciar who has snuck down to her prison oh-so-quietly, who has chosen to anoint herself with the blood of an unarmed, unaware opponent knelt in prayer.

In the rush of her own lifeblood Aylin could swear she hears laughter.

"Hear me. Moonmaiden," the words are ground out this time, slowly and painstakingly. "Our Lady of Silver. Shine Your gleaming light upon me, dispel the grip of shadow and pain, bolster my heart with Your radiance…"

There is an arrow lodged in her flank, and another one near her shoulder blade, still burning with the telltale traces of poison. This one wanted to make sure - a good Sharran: thorough, prepared. Lurking in the shadows and well out of reach, even for this. Truly meant for his mistress' embrace.

"I, whose hand has ever borne Your sword against wickedness gladly and with pride…"

The third in what can't have been more than, what, a day? But how to tell, when her own body falling and rising is the only thing she can rely on to try to gauge the passage of time? In any case, Ketheric is ramping up the production of his army, that much is clear.

So much of Reithwin has paraded before her eyes. People she had lived beside, even if for a little while, coming here to kill her. Some of them acknowledge the fact, even - let her know they never trusted her, sneer about their welcome and respect being but pretence, or forced by fear of divine retribution. Others avert their eyes and pretend they weren't the ones to help her pick out flowers for a bouquet to gift Isobel early in their courtship, just as they weren't the ones to help with the delicate petal-cups of the moonflower arrangements for her funeral.

If she thinks of what has happened, what must be happening to the ones who she hasn't faced here, the rage mixed with the bitter bite of failure threatens to overwhelm her utterly. They were hers to protect. Just as Isobel was.

She can't reach the accursed arrow in her back to pull it out. The sting mounts and mounts and meets the agony driven deep in her heart.

"Moonmaiden, hear me. As You guide the lost back onto their paths, as You set before our feet roads out of darkness, I pray. For my path is winding, never-ending, yet I have ever heeded--"

How much more? How much, how much, howmuch…

The spear to the heart she would have taken for one of the quick and merciful ones - but no. Because the Sharran misses, curse them, and then stops to deliver a tirade - before being swallowed by vicious, hungry shadows.

"The tides turn, inexorably," she mutters, half-dazed with blood loss, stumbling to her knees. "The tides, they… in Your strength, as all things, they…"

Aylin's head lolls forward, proud chin meeting chest, prayer cut short. "Enough. It is enough. I have borne--" What, she cannot say. Penance? Some crucial holy burden? Instead, she ekes out syllables around the agony in her chest, where the spear is still lodged. The spear left in her in disgust, once the acolyte realised it was a mere inert replica of the artefact they sought, incapable of delivering true death, of elevating them beyond a mere ordained assassin. Before their own fate was sealed so very efficiently.

One does not become the Chosen of a goddess by choosing themselves, after all.

"Please."

In the silence, she scrabbles with bloody hands and pulls the spear out herself, inch by painfully slow inch. Throws it into the abyss with a roar of fury and disgust, for she has no use for a weapon here. She cannot fight and tear and kill her way to freedom, a sword that cannot cut itself free. The best she could achieve by destroying her captors here and now would be oblivion, to be forgotten here.

Lost.

"Mother," she whispers, and feels burning shame at prayer being reduced to pleading. "Mother, please."

Nothing.

The necromancer visits again, when she is barely recovered from the last freshly-made justiciar, still catching her breath and clutching at newly-unshattered ribs.

Aylin has goaded him before. Barked out whatever insult came to mind, every threat and vow of vengeance most bloody on both him and his coward of a general, who so adamantly refuses to come face her. But this time - she will find she cannot remember, after, what it was she said that led to this - if she even said anything.

But whatever she does or mutters or simply is right then crosses some threshold, unfathomable to her. Something that permits such aimless, gratuitous cruelty, justifies it in the mind of the truly monstrous.

Balthazar is uncharacteristically silent, the usual sick gloating absent, when he gestures for the hands to pull her to her knees, to hold her in place; when they grip her neck and claw her head back and rip her jaw open against all her mighty strain, as if she is not even trying to resist. When she tastes the rust of the blade and then the rust of her own blood.

Her mouth burns, jaw and chin and palate aflame, agony spreading from the carelessly cut lip down to her throat. She spits blood, and blood, and blood, but it will not stop, and it chokes her. Dizzying, mortifying. Hunched over after she is released, one hand clenched in the dirt of her rocky prison, barely holding her up, the other scrabbling at her neck.

She cannot speak aloud the words that old and young, great and small throughout Faerûn know will bring the Moonmaiden's keen-eyed, loving gaze to them. But then, she has never really needed to. Selûne has ever kept watch over Her daughter, Her sword.

Mother. Aylin tries to think, upwards, upwards, imagining flying up to pierce the shadowy dome. Mother, hear me, when they would silence me.

Nothing.

Balthazar shuffles into her blurred view, doing something with a jar, and silver-flecked muscle and--

And what will he do with it? What does he do with all else he steals from her? It is a horror she does not want to contemplate.

Her tongue, made for poetry, made for battle cries and striking fear into the unworthy and the wicked, into the scheming and the twisted. Made for jubilation and proclamation, made for testifying the glory of her Mother and the good, righteous cause she championed so gladly. Made to argue and philosophise. Made for joy and pleasure taken in the mortal and worldly and wondrously, preciously, divinely mundane: tasting fine wine and succulent food and the sweetest of lips and the softest of skin and most cherished of flesh, all hers, once, all of it -- all of it taken, gone.

Lost.

Instead, violation and violence. A cut throat, and spilt guts. And here comes one with a cruel mace - atypical, for Sharran clergy. She would laugh at herself, a half-mad thing, at the spark of absurd, sick excitement at being murdered slightly unusually - but what else is there? What is there, here, in the void?

Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. Pain, or nothing.

Her.

Aylin does not attempt to pray when she next rises. She screams curses and barely-coherent tirades against her hated, hateful aunt, if only for there to be something, anything else.

"Silence," comes that rarely-heard voice. Despised, yet known. "My sister spawned a rabid dog, it seems."

A gleam of feeble triumph warms Aylin's heart. A response provoked. A goddess' hand forced, even if in a matter so very small. She stands, as tall and proud as she can in bloodied rags. "I was chosen to bear her light, to be her sword, to champion her cause--"

"She did not choose you," the voice cuts her off, growing louder and closer, echoing in the endless chasm of its domain, surrounding. "She made you. And what a pitiful job she did of it, too." The disdain is palpable, radiating out of every wisp of shadow swirling around the lonesome platform. "She whelped you to hunt down my faithful."

"She charged me with protecting her own." Aylin glares into the darkness, turning this way and that, trying to fathom where to best aim her fury from her perch in the eye of a growing storm.

"She who seeks always to steal from me, to supplant me, she who knows no measure, whose ambitions know no end."

The raging shadows swirl ever closer, angrier and angrier still. But Aylin refuses to be cowed, refuses to yield, faced with the one who gives her purpose. For the Sword of the Silverlight is a necessity, yes, but it is not Selûne who makes it so. It is her spiteful sister and her misguided followers, ever prowling and looking to harm.

"You lie, as always, Lady of Loss. She wishes only for peace, for her faithful to be left to make their own way, to flourish. Without your schemes, there would be no need for my service at all."

A clap of thunder behind her; Aylin turns, but not in time to see the grasping shadows that rush towards her, wind around her legs and arms, around her neck and chest. Restraints nothing like the eerie, necrotic claws, but just as cold and cruel and unmoveable.

"Ah, so my sister needs to bind her paladins with chains of bloodline to ensure they serve her?" The voice is mocking, and so very, very near. As if Shar herself is standing there, speaking in Aylin's ear as her shadows mercilessly pull her down. "Perhaps, for once, she is right. For I have claimed a prize from her already, and he has brought me you."

"I am not bound," Aylin spits out, pulling against her fetters, grinding her knuckles to dust and bone on the cold stone of her prison. "I am not bound. I choose, I serve, I am faithful--"

"You are a failure."

"I am-- I am Dame Aylin Silverblood, Sword of the Moonmaiden, Moon Daughter, Bearer of the Silverlight. When I am free, there will be a mighty reckoning. I will bring it on wings of silver, on the edge of my blessèd sword, in the name of my Mother, and in my own name."

"You are a failure," the darkness repeats, unphased, calm, certain, factual, "and so you have been discarded."

"I am," Aylin starts, barely forces out, then stops, gritting her teeth against the burning pressure, the rancid atmosphere cloaking her prison. "I am--"

"I am the Nightsinger and you are my Nightsong, and so it is mine to silence you."

The darkness becomes tangible, cloying, suffocating. Aylin tries to draw breath but finds that she cannot. Cannot see through the thickening murk even to the sickly blazing runes of her prison-circle.

"The moon does not shine its foul light here, and it never will. Here, in my perfect dark, we are gloriously free of it. Howl your foolish prayer-ditties, Nightsong - they will fall upon no ears. Your ever-whimsical, capricious mother has abandoned you to my care."

The shadows tighten and Aylin chokes on darkness like she choked on blood. Her back burns with phantom pains, spiking up and down her shoulder blades, and every wound and indignity feels visited upon her again. A scream feels like it should tear itself from her throat, but there is only silence.

"In the creation of my army, I have given you purpose. Much more than my pathetic sister ever has. And once that purpose is fulfilled, I will silence you forever."

She finds herself sprawled on the ground, suddenly free of the restraints, as the final, threatening proclamation rattles through her muscle, deep into her bones.

"The loss of a daughter," Shar sounds amused, almost, a cruel smile tainting her words, "is devastating, I hear. It will make a fine gift for my deserving kin. Now rise. One approaches who must prove their worth."

Aylin's mind is flooded with Isobel, Isobel, Isobel, and her chest feels like it will cave in on itself.

The air rushes in, finally, and Aylin tastes blood in her mouth from a bitten cheek, feels a pounding in her head - and very little else. A cool balm, a much-needed distance has been put between her and the red-hot thornvine of the past century, and it allows her to breathe.

She blinks, and knelt before her is Isobel, alive and whole, in a simple nightgown, hands aglow with the remnants of a freshly cast spell.

"Aylin?" She asks, cautiously, with the telltale downturn of the corner of her mouth that means she is concentrating. Her eyes are wide and filled to the brim with such tender concern, the restrained but clearly pained tremble in her voice more agonising than any Sharran knife. She keeps her distance, though the tension and the need to leap forward, to be close, to hold, is palpable.

"You were… I tried to wake you, but you weren't responding. It was like you were lost to me."

Lost.

"I am…"

Aylin stops, because she does not know what words could follow and not be lies.

"This will only last a minute. Please, stay with me, Aylin. Alright?"

Aylin nods.

"Breathe with me."

Aylin does.

"May I touch you?"

Aylin hesitates, where she should have roared her enthusiastic consent. But her entire body still feels raw.

"...yes," she says only when she truly feels it to be true, and Isobel seems… proud?

The lightest, gentlest hand comes to rest on her cheek and jaw. Familiar, loved, ever so slightly colder than… than before. Isobel.

She would have nuzzled into it happily, usually, pressed a kiss or two to the soft palm. It is a bit much at the moment, though, just that little bit too close, and so Aylin slowly pries it off her cheek and holds the hand between both her own instead.

Then the minute is up and the spell wears off, and the veil that was between her and what seems like the rest of the world abruptly falls away. Aylin draws air in with mounting effort, then lets it out in a hiss at the flood of sensation.

But the hand between hers serves to ground; Isobel's eyes, luminous in the moonlight that seeps into the room, hold her own and seem to encompass her entire.

"Should I cast it again?" Isobel asks softly, free hand already rising towards Aylin's temple.

She moves to decline, muster up some sort of casual air, but stops herself at the last moment. Digs down to the soldierly disposition that has been a help to her, an ingrained way to make sense of so much. It does no good to overestimate one's own capability. Her mind rattles off, almost of its own accord. A correct measure of one's strength is key to all engagements.

"Once-- once more, please, my love," Aylin asks, and is mildly surprised at the complete lack of shame and nauseating sense of inadequacy that had, for a time, become her stalwart companions.

"As many times as you need," Isobel says reassuringly, already leaning forward and reaching out with both hands. "There is no shame in accepting help."

It is a song and dance they both know well by now. The words Isobel has spoken what must be hundreds of times, in an effort to make them real and true to Aylin.

Her touch on what feels like the sides of Aylin's troubled mind accompanied by a murmured incantation take all of a second, but the coolness and numbness and the slight drowsiness ripple outward and encompass her again. The separation from herself, the distance from everything, is always mildly discomfiting and ever-so-slightly reminiscent of the Shadowfell - a reassuring fact, as Aylin takes it to mean she is in no danger of craving it, or growing to depend on it.

It is but a moment of reprieve each time. But it is just enough to buy her a chance to shore up her own defences, when they have been so cruelly torn down by the workings of her own unconscious mind. She places her hands over Isobel's own once again, breathes in time with her, and thinks, very deliberately, of little else.

This time, when the minute runs out, the shock of being plunged back into the world is barely noticeable.

There is no brand-wound placed on her by Shar, like brave Shadowheart still bears. And yet it still feels so often like her aunt's cruel grasp is lying in wait behind every shadow, waiting to snatch her up and pull her down, down, down, until her knees meet the cold rune-inscribed rock in the heart of the Shadowfell.

It makes Aylin still want to laugh at herself, sometimes. Her knees are, in fact, resting on the finest mattress of the grandest bed Waterdeep's House of the Moon could provide. Her legs are entangled with duvets filled with the softest down, with sheets of finest silk. And yet, and yet.

But she does not let out any bark of bitter, self-deprecating laugh, for even after everything, there is Isobel. The anchor. The crux of everything. The eye of a swirling storm. A beacon of light so blessedly blinding it washes out all else, all pain and sorrow and acrid, biting memory.

Isobel, whose mere presence drowns out the roaring winds of the Shadowfell, fills up the Lady of Loss' cursed silence that steals and numbs everything it touches.

Isobel, something to focus on when all else is too much, or too little. Who scuttles closer to Aylin on the bed once she sees her calmed enough, and leans in until they are pressed shoulder to shoulder.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Her thumb rubs small, delicate circles into the back of Aylin's hand.

Aylin sighs. "I cannot possibly begin to explain… to put into words…"

"Could you try? For me, my love, and for yourself?"

The only thing silencing Aylin now is she herself.

Truth and honesty, ideals to strive for - and the light that chases away any Sharran shadow. Aylin draws in a deep breath, as much as her chest that still feels cramped will allow. Squares her shoulders as if preparing for combat.

And still her words come out hesitant, almost meek. "I would not have wanted you to bear witness, then. To… to their crimes, their sins against me. To my shame. And so I do not want to make you a witness to them now, even if it is only through my telling."

She feels reluctant to expose Isobel to any of it. Even when, yes, she is an accomplished cleric and a healer and has seen and dealt with her own share of horrors, but…

"Aylin," the palpable pain in Isobel's wide eyes is already too much as she reaches out a gentle hand again, turning Aylin's face towards her. "You are the woman I love, and the chosen of my heart. Nothing will ever change that."

"It has been nigh a year." Aylin knows she sounds petulant. Knows she would have thoughtlessly blinked away the meagre span of a single year, before.

"Compared to a hundred?" Isobel shakes her head, looks at her almost pleadingly. That way she does, the way she seems to have reserved for whenever Aylin insists she should think nothing of the way she hastily exited a too-tight or too-dark space.

"Fine. Fine, my love, for you," Aylin breathes out. "But… outside. Let us first recover somewhat, in my Mother's light."

Let Her hear as well.

Isobel rises, takes her by the hand, and pulls her along, gently, out onto the balcony. Theirs is a spacious, luxurious suite situated in the prime spot of the temple complex housing wing, overlooking the luscious inner gardens in the House of the Moon. Usually, neither of them care for the pomp and circumstance their visits tend to invite in Selûnite spaces. But this time Aylin feels grateful for both the privacy and the position under the moonlight dome, as she does little but breathe in the scent of the moonflowers, freshly opened for the night, each cupping a little mote of moonlight and embracing it in blue.

For a good while, until Aylin feels ready, Isobel chatters, hums, softly fills any second of silence. She has come to understand so much, and Aylin is so grateful as she lets the sweet voice buoy her heart, carry her.

It felt near-blasphemous, at first, these calls to a goddess over things she would have once called trivial. But the joint efforts of her Mother and her beloved have convinced her they are anything but.

Mother? Aylin sends out the simplest of thoughts as she gazes upward and feels the moonlight bathe her face, fill her heart to bursting, settle around her shoulders like a blanket.

I hear you, daughter. I see you. I hold you under my gaze, safe.

This, too, is her birthright. Simple reassurance.

Under her Mother's silver eye, guarded in the circle of Isobel's arms, Aylin speaks. Once her words run dry and she is left feeling drained, scoured out, head dizzyingly feather-light, Isobel finally moves from her side. She returns within moments, wraps herself around Aylin and wraps them both in a star-embroidered coverlet.

"Never again," Isobel whispers, all moon-bathed steel, as she presses a dozen soft kisses to Aylin's face, then holds her to her chest. "I will not let anyone harm you again."

It is a heartwarming, if impossible thought. Aylin doesn't have it in herself to do anything but believe it.

The moon continues on her path across the sky, her Tears shining bright, as the night descends into a silence that is both warm and comfortable.

#dame aylin #isobel thorm #aylin x isobel #baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #my fic #bg3 #oathkeeper writes things #fic prompts 2024 #sipping that hurt/comfort juice

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shadowkira · 7 months

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Baldur's Gate Fic Recs:

Angst:

Reach Out For The Light by SheDragonOfTheWest (T) (1) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

Comedy:

fluff me, stuff me, take me home by yeahitshowed (T) (1) (Karlach x Lae'zel x Shadowheart) (AO3)

Hurt / Comfort:

A Fresh Start by denenned (E) (1) (knifeplay) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

even if the world collapses, i will be alright by birthright (soulborn) (E) (1) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (Late Act 2 / Act 3 Spoilers) (AO3)

Fiery Hearts by TooMuchTuna (unrated) (1) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

Only feel it when it's lost by SunsetSharkbite (E) (1) (Lae'zel x Shadowheart) (AO3) (Act 2 Spoilers)

Taking Care of Your Cleric for Dummies by Zetagoblin (E) (1) (Lae'zel x Shadowheart) (AO3)

OT3:

always an angel (never a god) by violetwreaths (E) (1) (Aylin x Isobel x Shadowheart) (AO3)

Handle Her by OrkButch (E) (1/2) (Karlach x Lae'zel x Shadowheart) (AO3)

Here for a good time, if it can't be a long time by SunsetSharkbite (E) (1) (Karlach x Lae'zel x Shadowheart) (AO3) (Act 2 Spoilers)

Take Me Under Your Wing by anotheropti (E) (1) (Aylin x Isobel x Shadowheart) (AO3) (Act 2 Spoilers)

PWP:

a call to flame by greeniris (E) (1) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

A Spider's Lyre by Stomes4 (E) (1) (Alfira x Minthara) (AO3)

Arcane Mishaps by anotheropti (E) (1) (trans!Karlach x trans!Shadowheart) (AO3)

Baldur's Gays Kinky Extravaganza - Calloused Hands by peachy_tiefling (E) (1) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

Black and Red and Smoking All Over by anotheropti (E) (1) (trans!Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

Clawed Down by the Skin She Wears by anotheropti (E) (1) (sub!Lae'zel x domme!Minthara) (AO3)

Cracks in Gold by anotheropti (E) (1) (Aylin x Isobel) (AO3)

don't burn your tastebuds, come get a lick of fame by mintsoir (E) (1) (Minthara x Shadowheart) (AO3)

House of Lust by NerdButton (E) (1) (Karlach x Lae'zel x Minthara x Shadowheart)

In Belonging, There is Hope by anotheropti (E) (1) (T4T) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

Kinktober day 4: Thigh-riding by Guess_im_the_foot_guy (E) (1) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

make it holy by foralprintshark (T) (1) (Lae'zel x Shadowheart) (AO3)

Non-Contact: Two Dates and a Furnace by Shars_will (E) (1) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

Trust & Consequences by dedenned (E) (1) (porn with feelings) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

Romance:

A Game Called Love by Nezanie (E) (2) (tiefling tail sex) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3) (Late act 2 / Act 3 spoilers)

A Warm Light In A Dark Cold Place by GodsFavouriteJester (E) (4/?) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3) ((Eventual spoilers))

Collapse Into Me, Sweet One by anotheropti (E) (1) (sub!Lae'zel x dom!Minthara) (AO3)

Hungry by Asynca (G) (1) (comedic) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

i closed my eyes inside of your darkness (and found your glow) by titasyliase (atechamcham) (T) (1) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

Infernal Heart by XaiBauGrove (E) (5/?) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

like a candy to an apple (you're so sweet on me) by teefling (E) (1) (trans!Alfira) (Alfira x Lakrissa) (AO3)

Rostered Night Off by Asynca (E) (1) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

The Need Arose by dargarine (T) (1) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

though i burn, how could i fall? by Jazzfordshire (E) (1) (Lae'zel x Shadowheart) (AO3) (Act 3 spoilers)

warm my bones by TheHomelyBadger (E) (1) (Karlach x Shadowheart) (AO3)

#Baldur's Gate Fic Recs #Fic Recs #Fic Rec #Karlach x Shadowheart #Karlach x Lae'zel x Shadowheart #The OT3 is my favorite because I'm a weak polyamorous gay #I finally found a “tiefling tail being used in the bedroom” fic and I can't read it because spoilers. boo. 😒#I'm still adding to this but wanted to post and tag so that it isn't lost in my drafts.

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cactusnymph · 5 months

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For the prompts: Touching and 35. "kissing their bruises and scars" with Aylin and Isobel (and Shadowheart if you feel like it! all moon wlw welcome) pretty please! This is fun and your writing is beautiful ^^

Isobel still can't believe that she not only got her life back but also her Aylin. Twice blessed by Selûne is what she would normally say, but the gods work their magic in strange ways and when she thinks too much about it—about how Myrkul was the one to give her a second chance at life and how a Chosen of Shar is the one who freed her Aylin—her head starts spinning.

Instead she focuses on the here and now as best as she can, grounding herself in the feeling of Aylin's warm body next to her. Her fingers gently follow the golden cracks along her love's skin—a testament to her strength and resolution.

Aylin sighs as Isobel follows the lines down her chest, over her belly and across her hips and thighs before pressing her lips against a dark bruise on Aylin's shoulder, darting her tongue out to taste it.

Aylin's breath hitches and Isobel smiles.

"Again?", she teases lovingly and Aylin turns her head to look at Isobel.

"I've been imprisoned for centuries without a gentle touch or the sight of my beautiful Isobel. You will forgive me if I have much to catch up on", she says and Isobel hums before continuing her journey down Aylin's body, her fingers traveling ahead of her lips as she finds every scar and every bruise.

"I have a question", Isobsel mumbles into Aylin's skin before licking one of her love's scars, right over her hipbone. She knows that this one was made by a drider. The one on her left thigh, just above the knee, by a dark justiciar. Isobel knows the stories behind all of Aylin's scars.

"If you wish to have a coherent discussion, maybe you should stop touching me for a moment", Aylin whispers, her breath coming quicker already as she squirms under Isobel's gentle administrations. Isobel chuckles.

"No", she says and revels in Aylin's laughter—breathy and happy.

"Well then. Ask and I will do my best to answer despite the dire circumstances", she says with half a smirk and Isobel laughs, gently nudging Aylin's thighs apart to settle between them.

"You've spend some time with our Sharran friend", Isobel says and gently bites the inside of Aylin's thigh. Aylin gasps and arches her back, her fingers digging into the blanket below her.

"That is not a question", Aylin teases.

"How do you feel about her?", Isobel wants to know and dips her head back down to nibble on Aylin's hipbones while her hands draw along the contours of Aylin's ribs.

Aylin seems to be too distracted to answer, chasing the feeling of Isobel's touch, pushing her hips up and spreading her legs a little further. Isobel isn't made of stone and Aylin is beautiful like this, but she also wants to know.

Her mind has been wandering every time she watches Aylin and Shadowheart sitting by the fire or in front of Shadowheart's tent. Ever the insightful one Aylin can see attraction when she sees it and Shadowheart is drawn to Aylin. Isobel understands.

Aylin is beautiful, courageous, fierce and endearingly blunt. Isobel knows what it's like to get caught up in her bright aura. But she also notices Shadowheart looking at her. They didn't meet on the best of terms but Isobel has come to respect Shadowheart. Has maybe even started to like her. And Shadowheart is trying not to enjoy their presence.

Isobel can tell.

"I might be—", a gasp as Isobel's head dips lower. "Intrigued."

"Intrigued?", Isobel asks with a smirk and bites at Aylin's hipbone again.

"There's much to discover", Aylin admits and Isobel has to agree. Thinking about Shadowheart while she has Aylin like this, naked and spread out on a soft blanket, breathing heavily just from Isobel kissing her scars... it makes her skin tingle with excitement.

"Do you want to invite her? Next time?", Isobel asks and Aylin sucks in a breath, looking up at Isobel through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Would you want that, my love?", she wants to know, her gaze piercing.

Isobel smiles.

"Yes. Yes, I think I would."

feel free to send me more of these <3

#dame aylin #isobel thorm #aylin x isobel #bg3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #mi writes #this turned out way hornier than i intended but...... well. they deserve it and so do i :'D #thank you anon for enabling me!!!

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witchy-rook · 5 months

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Gather Your Allies: An Inexhaustive List of a Lot (but not all) of the Allies you can Gather for the Final Boss of Baldur's Gate 3

I just finished Baldur's Gate 3 the other day, and having done literally every side quest I could get my hands on (aside from deciding to give up on Dribbles at the end because I couldn't be arsed), I had a metric fuckload of support to call on for the final battle. Mostly for fun, but partially for documentation purposes and in case it proves useful to anyone (as I know more than a few people who made it to the final boss with very little support), I've decided to record whose support I had and how I got it. This should represent a good swathe of the companions you can get for the final battle throughout the game by being vaguely Good aligned.

Major spoilers below the cut!

The advice on attaining these characters is likely not definitive, but it's what I did and I got them, so if you do the same you should get them as well! They're listed here in the order they said their piece in the cutscene.

Arabella:

(Although now that I think of it, I'm not sure what she did given you can't summon her in the battle. Presumably one of the myriad buffs)

Save her in Act 2, and presumably talk with her and Withers

Arabella is encounterable in a small section of the sewers in Act 3, off a side passage near the waypoint surrounded by a load of dead bodies. I don't know if meeting her is necessary, but I imagine so, since during that interaction she says she'll help you and 'Gather Your Allies' updates.

Dammon & The Armoured Owlbear:

I imagine not letting Dammon die at any point is a big thing here.

Acquire the owlbear cub in Act 1.

I talked with Dammon a lot through Karlach's story, but I doubt this is strictly necessary. I also met him again in Act 3, but again, I don't know if this is strictly necessary.

Counsellor Florrick & the Flaming Fist:

I imagine encountering her and Ulder Ravengard's entourage in Act 1 is something of a requirement for this.

Rescue Florrick from Wyrm's Rock Prison in Act 3 and then convince her not to lose heart through a series of checks.

Barcus Wroot & the Iron Hand Gnomes:

Absolute heart throb (that's not advice, it's just true)

Prevent him from dying at any point. Rescue him at every opportunity (ie the CORRECT way to play) etc etc so that he makes it to Act 3.

Importantly, after the Gyrmforge explicitly invite him to your camp, otherwise you may not see him again :(

Refuse to go along with Wulbren's plan to blow the Gondian's Sky High.

Save the Gondians (I did the Iron Throne first, causing the enslaved Gondians to rise up), destroy the Steelwatcher Foundry, and during the confrontation between Barcus and Wulbren, side with Barcus and get him instated as leader of the Ironhand Gnomes.

Isobel & Dame Aylin:

Prevent Isobel from being kidnapped by Ketheric Thorm in Act 2.

Save Dame Aylin from the Shadowfell in Act 2.

Do not give Dame Aylin over to Lorroakan (you monster).

Duke Ulder Ravengard:

(Like Arabella, I think Ravengard mainly gives you a buff. I think it might have been 'Inspired' or 'Rallied' or something like that.)

Save Duke Ulder Ravengard from the Iron Throne in Act 3, and prevent him and Wyll from having a falling out.

Note: I actually exchanged him for Wyll's freedom and then went and saved him.

I don't know if completing the rest of Wyll's story is necessary, but I did and you should too cause it kicks ass. It kicks ass so hard I'm not even going to say what's involved in this huge spoilery post. Let's just say it reveals some major things about the story, and gives Wyll great claim on 'main character' status.

Yurgir:

(This one I'm proudest of, because I was not expecting it and it seems pretty convoluted to get him.)

Fight him in the Sharran temple in Act 2 and win (obviously, because you'd be dead otherwise.)

Go to the House of Hope in Act 3, steal the Orphic Hammer.

Fight Raphael, but before the fight succeed the Persuasion check to convince Yurgir to fight with you instead of against you.

After the fight (ensuring that Yurgir lives, presumably), when Yurgir says that he has to go back to the Bloodwar, tell him you have your own fight coming and he could join you. The absolute chad he is, he'll be like 'fuck yeah let's do it.'

Rolan, Lord of Ramazith's Tower:

Convince Rolan to stay with the refuges in Act 1.

Save him from the Shadows near Reithwin (en route to Moonrise Towers) in Act 2.

Save his siblings from Moonrise Towers in Act 2.

Fight Lorroakan in Act 3 and beat his sorry ass. Convince Rolan to take over the tower and believe in himself.

Inspector Valeria & the City Watch:

Take on the investigation into the Open Hand Temple murders in Rivington in Act 3.

Convince Valeria that there is more going on here than they think. Solve said murders. I doubt keeping Valeria's little constable friend alive is strictly necessary, but I did.

Rescue Valeria from the Murder Tribunal, who are keeping them imprisoned in a sideroom. I think solving the murders is a prerequisite for this, because the impression I got is that Orin and Sarevok kidnap Valeria as revenge for foiling the murders.

Volo's Guide to Doing Fuck All:

(Again, not sure what material support Volo gives. In this case I actually think it might be nothing because. Well. It's Volo.)

Save him at the various opportunities in Acts 1 through 3. Most importantly, save him in Act 3 outside the Steelwatcher Foundary.

I don't think talking to him in camp afterwards is necessary but you should because he's great, and if you save him before fighting Orin he gives you a sick buff against the Slayerform.

Zevlor & The Hellriders:

Side with him in Act 1 and don't betray the tieflings/the Grove.

Rescue him in Act 2 in the flesh pits below Moonrise Towers (Easy to miss! He's in one of the pods in the Mindflayer Colony.)

Talk to him about his past, his failure to defend the refugees in Act 2 and convince him that he can still make up for his failings.

Nine-Fingers Keene & the Guild:

Search out the Guild in Act 3 and help them with their Stonelord problem.

After searching out the Stonelord, the Zhentarim will stage an attack on the Guild headquarters. Intervene on the side of the Guild and help defend them. Ensure Nine-Fingers lives (though this should be easy, because she kicks ass.)

The Gur:

Agree to help them rescue their people from Cazador in Act 3.

After freeing the captives in Cazador's Palace, convince Ulma not to hate your guts by revealing just who those captive thralls you freed are.

Unfortunately for all you Ascended Astarion stans out there, I imagine going down that road locks the Gur out.

Though notably, I did sideline that one Gur hunter in Act 1, and was still able to work with them in Act 3.

Halsin & Thaniel:

(Obviously Halsin can be in your party, this gives you a specific buff.)

Side with the Grove in Act 1, rescue Halsin, recruit him, etc.

In Act 2, complete the storyline with Halsin, Art Cullagh and Thaniel and successfully heal the Shadowcursed Lands.

The Harpers:

(Again, Jaheira can still be in your party, though this time you get an actual summon.)

Side with Jaheira and her Harpers in Act 2 and help them storm Moonrise Towers.

Recruit her to your party, and complete her various quests in Act 3 (rendezvousing with the Harpers and the stuff with Stonelord)

My approval with her was decently high, though by no means maxed out, so I reckon that so long as she's with you, this should trigger.

And that's that! This is by no means even all the 'Good' companions you can get, if I had to guess, but hopefully it might help you find some of them. As you can see, most of these require prep work in Act 1 or 2, but there's at least a few that can be attained, I'd imagine, soley through quests in Act 3. Good luck out there, and give them hell!

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #bg3 spoilers

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brackenfrond · 20 days

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So. Wondering about how Carver, in my BG3 playthrough, would feel about the companions and some NPCs and I took psychic damage. Naturally I have to share this.

Warning: spoilers for both DA2 and BG3

Because Lae'zel is forthright and an excellent fighter and he trusts that she'll watch his back and suddenly he remembers Aveline, always there to plant herself like a tree, to yell and snarl. Who he met single handedly fending off a swarm of darkspawn to protect the person she loved wholeheartedly.

Because Shadowheart is so devout, so fairhful in her goddess until she is asked to do the unthinkable and she can't. And he is so proud and for a second he sees Merril, of all people, clinging to her Dalish heritage, her religion. He heard about the elven gods being fake, and could see Merril's anguish in Shadowheart's stunned silence in the aftermath.

Because sometimes when he's half asleep he sees a flash of white hair and nearly hisses out an annoyed 'Fenris', until he remembers. Astarion is dissimilar to him in personality (Isabela, his mind screams. His personality is all Isabela) but everything else is too similar. Not just the white hair - the breaking of chains, the anger at his former captor, and the feeling of sudden emptiness when the job is done.

Because Gale grates on him purely because he is so much like Anders. Clever and quick, casting spells with efficiency and rambles about his interests in a way that reminds Carver of rants about mage equality. Sometimes he closes his eyes and sees a brught explosion and is too scared to examine that closely, wondering if he'll see the Chantry or his new mage friend at the epicentre.

Because Wyll is harder to place, but his prince charming demeanour brings to mind Sebastian, for as short a time as Carver really knew him. Because even with horns curling from his skull, from whatever hellish curse Mixora put on him, Wyll is good. And kind. And full of a desire to help people. And Carver can't examine that too hard, because it makes him think of Bethy, and someone else has already stolen her face.

Because Karlach is the hardest. She's boisterous and loud, bright smiles that can turn into pure, unbridled rage at injustice. Who when she can touch again asks him for a hug, and pats his shoulder and calls him 'soldier' and she is his sister. And Hawke is dead. Hawke walked into the Fade at Adamant and never came out and Karlach does not deserve to be compared to the woman who Carver still sort of hates while grieving her. Because Hawke was his sister and he loved her, but even after she was gone he was just 'her brother'.

Because the guardian, because The Emperor, had the gall to steal his twins face and he hates hates hates it for it. But he still cries when he thinks about the early dreams, of how he had called her name. Voice trembling, shaky, feeling like a five year old again. And she didn't know the name. Or it didn't know the name. It hurts Carver to think about it, and more than just in how to refer to the early dream visitor.

Because he sees the Tiefling refugees and is immediately transported back to Kirkwall, to being rejected over and over for being a refugee, and launches himself into helping them. He sees Isabela in Mol's cunning, argues with Rolan and finds himself warming to him as time goes by, his devotion to his younger siblings admirable. He snatches Arabella away from Kagha and had to be physically held back from attacking her because she's a child. The refugees echo him, in a way, and he mourns when her reaches Last Light and find out that soem are dead, others maybe good as.

Aylin and Isobel hurt. Because Aylin and Isobel make him think of brave, strong, powerful Hawke and small but no less terrifying Isabela, and that fucking hurts.

He punches Lorroakan in the face when he meets him. He feels vicious vindication when Aylin breaks his spine.

He hugs Shadowheart when all she has been put through comes to light, digs his hands into moonlight silver hair and prentends he doesn't feel her tremble.

He gives a soldier's salute to Lae'zel when she leaves to free her people, pride bubbling in his chest when she grins viciously in response, returning the salute.

He's proud of Gale for turning away from absolute power, from godhood, to make a name for himself away from gods who have only ever hurt him.

He stands at Astarion's side when he faces Cazador, snarling and ready to assist. He leads him away by the hand after everything, after he turns away ascendancy, and promises to find a way to let him walk in the sun after the tadpole is dealt with.

He hugs Wyll before he leaves for the hells, manages not to cry when he hugs him back.

He only avoids hugging Karlach because she is burning hot, hut vows to give her the biggest hug ever when he sees her again, because she deserves it.

He is welcomed at Sorcerous Sundries by the new master of Ramazoth's Tower and his two younger siblings, and nearly collapses into Rolan's arms. But he's smiling.

These are his people now. He'll see Mol grow to become a terrifying crime boss, and he'll hear Alfira sing her songs, hear her talk about Lakrissa, and he'll eventually meet Morena Dekarios and the famous Tara. He'll always mourn what he's lost.

But here. Far away from lands he knows, he finds a new family, a new home, and Carver Hawke gets a happy ending.

After all, he has always deserved that.

#dragon age #bg3 #carver hawke #lae'zel #shadowheart #astarion #gale dekarios #wyll ravengard #karlach #bg3 rolan #hoo boy this was long #got out of control #i am going to end up writing this properly and cohesively bit first #the emotions

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dalgursbate · 3 months

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Dame Aylin's Home for Wayward Girls (5/?)

Summary: Isobel swears she didn’t mean to start a commune. She’s not so sure about Aylin, though. Or, how a celestial and her reanimated girlfriend help the heroes of Baldur’s Gate process their trauma.

Rating: E WC: 13,812 Pairing: F/F, Isobel/Aylin/Shadowheart

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4

Isobel wakes slowly, eyes blinking blearily against the darkness. She has no idea what time it is, and the windowless room they are in defies any attempt to judge the hour by the light. Isobel reaches within herself to probe at her connection with Selûne, plucking at it like a lyre string to see how it resonates; she always feels the Moonmaiden more when it is night.

She finds that Selûne’s presence is waning, but strong still; Isobel presumes that it must be approaching twilight. She awoke early, then.

As she comes more fully to consciousness, Isobel takes stock of her surroundings (thank the Gods for darkvision): she is lying on her side, body curled like a crescent moon to face the center of the bed. Her arms encircle someone, her leg sandwiched between theirs and their silver-haired head pressed against Isobel’s collar. At first, Isobel’s sleep-addled brain assumes this person is Aylin, but as her faculties return to her she realizes that it is not.

Right, Shadowheart stayed with them last night. Isobel swallows roughly at the thought of it.

She looks past Shadowheart’s sleeping form and spies Aylin wrapped around the other woman, arms holding her around the middle. Her body is in the same crescent shape as Isobel, waxing to Isobel’s waning. Shadowheart fits neatly in the space created by Aylin, back pressed against her chest. Aylin’s chin is tucked over Shadowheart’s head, her face only half a foot away from Isobel’s.

Isobel removes her hand from Shadowheart’s hip to jostle Aylin’s arm, hoping to wake her. She watches as Aylin’s eyes open, becoming conscious and alert in only an instant. Isobel smiles at her, finding the way Aylin springs so quickly to wakefulness charming. Another perk of being a celestial, she supposes.

Upon seeing her lover, Aylin closes the distance between them to press a kiss to Isobel’s lips, the same as she does every morning. It is not chaste, because Aylin rarely is. Rather, it is something hot and desperate, like alchemist's fire before it erupts. Isobel longs to put her hand to Aylin’s jaw, to deepen the kiss, but they can't really touch each other with Shadowheart between them as she is. Besides, the more rational part of Isobel reasons, it would be untoward to get lost in passion when there is a person sleeping so near to them. Isobel pulls back from the kiss and treasures the expression on Aylin’s face as her lover attempts to chase her lips. Isobel longs to greet the morning as they usually do, by pouncing on Aylin and kissing her utterly senseless. Amongst other things.

Usually, though, there is not a disgruntled cleric in between them.

“Shhh…M’sleeping,” Shadowheart whines, barely intelligible as it is muttered against Isobel’s shirt. She nuzzles deeper into Isobel's neck, which does nothing to quell her desire. “Kiss later.”

Isobel had not realized she was awake, the steady rise and fall of Shadowheart’s breathing suggesting unconsciousness. Isobel hopes, then, that her stillness indicates comfort. She feels the fingers pressed against her chest curl reflexively and grab two loose fistfuls of the fabric there.

“Are you not the one who wandered into our bed, little cleric?” Aylin says in an amused half-whisper (and what a miracle it is she managed even that, Isobel thinks). “Yet you believe it is your right to tell us when to kiss.”

Shadowheart pulls back from Isobel’s chest enough that she can level Aylin with her most put-upon expression. Her hands still hold onto the fabric of Isobel’s shirt.

“I did not wander into your bed like some stray cat, Aylin. I am an invited guest,” she huffs, voice full of faux affront. Isobel thinks it is possibly the first time that Shadowheart hasn’t referred to Aylin by her title, and the sudden informality warms her. “And as your guest I believe I am entitled to your courtesy.” Shadowheart does not whisper her response the way Aylin tried to, yet to Isobel’s delight she thinks that Aylin was still louder.

“Most definitely, and I will dutifully show you every courtesy under the moon and stars,” Aylin says, and as it becomes clear that they are all quite awake she does not bother to lower her speaking voice, “except the courtesy of deciding when I am allowed to kiss.”

“What graciousness,” Shadowheart says sardonically. She rolls over onto her back between Aylin and Isobel, looking up between the two of them in turn. One of her hands leaves Isobel’s shirt, but the other continues to grasp the fabric. “So does that mean you’ll grant me the courtesy of deciding who you kiss?” She smiles coyly then, and something wicked and electric alights in Isobel.

“I will certainly take your suggestions under advisement,” Aylin replies, and she is staring with eyes half-lidded at Shadowheart’s face. No, Isobel corrects mentally, at Shadowheart’s mouth.

Shadowheart says nothing in response, but leans up to connect her lips to Aylin’s. Aylin snakes a hand to cradle the other woman’s head and pulls her in closer, deeper, almost as though she hopes to consume her. Shadowheart sighs into the kiss, and the sight of the two of them makes Isobel shiver. She feels feverish, painfully aware of the heat that has gathered to her cheeks and even more painfully aware of where it has gathered elsewhere.

The two of them kiss hungrily, greedily, like it is the last kiss either of them will ever have. Isobel intends to make sure that it isn't.

Shadowheart eventually pulls away from Aylin, obviously in need of air. The breath she exhales comes out in a shudder, and Isobel loves how red and plump her lips already look. How her silver hair is in disarray, loose from its usual braid and cascading down her shoulders all tousled and pretty. How she already looks so debauched when they have hardly even touched her.

Then, Shadowheart turns to Isobel and uses the hand fisted in her shirt to pull her closer. Isobel follows readily, and soon their lips meet in a frenzy. Her tongue entwines with Shadowheart’s, and her mouth is flooded with the taste of this woman, unfamiliar but intoxicating. Isobel has read many a novel where the author describes the lovers’ tongues moving in a graceful dance. She thinks this more closely resembles a tavern brawl with the needy, messy way Shadowheart explores Isobel’s mouth. Dancing is overrated anyway, Isobel thinks, as Shadowheart’s kiss sends fire up her spine, into her stomach, and down further to the core of her.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” Shadowheart whispers against Isobel’s lips, sounding awe-struck. Isobel did not need Shadowheart to tell her this; she can feel how it is pounding an angry rhythm against her ribcage. “Is this the effect I have on you?”

“Yes,” Isobel replies, voice almost a hiss with how quickly the answer escapes her lips. She wants to be embarrassed at how urgently she craves Shadowheart, but it is hard to be when the cleric is right there, kissing her as though Isobel’s lips can offer her salvation.

Shadowheart releases Isobel’s shirt and uses that hand to drag her fingers up the underside of Isobel’s breast. Isobel gasps against Shadowheart’s mouth, and Shadowheart uses the opportunity to kiss her even deeper. Isobel bites on Shadowheart’s bottom lip in retaliation and is rewarded with a delicious noise for it. She pulls back just slightly, enough to inhale, and she adores the way Shadowheart’s breathless panting mixes with her own in the space between them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Aylin begin to shift, and soon Shadowheart is pulled into Aylin’s lap. It reminds Isobel of how she sat with Shadowheart when they dyed her hair, but infinitely more intimate.

Aylin begins pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to Shadowheart’s neck, who instinctively tilts her head to grant better access to the skin there. Isobel can see her smile as Aylin drags one hand over the flat plane of Shadowheart’s stomach and up to cup her breast. She squeezes gently, rubbing her thumb over Shadowheart’s nipple through her shirt. Shadowheart squirms from where she is seated atop Aylin, making more noises that burn up Isobel’s insides.

“My darling,” Aylin says, and Isobel takes a moment to realize that she is speaking to Shadowheart. Isobel is flooded with a wave of affection at the pet name. “Pray tell what you would like us to do for you.” The hand that is not teasing Shadowheart’s breast drags down her side until it reaches her hip, fingers kneading the skin there.

“Touch me,” Shadowheart gasps. “Please.”

The way Shadowheart begs is divine, Isobel thinks. Looking at her lovers intertwined makes the need building inside Isobel grow exponentially; she fears that if Shadowheart does not get naked immediately, she might combust.

Thankfully, Aylin seems to be on the same page. She drags her hands up and under Shadowheart's shirt to pull it off of her, and Shadowheart cooperates hastily to finish the effort. Soon, the garment is thrown somewhere in the dark room, to be worried about later. Her pants are a little more challenging, and Isobel moves quickly to help Shadowheart rid herself of them. Aylin seems reluctant to allow Shadowheart to leave her lap, but evidently realizes that it is in service of a greater good. Soon, Shadowheart’s pants join her top on the floor, lost to the ether for all any of them cares. Her smallclothes, too, are quickly tossed into the abyss and forgotten, and Shadowheart sits on Aylin’s lap gloriously naked.

By Selûne, Isobel cannot imagine how Shadowheart ever served the Goddess of Darkness when seeing her like this, exposed and wanton, feels so perfectly holy to her.

Aylin resumes kissing her neck, hands roaming Shadowheart’s body and mapping out the feel of her skin. Isobel knows she is testing to see which parts of Shadowheart are most sensitive, where best to kiss and caress and bite and scratch. Aylin is deeply thorough as a lover, Isobel knows, and watching Shadowheart experience that for the first time is heady and exhilarating. Shadowheart cries out at Aylin’s touch, back arched and head thrown back to rest on Aylin’s shoulder. She seems to be falling to pieces already, before Aylin’s clever fingers have even begun to play with her sex.

It is obvious, too, that Shadowheart is growing desperate with desire. Isobel watches the way she whimpers and whines every time Aylin brushes her fingers up her inner thigh before dragging them back down, close to where Shadowheart wants her but never close enough. Shadowheart spreads her legs wide, hooks them over Aylin’s thighs, opening herself and writhing as Aylin once again teases her with her fingers.

Isobel sees the opportunity and refuses to let it pass her, crawling toward the two of them and bowing down to breathe hotly over Shadowheart’s already-dripping cunt. Shadowheart keens, bucking her hips toward Isobel’s face.

“Please,” Shadowheart begs again, and Isobel would need to be much crueler than she is to deny such a request. She licks from the hot, wet core of Shadowheart up to circle her clit with her tongue, relishing the way Shadowheart nearly shrieks at the contact. She relishes, too, the exquisite taste of her, voracious in the manner that she drinks Shadowheart in. She could get addicted to that taste, she thinks. Perhaps she already is.

She looks up to see Shadowheart with her eyes closed in ecstasy, a look of intense concentration on her face, head thrown back and left hand fisted in Aylin’s hair as Aylin bites and kisses her neck. Shadowheart’s other hand is braced on Aylin’s thigh as she begins to grind into Isobel’s tongue. Isobel wants to paint this picture in her mind, needs to see it every time she closes her eyes.

“By the nine Hells,” Shadowheart swears, “do not stop.”

So Isobel does not, electing instead to suck Shadowheart’s clit into her mouth, savoring the way Shadowheart cries and moans at the touch of her tongue.

It must be overwhelming, Isobel imagines, with the combination of Aylin’s wandering, mischievous hands and the way Isobel roughly grips her thighs to spread her open. With Aylin’s mouth at her neck and Isobel’s tongue buried in her like she’s trying to drown in Shadowheart’s cunt. Shadowheart can do nothing but try to arch into the contact, try to get more of it, mouth dropped open as she alternates between cursing and saying their names.

“Oh, Gods, Aylin, Isobel,” Shadowheart pants as her release finds her, shivering as it rolls through her body. Isobel and Aylin do not stop, fucking her through her climax until she begins to twitch from the overstimulation. They still their assault on her then, and Aylin pets Shadowheart’s hair as the other woman comes down and begins to return to her senses. Her body is loose, practically boneless, supported as it is by Aylin’s chest.

Aylin gently maneuvers her to the head of the bed, and Isobel places some pillows behind her back. Isobel kisses her temple once, sweetly.

“You are rather precious, you know,” Isobel whispers in Shadowheart’s ear, and she feels the other woman whimper in response.

Isobel turns back to Aylin, who is smiling serenely at her and Shadowheart. Isobel wonders whether she’s thinking the same thing Isobel thought earlier, about never wanting to lose the image of this experience. She will ask later, but for now there is an imperative to tear her clothes off hurriedly. She is pleased to watch as Aylin does the same, and even more pleased as Aylin kneels naked on the bed before her. Isobel gives herself a moment to take in the sight of her lover, appreciating how strong and vital Aylin looks. She feels the way Shadowheart's eyes track their movements, greedily raking over both of their naked forms.

“Lover, I have great need to cum all over your face,” Isobel says plainly, walking on her knees over to Aylin and gently pushing her down on the bed. Aylin offers no resistance, happy to be manhandled by Isobel. Shadowheart makes a small noise at them then, and Isobel turns her head to shoot a toothy grin at the cleric.

“You once said you were more envious of our love than our passion,” Isobel says. “Let me show you how wrong you were then.” She proceeds to climb on top of Aylin, straddling her face so that Isobel is facing the gorgeous, lithe expanse of Aylin's body. Aylin’s tongue greets her readily, and she sighs at the familiar decadence of it.

For a moment she simply enjoys as Aylin works her over with her tongue, gasping and moaning at the expert dexterity of Aylin's movements. But she cannot sit still for long before she is leaning down, bracing her weight on her forearms on either side of Aylin's hips.

She can still taste Shadowheart, rich and heady, on her tongue, and she moans at the way it mingles with the taste of Aylin as she begins eating her out. Isobel knows better than anyone that Aylin prefers it rough, and so she devours her lover's cunt like a starving gnoll at a butchery. Before too long, both Aylin and Isobel are crying out wantonly against each other's flesh.

Then, Shadowheart's own moans join into the chorus, and Isobel pauses briefly in her work to spare a glance at the cleric. She bites her lip at the sight that greets her, Shadowheart's eyes half open and hazy, staring intently at the two women in front of her, her fingers rubbing and pinching her own clit.

It is, Isobel thinks, unbelievably hot.

It does not take much for Aylin to unravel Isobel at the best of times, and with Shadowheart's heavy gaze hungrily taking them in, it is a matter of moments before she is riding her own release out on Aylin's face. Through it, she does not stop in her efforts on Aylin's clit, savoring the complex, godly flavor of her like one might a glass of smoky whiskey. Aylin follows her soon after, bucking up into her face while her hands grip in Isobel's hair and hold her exactly where she wants her.

A few moments later, as Aylin and Isobel shudder and twitch against each others’ mouths, Isobel hears Shadowheart cum again to her own fingers. She looks up to watch it happen, to drink in the rapturous expression on Shadowheart's face as they lock eyes.

Moments later, while they all pant in the afterglow, Isobel grins at Aylin and Shadowheart.

“Praise be to Selûne that we still have an hour before sunrise,” she says, and crawls over to where Shadowheart sits against the headrest to kiss her again.

#bg3 #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 aylin #bg3 isobel #moon lesbians #moonmaidens #isobel/dame aylin #isobel/nightsong #my fic

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