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thatfreshi · 8 months

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Hi! Can I request a story about Tav having trouble fighting cause Astarion just fed on her and so he gets worried and protective ofc. Maybe they were ambushed at camp or something? Thank you so much for your work! I really like how you write Astarion

Tw - animal attack, lots of gore, themes of death

Recommended Song: Seek and Destroy - SZA

Against better judgment, you let Astarion feed on you almost every night. It's just one of those things, a sacrifice you make, an act of love. After decades of disrespect, scavenging for next to nothing, you thought it'd be nice for him to have something better than animals. While he always insists it isn't necessary, he never passes you up on the offer. A ritual before bed every night, like a lover's embrace, you've come to adore the feeling of his teeth.

This evening in particular, he took quite a bit. You don't mind, considering you go to bed almost right after. Light-headed, woozy, you're wrapped up in his arms.

"Thank you darling."

His embrace almost feels warm when you're this drained. You almost drift off, but he keeps you awake.

"Tav, you need to eat something first."

You groan, absolutely exhausted, trying to keep him in the bedroll.

"Nooo, I'll just do it tomorrow."

He smiles, moving your hair out of your eyes.

"That's not how it works my sweet. Now, let me get up so I can-"

Goblin war drums. The sound of the percussive rhythms bouncing off all the trees, they're not far off, and Astarion knows they're on the way. Karlach starts making her way to every tent, telling your companions to get their asses in gear.

"Tav, Astarion, let's go!"

"Shit."

Astarion whispers to himself. You're still not fully there, in and out of sleep.

"What's going on?"

Double vision, you see two of your vampire lover get up and start rummaging around for his daggers.

"Just- just stay here Tav. It's alright."

You try to rub at your eyes, desperately wanting to figure out what's going on. Before you can ask again, he's gone, and you hear more war drums outside. You quickly realize it's goblins. They must've found where you've been hiding, but your head is still spinning. Trying to get up and grab your blade, you almost fall back to the ground. Steadying yourself for a moment, you try your best to listen to what's going on outside. It sounds deadly, metal, screams. You hear Shadowheart casting left and right.

When you manage to stumble out of the tent, you're tackled by one of their dogs, or whatever wretched things they are. A scream rips out of your throat, trying to hold the thing off. It bites rabidly at your arm, leaving numerous gashes, until it's thrown off of you and stabbed to death, relentlessly.

"Gods damnit, I told you to stay in the tent Tav!"

You're too worried about your arm throbbing in pain to care about the validity of his argument. He's angry, and perhaps both of you aren't entirely certain why. It's your dominant arm, you can barely move it. Astarion goes to wrap your arm, but is quickly overpowered by the numbers again. They must've sent a large party after the lot of you. Halsin and Shadowheart are running out of magic, already drained. It's bad, but it'll end soon. With a couple more fights and a thunderwave from Gale, the rest of the goblins scurry off, knowing they're fighting a losing battle. Astarion doesn't even stop to loot their corpses, running to your side.

"You're a fucking idiot Tav, you know that?"

Gods, he could sound so mean when he wanted to. You know he says those things out of fear, but they still hurt. Despite how angry he is, he starts ripping pieces of cloth from his shirt, wrapping your arm, which is bleeding far too fast. Shadowheart and Halsin come over to supervise, both out of arcana until they get some rest.

"Yes, the two of you standing over my shoulder is quite helpful. Might as well cheer me on while you're at it!"

His movements are ragged, furious, only making your arm hurt more than it does. He's lost though, somewhere in his head, unable to hear the cries of pain as he's wrapping your arm. You're even more lost than before, your blood leaving rapidly.

"Aster, I-"

"Hush."

He then realizes you were going to tell him you were about to pass out, because you almost immediately fall over.

"Damnit!"

He holds you in his arms, your limb still not fully wrapped.

"If the two of you want to be helpful, get me some actual bandages instead of gawking at me!"

Sure, Astarion hates doing things that require hard work, but he knows how. How many times did he have to do something like this to himself, when no one was there to help wrap his wounds? Shadowheart quickly returns with all of the bandage wraps she has.

"We have to clean it or it'll get infected."

"Well, Shadowheart, I don't know how you think you're going to clean it if Tav bleeds to death."

The two healers decide it's best if he handles this himself. While he obsessively wraps your arm, the rest of the camp watches on, knowing he's too possessive to let them help. He doesn't trust them like he trusts you.

And I trusted you to stay put.

There's no way to give you more blood, not in a way that would work for you. For a moment, he simply thinks that he'll feed you some of his blood, and then he remembers. All he can do is hope you retained enough, that he didn't preemptively kill you by feeding on you tonight. Your pulse is still going, but it's slow, and you're paler than usual.

Astarion begins to think to himself, asking why he ever fell in love, why he ever let himself think twice about you. It's easy to play the game when you have nothing to lose. Second thoughts, always, he's always thinking for two people now. It's been his survival, for as long as he can remember, and now you're lodged in his brain.

"Damn you Tav, I can't do this. I can't lose you like this."

He begins to sob as he holds you, still unconscious. This beckons Gale to come over, often a voice of reason for the vampire.

"You've done all you can. Perhaps we should get Tav back inside? Away from the elements?"

Astarion is too distraught to argue, helping Gale carry you back into the tent.

"The second Shadowheart is awake, she'll be back to check on Tav."

"Yeah, if they don't die from blood loss in the middle of the night."

Gale simply sighs, knowing there's no point in fighting with him. He leaves your pale lover to wallow in his misery. Hours pass, you're still clinging on, and Astarion watches over you, panicking every time he can't see your chest rise and fall, constantly checking your pulse. You're cold, your heartbeat dangerously slow, and he keeps wracking his brain about what else he could possibly do. But there's nothing, only fate, only the gods. He sadly chuckles to himself at the thought of even trying to pray, knowing there's no higher power out there, at least one that cares about him.

"W... what are you... laughing at?"

You ask weakly, oblivious to the horrific stress he's been through. Astarion whips around quickly, wondering if perhaps he's imagining your voice. When he sees your eyes fluttering, lost somewhere between dreams and reality, he rushes to your side.

"Oh gods Tav... you- you really scared me there."

He tries to hold back tears, failing miserably. You try to speak again, but groan in pain as the feeling in your arm starts to come back.

"I know, I know it hurts. It's okay my darling, you'll be alright."

He begins fully sobbing, and you have no idea why, without being awake enough to comprehend the situation. Astarion always tries to be strong when you're weak, but watching you teeter on the line between life and death, it was simply too much to bear.

"You can't pull that shit, ever again my love, I'm so serious. I know I'm normally quite serious, but ever more so right now."

Then, a joyful, tiny laugh. Happiness. Happy that you're alive. The memories of the fight slowly start coming back, the beast that ripped up your arm, Astarion yelling.

"Aster...?"

"Yes my dear?"

You start to tear up a little, still a tad delirious.

"I'm sorry."

And then remembers as well, the things he said, the tone he spoke to you in.

"No, no my love I'm sorry. You weren't yourself, I was being entirely unreasonable. I just..."

He almost can't finish his sentence.

"I'm just happy you're okay. That's enough for me."

Your lover slowly and carefully lays down beside you, pulling you into him, being sure not to let your wounded arm drag on the ground. He holds you for a long time, until Shadowheart wakes at dawn, fully rested and ready to fix your wounds. Astarion vows silently that he'll never let it come that close, ever again.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #angst #comfort

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alexissara · 9 months

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Recruiting Minthara Without Doing A War Crime - BG3

Opening Disclaimer: I do not know every variable, I am sharing what I did to recruit Minthara in BG3 since basically every guide in the internet is wrong and says you must do a war crime to recruit MInthara. You will lose out on the Minthara post battle sex scene and she remains mutually exclusive with Halsin you either have her or him but she can be obtained as a party member and even has exclusive voiced dialogue for Karlache and Wyll whom many say you are also locked out of to recruit her. Also this is totally intentional and accounted for but in my personal run I am getting some bugs, idk if it's an everyone issue or a me issue the game is still very new.

To Attack The Grove or to Kill Everyone In The Goblin Camp, that is the question, one that needs not an answer. You can do quests in both places, talk to Minthara, and more and still walk away from this fight.

All you need to do is simply progress the plot ignoring these two binary options. You'll need to ensure Minthara does not know the location of The Druid Grove so for me the way I did it was I rescued Sazza then killed her in the goblin camp before she could rat out the location and turn on me right before she would have walked me over to MInthara. It triggered a small fight but I destroyed the drums they played to trigger an alarm and have everyone fight me meaning I only had to kill four Goblins or so. I went to talk to Minthara and told her I had no clue where the druid grove or her item were but i'd totally look into it. I grabbed everything I wanted from the Goblin camp and before that did all of the Tiefling kid side quests except stealing the artifact in The Druid grove, upgraded Karlache's infernal engines, looked around everywhere I could. I did not at any point meet or talk to Halsin.

Then from there I simply went to the Underdark, you may be be able to take the Gith path instead, idk I didn't do it but I personally went to The Underdark by way of Feather Falling in the Phase Spider Monarch's layer down into it. From there I found some slavers, killed them and stole their boat. I sailed away to a forge where more slavers were living, I helped them save a true soul, helped the true soul kill them and then killed The True Soul. With that I was on my marry way and entered act 2. This I believe triggers time to have progressed in the game and everything will have gone into motion. I wanted to be sure though that I had done everything correctly so I headed to Moon Rise towers as fast as I can. I did some fights, got to the tower and found Minathara getting yelled at by her boss and thrown into a prison. In the prison two women are trying to wipe her mind. I killed all the guards before trying to help her out in the prisons area and freed some other prisoners. Stole a bunch of stuff then went to the girl herself. I then killed the people trying to brainwash her after talking to them for a little, walked out with Minthara, the guards at multiple times were like "why the fuck do you have Minthara" I smooth talk my way out of each situation, we leave moonrise and I tell her she can stay in our camp. From there she is a party member.

The game suggests you don't bring Minthara back into Moonrise Towers with you, I have got some light glitches on my own run when going to areas that are before you can normally recruit minthara and going to camp sometimes she spawns over at The Goblin camp where you first meet her. The Goblins seem to be basically fine so what happened with the tiefling and druids. Well the tieflings were forced to leave the druid grove but they were gonna do that anyway and the same quests are triggered as if you didn't do that as far as I undertand. I have met one of the tieflings already in act two and they were not mad at me for not helping the grove. The grove however did do the ritual and is no longer accessible. I will update this when I enter Baulder's Gate if I find out I like idk caused the death of a bunch of characters for not siding with either but I don't think I cased any deaths at all, I think I spared the most lives, the most peaceful bitch.

I want to end of the note that there is more to Minthara than Girlboss, Gaslight, Gatekeep. She for narrative reasons is a fun character to have. She is cold for sure but I think the game does a pretty good job justifying it and you can see right away glimmers of her warming up. In terms of a party member her kit is interesting, she starts with tadepoles already in her head so if you were totally avoiding them like me you'll be able to see a few of the powers in action given you have no option to remove them from her.

#BG3 #bg3 spoilers #baulders gate 3 #minthara #Minthara BG3 #Minthara

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megs-98 · 3 months

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It's Always Been You

Finally posting the solstice/secret santa fic that i wrote for the lovely @smaranshakthi

big thank you to @justporo for helping me edit as this is the first fic that i've wrote

summary: tav left baldur's gate after the final battle but years later something... or someone, drew her back and she had to find out why

tags: dammon x f!reader (Tav), fluff, light makeout scene at the end, mostly just dammon being the sweetest boy

word count: 3.4k

It had been five years since the final battle in Baldur’s Gate when you and your companions had conquered the Absolute and the Dead Three’s Chosen. Five years since you had left the Gate in search of rediscovering yourself once you had been freed of the tadpole. It wasn’t all lonely though, Withers had summoned everyone back to your original campsite six months after the cult was defeated, which had given you a chance to reconnect with your friends. You found more companions and had seen spectacular new places with your most recent adventures. However, you felt that something was absent from your life the farther you got from the city. There was something absent in your heart, something that you weren’t able to find during your travels. That’s how you found yourself back in the city, staying in the Elfsong Tavern, just in time for the snowy season.

You had felt a natural, almost instinctive, pull back to Baldur’s Gate, though you were unsure why. With resolve, you start visiting your old acquaintances. Rolan at Ramzaithan’s Tower as well as Cal and Lia, Alfria. Oskar Fevras, who attempted very earnestly, to get you to commission a painting from him, and so many others. While you were happy to see everyone, there was still something itching at your brain, an itch that you couldn’t quite scratch. That’s how you found yourself having a glass of ale at the bar top of Elfsong. You were pondering what, or who, could have subconsciously pulled you back to your home city, when you accidentally overheard a conversation from two men sitting farther down the counter from you.

“Oi! Let me see that new blade of yours!”

“Ah, yeah, that tiefling did a damn fine job. Dammon, one of the best blacksmith’s I’ve ever worked with.” The man said as he pulled out a beautifully crafted silver dagger with a black leather hilt.

Your ears perked at the mention of Dammon. You silently cursed to yourself as you had forgotten to visit him earlier in the day due to the bustle you’d been swept up in. He had been someone you got on with so well during your quest to remove the tadpole, hells he had even helped Karlach with her infernal engine, granting her a little more time top side. A smile came to your lips as you reminisced meeting the tiefling for the first time.

It was only a few days into your adventure of finding a cure for the Mind Flayer tadpole. You had found other survivors from the Nautolid crash on the beach, quickly realizing that you had all been infected. You and your new companions spent a couple days searching the beach and wreckage for supplies when you decided to venture farther out, starting to head towards Baldur’s Gate. You had heard from a couple of tieflings that there was a nearby druid grove not too far north, where there was a healer. As your group headed north, you heard shouting and the beat of war drums from a pack of goblins. You and your group realized that the druid grove was under attack and had quickly sprang to action, helping dispatch the goblins, earning you thanks from the tiefling leader, Zevlor. He explained that they had been attacked by creature after creature after fleeing from Elturel after its descent to Avernus.

The tiefling had said that they were seeking refuge in the grove but with Archdruid Halsin missing after not returning with the scouts you fought the goblins with previously, Kagha was now commanding the grove, and she was ready to eject the tieflings. You agreed to find information about Kagha if you and your companions were able to see a healer and traders, with which Zevlor agreed. He pointed you towards the druid’s chambers to find a healer and towards The Hollow to find another tiefling named Dammon to trade with. You gave him your thanks as you and your new friends followed the dirt path further into the grove. You could hear the sounds of a hammer hitting metal get louder as you saw a man working at a makeshift forge. He was a man of medium build, blond hair, half shaved, tied back into a bun. Black horns, ridged skin you could barely see on his forearms from where he had his sleeves rolled up. Broad, muscular shoulders and the distinctive tiefling tail, which was twitching with frustration as the man cursed his less than stellar smithing conditions.

You waved to catch his attention as you approached. “Hi, I’m Tav. Zevlor said you had items to trade?”

“Ah, hello! I’m Dammon, we can’t thank you enough for helping take care of those nasty little creatures out there. Whatever repairs you need I can do and you can take a look at my wares. Discount included.” He smiled as he shook your hand. He beamed with pride when he talked about the pieces he had crafted. You couldn’t help but be a bit smitten by the man. The passion for his work showed in his brilliant blue eyes as he explained the different materials he had worked with, from Infernal iron in Avernus all the way to basic tin from when he had first started smithing. His tail started to wag slightly the more excited he got, you couldn’t help but think how cute it was. You had wanted to spend more of your time in the Grove talking with him, but you and your companions had found yourselves quested with finding Halsin and deposing Kagha by more people with limited time.

The night of the tiefling party quickly came to your mind as you were reminiscing. How Dammon hadn’t made an appearance, much to your dismay as you hadn’t thought you would see him again. Oh, how wrong you had been… Once your friends and you had made it into the Shadow Cursed Lands, the Harpers scouting the area quickly ushered your group to the Last Light Inn, a sanctuary within the afflicted area. You quickly realized that the tieflings, as many of them that had made it, were recuperating at the inn as well. After speaking with Jaheira, your group grabbed a drink from the boys working the bar and started making the rounds checking in with the tieflings. Rolan and Alfria filling you in on what had happened during their trek over, with you promising to do your best to bring everyone back, at the behest of Astarion, who reminded you that your little troupe already had enough on their plates.

As you made your way through the inn’s courtyard you heard the familiar beat of metal on metal as you walked closer to the barn. You quickened your step, the pace of your heartbeat also picking up, matching the beat coming from across the way. You had left the others behind, to find who was hammering away, elated to see that Dammon was there. He was safe.

He had his back to the entryway, working on some armor. You could see the muscles in his back and arms tensing as he worked the metal. The veins in his hands and forearms visible from where you stood. Callused hands firmly, but delicately, reshaping the metal back to robust condition. Dammon turned around once he noticed you standing there, the first thing you noticed was the sweat running down his brow, loose hair falling around his face, having come undone from his bun. The way he looked up at you half lidded eyes as he pushed the hair back out of his face as he walked over almost causing you to come undone. A smile graced his mouth as he saw you, tail lifted and wagging, showing his excitement at seeing you again.

“Dammon! I can’t believe you’re here, I was worried I wouldn’t get the chance to see you again..” You caught yourself from giving him a hug, not wanting to overstep his boundaries, instead placing your hands on his arms.

He let out a low chuckle, “Oh, Tav, please, the Hells couldn’t keep me. You didn’t think I’d let some cult get me, did you?” He winked as he patted your hands. You felt his tail trying to curl around your ankle, a redness coming to both of your faces as the rest of your group caught up to you, greeting the tiefling. The two of you were able to continue your conversation a little longer at the inn with Dammon joining you at the bar. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you saw your group of friends finally relaxing, even if just for a short moment. Having a drink, laughing with each other as they ate their dinner. You felt Dammon’s shoulder against yours as he sat down, causing you to look over at him. You were met with him already looking at you, a smile on his face. Neither of you moved, both your eyes jumping from irises to lips, unsure of what to do. Your impassioned thoughts of the man were quickly pulled from you as you heard Karlach booming with laughter, causing you to turn to see what had the barbarian so happy. You didn’t know what was going on but you were happy with where you were, putting your hand on Dammon’s, leaning into his shoulder more, earning you a content sigh from the tiefling. It didn’t matter to you that it was a short lived reunion, you were just glad he was there and safe.

As if you had deja vu, your second reunion with Dammon, in Baldur’s Gate, had been similar. You were unsure if he had made it to the city, worried you might not see him again, until you heard the familiar sounds of a forge as you walked around the city with your friends. Cautiously, you and your group approached the workshop and heard a man cursing to himself as he grabbed a new tool. You saw a familiar set of broad shoulders working over a sword and realized that Dammon had made it, had even found himself a forge to get back to work.

You yelled his name, causing him to turn around, smiling as soon as he saw you.

“Ah, there she is! The hero of the Grove, now the hero of the Shadowlands. It’s good to see you again.” Dammon happily said to you as you found him at his new forge, Forge of the Nine.

“Hey, wow! Look at this setup. It looks great, Dammon. It’s incredible to see you here, and safe.” You gave him a tight hug, not wanting to let go. “Could I trouble you for some repairs?” You asked as you held up your beat up sword after he had given everyone in the group a small hug.

Dammon smiled as he grabbed all the different weapons you and your companions needed fixed. “Let’s take a look at that armor too.”

He motioned to you to lift your arms as he inspected the breastplate you had on, his hand cupped over the small of your back as he looked over the rest of your armor. There was a hitch in your breath when you felt Dammon’s warm hand on your back. You cleared your throat in an attempt to hide it but the tiefling looked at you with knowing eyes. Making eye contact with you, an obvious shudder going through him at the closeness between the two of you.

“Uh.. yeah, I can make some quick repairs. I’ll have this done within a couple days for you guys.”

You remembered that day well, between the frustration of Dammon not letting you pay full price for his services and the way he delicately touched your back, the hug that felt like neither of you wanted it to end. Something about that made you yearn for more. More than the flirtatious looks and easy conversation. You wanted something special with Dammon, but you never got the chance to tell him after defeating the Netherbrain. With all of the festivities and overwhelming excitement, you had to leave the city. You quietly told all of your companions, and Withers, goodbye and that you planned on traveling from city to city to rediscover yourself, but eventually you found yourself led back to Baldur’s Gate. In the city you weren’t ever sure you were going to be in again, five years later hoping to see the man who had always been for you.

Dammon’s forge wasn’t far from the tavern, you knew you could stop by first thing in the morning to see him but you knew that wasn’t an option. You quickly finished your ale, grabbed your coat off the barstool next to you and ventured into the cold, dark night.

The tiefling sighed as he hung his smithing apron on the hook on his back door, a tired hand rubbing over his neck. Dammon knew that he stayed out working too long, the sun was long gone and the first snow of the year was coming down, affecting the temperature consistency of his forge. He had orders that needed to be be done though, and he would be damned if he didn’t finish them on time. It seemed to Dammon that that’s how he spent all of his time the last few years. Hyperfocused on work so his thoughts didn’t wander back to the one that got away. He hadn’t known her all that long, just enough to know that she was quick to help anyone in need, strong, fearsome on the battlefield, and devastatingly beautiful. He missed seeing how the flames of his different forges danced in her irises, how her smile seemed to light up the room even more when he cooled Karlach down enough for her to touch others. Everything about her had bewitched him heart, mind, and soul.

Dammon had even smithed a sword for her, matching her beauty and fierceness. A sword with a silver hilt and an intricate gold design going up the fuller, set with opals, meeting at a deadly sharp point at the tip of the blade. He kept it on display on the mantle of his fireplace, hoping that someday he might have the chance to give it to her.

Dammon changed out of his work clothes and began to make himself some tea, lighting the fireplace as he waited for the kettle. His eyes were met with the blade he was never able to give, a small smile gracing over his features as he thought of the woman who unknowingly stole his heart. As he was lost in thought, his eyes drifted to the window, when he noticed that someone was standing outside his forge.. “Bloody hells.” he whispered to himself as he walked over to his front door.

“Hey! What are you doing? It's too damned cold to be out right now. Come insi-” The rest of his words were caught in his chest as he realized the person outside, now right in front of him at his door, was the woman he had been longing for. You. You were here, staring at him with those doe eyes of yours. His brain couldn’t register what was happening until the whistle of the kettle grounded him.

Realizing that you were actually here, right now, standing in front of him again. “Where are my manners, I’m sorry, Tav. Please come in, let’s get you out of this cold and out of that coat.” He said as he stepped aside and opened the door wider for you to come. You kicked the snow off your boots as you stepped through the threshold, hanging your coat on the rack next to the door. You smiled as you watched Dammon pouring the two of you a cup of tea, his hair hanging down around his face rather than in its signature bun, the red highlights glinting in the firelight. You noticed as his tail swiped back and forth, low to the ground, giving away his nervousness.

You decided to break the silence. “Were you able to buy this place from the owner?”

“Oh, yes. She said I was one of the better tenants she had had and gave me the opportunity to buy it from her a couple years ago.” Dammon responded as he watched you fidget with your tea cup. He couldn’t believe that you were here, after disappearing for five years. Five years of nothing but hoping to the Gods that you were okay. He continued to eye you, lips pursed. “Tav.. What are you doing here? I mean, I’m happy to see you and all but just reappearing after all these years, like nothing has changed? As if it was just another instance that we found each other before your tadpole was removed?”

You could hear the pang of hurt in his voice as you met his eyes, feeling guilty. You ran a hand through your hair as you thought of an answer. “I… I don’t know. I know that leaving after everything the way that I did was shitty, and I will never forgive myself for not finding you first, Dammon. I just.. couldn’t handle the pressure of being one of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. I didn’t even know who I was as an individual anymore, so I left. Hoping to rediscover myself.” Dammon gave you a hum of acknowledgement as he watched you find your words.

“And did you?” The tiefling asked. You gave him a confused look as his question registered.

“Ah, well. That’s a tricky question, I suppose. I learned that I love Waterdeep during the summer, some of the best fish that I’ve ever had. I also learned that I still don’t care for goblins, I met too many of those bastards on the road.” You looked back to the tiefling, giving him a small smile. “I don’t know how many swords and blades I went through whilst traveling. I never met another blacksmith as good as you.” You said as you put your hand over his, hot and calloused, but still gentle as he placed his other hand over yours, smiling at you as his eyes drifted towards the blade he had made for you. Without another word, Dammon got up and grabbed the sword from its resting place, inspecting it.

“You know, I made this for you, all those years ago.. Been holding on to it, hoping to give it to you someday.”

“Dammon, have you been carrying a torch for me this whole time?” You half jokingly ask as you set your tea down. You gasped as you turned and saw the beautiful blade up close, inspecting its features, gently touching the opals that lined the middle. You looked up and realized that Dammon was already looking at you, his eyes so full of love you wondered how you missed it before.

“I always have, Tav. It’s always been you, I’ve never met a woman like you.” Dammon tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you looked at him, slowly standing from your chair.

You took the sword from him, placing it on the counter. You surprised the man as you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him into a hug.

“Dammon, there is no other man in this life that I have wanted more than you.” Dammon hugged you tighter as he listened to your words, his tail wrapping around your leg as he tried to bring you closer to him. He finally pulled away from the hug to grab your chin, lifting your face up to his, kissing you passionately, like a man starved. You carded a hand through his hair as he cupped your cheeks, working his hands down to the sides of your neck, one hand then cupping the back on your head as he deepened the kiss. Causing you to moan into him, he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth, eliciting a moan from the man. The kiss turned to your tongues dancing with each other and hungry moans as the two of you sought to find purchase on the kitchen counter. It was again Dammon that pulled away first, an audible whine leaving you as he pressed his forehead to yours. The both of you panting, having forgotten that air was required. His thumb swept across your cheek as he hummed in delight as you leaned into his touch even more.

“I suppose we have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?”

#bg3 #dammon #dammon bg3 #dammon x tav #dammon x reader

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the-mic-drop · 2 months

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Zelink gets Isekaied into BG3 Pt8: Goblin Camp

Zelda- High Elf Draconic Lineage Sorcerer

Link- Half Wood Elf Champion Fighter

So far: Team Zelda explored the Risen Road, Team Link dealt with Lady Ethel and Mayrina, and the Dream Visitor did an oopsie.

The party approaches the Goblin checkpoint outside the camp proper. Zelda, with the confidence of her mental victory over the Dream Visitor, uses her aura of authority (unrelated to the tadpole) to get the past the guards.

Right before they cross the bridge, the voice of The Absolute begins to dominate the party's minds. However, instead of the artefact, the Triforce symbol lights up on Zelda's hand and silences it with the sound of the bell of creation. (The sound that goes off when Zelda uses her power in BotW.)

The glowing Triforce fades and becomes a tattoo on her hand. In the confusion afterward, Gale asks to analyze the new tattoo. Once he does, he struggles to convey what he's found. Whatever power Zelda... used(?) was magical, but not of the Weave. His mind is racing, but Wyll steadies him. They have only conjecture and theories, so they resolve to continue on and wait for camp to get Gale to do more research.

In the Goblins' courtyard camp, the first thing they notice is Volo. Link is the only one who met him, since he left after interviewing Link about his encounter with Goblins. He gets dragged off into the Shattered Sanctum by Gribbo as usual.

Zelda plays with the Owlbear cub, Lae'zel humbles Crusher, Gale tricks Klagga out of the poem, and Astarion works his magic on Grat.

Inside the Shattered Sanctum, they first meet Priestess Gut. Zelda puts on a pretty good show of claiming that she's received a "divine message from The Absolute" that she needs to tell her in a more private setting. On the way to her chapel, she tells the party via tadpole link to ambush her on her mark. The assassination goes off without a hitch and Zelda says a prayer.

The party starts to investigate the Defiled Temple and takes out Polma the Ogre. During the short rest they take there, they discuss the strategy for the rest of the camp. They were unable to do recon due to running into Gut immediately upon entering. Link suggests a plan of recon and sabotage. Scope out the floor plan, locate Dror Ragzlin and Minthara, find and/or free any prisoners they can, destroy as many war drums as possible, and take out and hide as many patrolling guards as they can manage.

By exploring a bit further, Gale finds the Selunite puzzle room and decide to explore a bit before carrying out their plan. They find the Selunite Outpost in the Underdark. As fascinated as Zelda is, they have enough on their plate and go back up to carry out their plan.

The plan goes pretty well. Volo and Liam are freed, several drums and even more guards are taken out, Abdirak has no takers.

The party enters the worg pens and instead of demanding for the Goblins to leave the bear alone, Zelda tells the party to be ready to attack.

The fight's a bit chaotic, but it is a successful fight. Link and Zelda are the most surprised to see the bear turn into Halsin.

The conversation with Halsin goes as normal, no great solution to the tadpoles and the Grove is still in danger.

The party plus Halsin discuss the remaining Goblin leaders and how to go about dealing with them. They decide that Minthara is in a secluded enough area to take her out without alerting the rest of the camp. Then Ragzlin will be a full battle.

For the sake of stealth, Zelda asks Halsin to stay in the Worg Pen while they deal with Minthara.

The Minthara operation goes a bit sloppy, but luckily Zelda inadvertently hits Minthara with her staff in a pressure point as the Drow lunges at her, knocking her out. Minthara is left on the floor there since the Goblins in the room needed a bit more attention to eliminate.

The party fetches Halsin and in a glorious battle, the defeat Dror Ragzlin and claim the cult's treasure.

Right before the party warps back to the Grove, Link leans out the front door, sounds Lump's Warhorn, and they leave to let the Ogres have their fun.

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its-jaytothemee · 1 month

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Until I Met You - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Introductions

Pairings: Halsin x Tav

Word count: 3,898

Rating: Currently M, will be Explicit in later chapters.

Read on AO3

Summary: A slow burn Tav and Halsin romance fic about their relationship forming between the major events of Baldur's Gate 3, and probably a little bit after too. Explores Tav's friendships with some of the other companions, but mainly Karlach. Lots of longing and fluff, including plenty of soft Halsin moments.

Tags: Slow burn, hurt/comfort, love confessions, eventual smut, light angst, implied past rape/non-con

A/N: After starting another playthrough specifically to romance Halsin, I decided to write some additional details of how their relationship forms throughout the game. Not sure how many chapters there will be yet...we'll see where the game takes me :) There will be POVs from both Tav and Halsin throughout the fic. Enjoy!

The disgusting sight of the goblin camp was bested only by the smell that assaulted the group’s nostrils as they strolled through the mucked-up halls.

“Ugh, goblins are such vile little beasts. Remind me why we agreed to come here?” Tav could hear the eye roll in Astarion’s tone.

“Because Astarion, there’s a medically talented Archdruid who can maybe help rid us of these tadpoles who is being held and probably tortured by these little beasts.” She tried to keep her voice down but found it hard to stay quiet while keeping up with Astarion’s quips.

“Speak for yourself, my friend. My tadpole and I are getting along swimmingly. I can walk in the sun, wade through rivers, and enter any home I like. I’m living the dream.” He teased back at her.

“All good points. I’ll make sure to remind you of them when your skin is turning purple and sprouting tentacles.” She turned back with a smile just in time to catch Astarion’s playful glare.

“Hey soldier, eyes up. Archers on the beams.” Karlach had her eyes fixed above them on the two goblins patrolling the large chamber.

“Best exercise caution. I might remind you all that goblins come by dozens when one of those war drums sounds off.” Gale was clutching his staff with a white-knuckled grip.

They carefully continued exploring the unfamiliar temple, on the lookout for anything that could give them a clue to Halsin’s whereabouts. Tav had thought the mercenaries and tiefling refugees may have been exaggerating about the goblins. But now that they were here amid their den of depravity, she was starting to doubt the abilities of her party – and herself. The numbers alone were enough to overwhelm them even if Karlach could cleave three goblins at a time.

In one of the far corners, Astarion spotted a small path that wound around into a back room. There was a door guarded by a few goblins, but they were able to pass by them easily while still passing as ‘True Souls.’ The air around them somehow smelled worse as they walked into the next room. The mix of decaying flesh and the worg pens caused them all to gag slightly. Several small laughs and squeals drew their attention towards another prison cell, inside was a very large cave bear. Two young goblins were throwing stones at the bear huddled in the corner of the cage. Tav quickly and quietly cast Speak with Animals just as the bear’s eyes locked on to hers.

“Stop them…free me.” The bear growled. Listening to its voice, Tav noticed the smallest tone difference between this bear and other animals she had spoken to in the past. Given Rath’s description of Halsin, she was almost certain this bear was the Archdruid they had been searching for.

“Again! Again!” One of the young goblins squealed, picking up another rock. Tav jogged up to them.

“He’s helpless! Let him go.” She demanded.

“Tav, what are you doing? We can’t stop to help every furry creature in need.” Astarion didn’t even try to hide his disapproval. She turned around to glare at him and called on their shared tadpole.

“Astarion! Use whatever piece of your brain the tadpole hasn’t eaten yet. This is obviously Halsin from the Emerald Grove.” She held her glare until he seemed to understand their situation. He let out an exaggerated sigh and backed off.

Gale groaned behind her, realizing that they were probably going to be fighting off the several goblins and worgs in the room with them.

“The beast is stayin’ right ‘ere.” The older goblin responded, taking a step towards Tav.

“I’m ending this. Now.” She growled back. The bear let out a small roar in response.

“Time for blood.” Its voice was a low snarl.

Before she had a chance to react, the cave bear rammed into the cell doors, effortlessly breaking them from their hinges. The older goblin was crushed beneath the heavy iron, causing a scream from the two younger ones.

“The guards! Get the guards!” One of the little ones yelled. They both turned to run past Tav and her party.

“Those little brats are going to bring this whole fucking camp down on us!” Astarion yelled, daggers twirling in his hands.

“Then take care of it you whiny prick!” Tav yelled back at him, lunging for the goblin that was looking after the worgs. Karlach followed suit, jumping back up the stairs to swing at a goblin that had been butchering some suspicious looking meat.

“We’re killing children now?!” Gale cried from the top of the stairs. A thin line of ice shot from his hands to the goblin archer approaching them from the rear.

“Goblin children, darling. Hardly a moral dilemma.” Astarion responded, driving his dagger into the chest of the first young goblin.

“Perhaps but still, I think we should discuss –” Gale started to respond but let out a strangled yell that interrupted him. When Tav looked back she saw an arrow sticking out of his neck, and blood was starting to spew from his mouth. Another arrow suddenly struck him in the chest. He made a small choking sound before collapsing to the floor.

“Shit! Gale’s down!” Tav yelled. When she turned away, the goblin she was fighting tried to make a swipe at her but was quickly taken down by the cave bear that had rushed to her side.

“He’s going to have to wait! We can’t risk these little monsters alerting the rest of the camp.” Astarion was slicing his blade across the throat of the other young goblin.

Tav drew her bow and shot two arrows into the worg pens, easily landing the shots right between their eyes. She could hear Gale’s labored breaths, the sound was warped by the blood spilling into his throat. Karlach took her goblin out with one more clean swing of her axe and turned to the archer.

“I’ll get Gale, take that archer down!” Tav yelled. The others all moved in to surround the last goblin as Tav dashed over to him. She quickly looked him over, ready to remove the arrow in his neck so she could heal him. Before she could start the spell, she heard one last raspy gurgle come from Gale before his body went limp.

“Fuck.” Tav whispered under her breath. She pulled her pack to the front of her waist and started frantically searching through it. They had found a couple of revivification scrolls on their journey that she was certain she had stored in her pack somewhere. Just as she started to search through the pockets, the air around her became thick with the smell of death.

“What the…” She started to exclaim before she became horribly sick, necrotic energy swirled all around her. Startled and struggling to breathe, she jumped back a few feet away from Gale’s body, allowing her to cough the toxic air from her lungs.

The last goblin’s body fell to the floor with a soft thud. Karlach and Astarion walked back down to join Tav, examining Gale and the small cloud of death encircling his lifeless body.

“Terribly tragic, always a sad day when you lose a friend. Oh well, best we keep moving before these goblins catch wind of our little fight.” Astarion said, waving his hand in the air nonchalantly and starting to walk away.

“Astarion…” Tav grumbled and turned to shoot him a warning glare. He smiled sweetly in response.

Before they could say anything else, an illusion of Gale popped up in front of Tav, causing a small scream to escape her lips.

“Well met! I am a magical projection of Gale of Waterdeep, and if you see this manifestation, that means I have prematurely perished.”

“Oh for fucks’ sake Gale…” Tav pressed one hand to her forehead, already exasperated by Gale’s afterlife theatrics.

“…it is of vital importance that my death be remedied at your earliest convenience.”

“How am I supposed to bring you back then?” Tav asked, annoyed.

The three of them sat and listened to Gale’s projection list a very detailed description of his security protocol to receive a scroll of true resurrection. First, they had to retrieve a small pouch from his robes which Astarion deftly picked from his pocket. To open the pouch, they had to unwind the purple cord in a counterclockwise motion. Inside, they found a small flute and a folded letter with notes in the corners that they would have to play. Next, a magma mephit was supposed to appear and pose the question ‘I’ss k’cha t’chiss n’aga’ to which the answer should be K’ha’ssji’trach’ash. The mephit would then give them the scroll.

“Well shit.” Tav muttered. “Does anyone know how to play a flute?”

Karlach and Astarion shrugged in response, the panic they felt evident on their faces.

“I at least caught the mephit name!” Karlach offered.

“Gods above, Gale!” Tav yelled. “What are the chances that whoever you’re dying around knows how to play a fucking flute?!” She waved the small instrument in front of the projection’s face, whose expression didn’t change. While she continued berating the magical illusion in front of her, she failed to hear the magical whoosh behind her.

“…and even if we do figure this out, it won’t matter! Because I’m going to punch you so hard that I send you in to the beyond again! And then I’ll revive you, just to choke the life out of you so we get to do this shitshow all over again!” Tav was stomping and screaming at the projection now. She noticed Karlach and Astarion staring past her, bewildered looks on both of their faces. Was Astarion…blushing?

“Excuse me,” A deep voice called out from behind her, “perhaps I could be of some assistance? It’s the least I could do.” She could only assume it belonged to Halsin.

“Look, I know we came here to free you and all and yes, we will need your help but right now our melodramatic friend has…” She had whipped around ready to tear into the mysterious addition to their group, but her breath caught once she was able to fully look at the Archdruid.

Tav wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to see when they met Halsin, but it certainly wasn’t the large, handsome elf standing in front of her. She was rather large for an elf, but Halsin made her feel tiny. Her mouth was hanging open, unable to form words as she stared him down. His smile was enchanting, his tanned skin covered in blood from their fight.

“I owe you my thanks, I am the druid Halsin. I did not expect to meet the acquaintance of someone who would not only speak with a bear, but free it too. I’m always happy to meet another true friend of nature. And you are?”

“I’m…” Tav sputtered, “…single.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She shook her head to regain some semblance of composure. She could hear Astarion giggling like a child behind her.

“Tav…my name is Tav.” She finally blurted out.

“Oakfather preserve you, Tav. Now I’d be happy to…”

Halsin was speaking but she wasn’t really listening to his words. She saw that he was holding his hand out to her. Without thinking, she placed her hand in his and gave a soft handshake, interrupting him. He gave her a confused look, still smiling.

“As I was saying, I know how to play the flute if that would help to resurrect your friend.” He was still smiling at her.

Tav’s face and chest turned a deep red and she yanked her hand back quickly. Astarion burst out laughing behind her, almost falling over. Karlach at least had the decency to try and cover her laugh. She handed over the small flute and quickly unfolded the paper, holding it in front of her face to try and hide her blush.

“Okay so his instructions said to play the notes listed in the corners of the pages, starting in the bottom right, and working our way around the page clockwise. I’ll read them off to you. Ready?” She asked, peeking over the page at Halsin. He gave a small nod, flute held up to his lips.

“D…” The first note floated through the air.

“E…” Halsin switched gracefully to the next note.

“A…” Another note rang in across the room. Tav paused before reading the last note, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

“…D…” The last note echoed off the walls slightly mixing with the groans of her companions. Of course his resurrection tune spelled out ‘dead.’

A small magma mephit appeared in front of them.

“I’ss k’cha t’chiss n’aga.” He asked.

“K’ha’ssji’trach’ash!” Karlach responded, excited to help.

“D’a jah’jah s’um!” The mephit leaned forward as Tav held the folded paper in front of her. The small note transformed into an ornate scroll. She turned back to Gale as the mephit vanished.

Tav read the incantation and felt a warm swirling energy gather around her. It was quickly transferred to Gale who disappeared momentarily. He reappeared in front of her, standing and gasping for air. His hands shot up to his neck, feeling the area where the arrow had pierced him. Then he started laughing.

“You did it! Oh it feels good to be alive. I’m sorry to say my hands are still quite cold, so a handshake will have –” Gale was interrupted by Tav punching him in the gut, letting out a loud grunt.

“That was for your ridiculous protocol. What if we couldn’t find someone who could have played the flute? What if you had died and we weren’t around? We need to do something about that orb, Gale.” Tav was yelling again, she wasn’t truly angry with him though. She had come to like Gale, seeing him dead had upset her more than she cared to admit.

“You know the volatility of my condition, Tav. The element of mystery helps persuade others to keep me amongst the living. Sore abdominals aside…I sincerely thank you.” He wheezed back.

“You’re welcome,” Tav sighed, “and welcome back.” She nudged his arm slightly.

“Thank you for your help.” Tav looked back over to Halsin. “I suppose proper introductions are in order.” She wanted to put her embarrassing display from earlier behind her.

“This is Gale, that’s Karlach back there, and Astarion standing next to her.” She pointed to each of her companions as she introduced them. Karlach waved enthusiastically, Gale was still bent over catching his breath, and Astarion wiggled his fingers seductively in their direction.

“A pleasure, truly. Might I ask how you found me?” Halsin looked between the four of them.

“We’ve been to the Emerald Grove, it’s in danger.” Tav responded. She quickly filled Halsin in on their adventure so far. Kagha’s alliance with the Shadow Druids, the cult of the Absolute, the mercenaries that had escaped from the goblins. She paused, trying to decide if she should tell him about the tadpoles yet. Before she could continue, Halsin held a hand out in front of her.

“That look in your eyes…” He said quietly. A golden glow surrounded her as Halsin closed his eyes in concentration.

“Oakfather preserve you child, you’re infected, aren’t you?” He jerked his hand back to his side. Tav placed a hand on her sword, prepared for a fight. Halsin held his hands up innocently.

“It’s no coincidence that you found me, I wager. I’ve been studying these tadpoles. They’re different from how mind flayers typically procreate.”

Halsin launched into a summary of his research surrounding the tadpoles. Of course, there wasn’t going to be a simple cure for their affliction. He confirmed that their tadpoles were special, altered, just as they suspected. He was also able to give them their next destination, Moonrise Towers. She froze at the mention of Moonrise. It was their first solid lead since the nautiloid crashed, but the news filled Tav with dread. She knew all too well the evil that besieged that land. Without thinking, she stepped close to Halsin, leaning in so only he could hear her. She reached up and grabbed his arm, trying to keep her balance.

“You’re sure that’s where we need to go?” She asked quietly, in Elvish. “That is no easy task.”

His expression softened and he gave her a knowing look in response.

“You know of this place?” He lowered his voice to match hers, as smooth as his voice was before, it was nothing compared to hearing him speak their native tongue.

“Unfortunately, yes. I would not go back there unless I had no other choice.” Tav’s hand was starting to shake slightly against his arm, but he placed his other hand over hers to steady it. His hands were lightly calloused but warm and comforting. She felt the blushing feeling returning to her face.

“It will be dangerous, but it can be done. And perhaps, we can see the light there again.” He whispered back. His voice was hopeful, but his face was a mask of pain.

We? Before she could respond, she heard Astarion clear his throat loudly.

“Care to include us in your little whispers, darlings?” He practically sang the words.

Tav quickly let go of Halsin but noticed his hand lingered on hers for just a fraction of a second longer.

“Don’t be jealous, love. There’s enough of me to go around.” She composed herself and flashed a teasing grin at him.

“Thank you, Halsin. At least we know where to go now.” Tav turned back to face him.

“Wait,” He called after her, “I could accompany you if you’ll have me. I’ve long sought to return to Moonrise.”

“Great!” Tav said a little too quickly. “We just have to find a way to sneak through this camp and we can get you back to the Emerald Grove. Could you shift into something small so we can sneak you out? Like a mouse or a bird?”

“I cannot do that.” Halsin said, his voice lower than before.

“So much for a powerful Archdruid.” Astarion murmured. Halsin pursed his lips.

“I cannot allow these butchers to continue to threaten the Grove. I have no right to ask it of you, but if you would lend me your aid in removing the goblins’ leadership, I would be free to join you on your journey.”

Tav considered his offer for a moment. They were a capable group of fighters, but there was an alarming number of goblins between them and the three leaders. Even with Halsin, she wasn’t sure if they could fight their way out. Then she thought back to the refugees, the tieflings sheltered in the Grove. Even if they could sneak past the entire camp, Zevlor and his kin would never be able to survive on the road. Halsin was right, they needed to take out the leaders.

“Having a shapeshifting bear-druid at my side might make things easier.” She smiled at him and held out her hand. “Welcome to the team.”

He smiled back at her and clasped her forearm, once again lingering just a little longer than she would have expected.

***

Halsin let go of Tav’s arm and took a moment to catch his breath. He had been in his bear form for days now, standing on two legs made him feel a little uneasy at the moment. The four strange adventurers in front of him had huddled close together, plotting their plan of attack on the goblin leaders.

His eyes wandered to Tav, who seemed to be their leader. A picture of elven beauty in his humble opinion. Her long white-blonde hair was tied back in a braid that was currently slung over one of her shoulders, several strands had worked their way out of the confines of the braid and swirled around her head. The long scar that ran over her nose and right cheek looked like it had been caused by a claw of some kind based on the shape of the edges. She had a rugged look to her, like she had been in the wilds long before she was abducted by mind flayers. But something was off. He listened as she strung together a plan with her companions, effortlessly doling out assignments and orders, commanding their attention despite their tired state. There was a noble air about her, but he hardly knew of any nobles who would prefer stomping around in the wilderness over the comforts of their estates.

Seeing her now, it was hard to believe their initial awkward encounter had happened. She seemed so confident and sure of herself talking with her companions. He wasn’t a stranger to others being caught off guard by his appearance. Given her own beauty he was surprised that she would have any trouble forming words of flattery. She seemed witty enough and happy to flirt back at the pale elf in her company. He would have assumed she had suitors lined up from here to Neverwinter, so why would he elicit such a flustered response from her? Regardless, he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a slight pull in his chest looking at her. It had been quite some time since anyone looked at him with any kind of desire in their eyes. As for her awkward fumbling, he found it rather endearing. He pushed the thoughts away for now, he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted, not when he finally had a chance to correct so many of the mistakes from his past.

At some point while he was lost in his thoughts, Tav had summoned a large wolf to her side. The beast paced around her protectively, the smells in this wretched hideout were no doubt overwhelming to it. Halsin met its eyes, causing the wolf to freeze. He kept calm, careful not to startle it. Making a small lap around the others, it walked over to stand in front of him, still crouched in a protective stance.

“Lunari! Here girl!” Tav shouted.

Halsin carefully lowered his eyes, continuing to stand still. The wolf tentatively circled around him, sniffing around his legs. Seeming satisfied, she moved back over towards Tav and plopped down on her haunches in front of her, tail wagging slightly. Such a loyal creature, he thought to himself. Tav was absentmindedly scratching Lunari’s ears, causing her to lean against her legs and wag her tail faster. A friend of nature indeed.

Halsin thought back to Tav’s reaction to Moonrise. She had to know of the curse. When he looked into her eyes, he saw the same fear that had haunted his reflection for the last century. There were so few still alive who knew of that tragedy, let alone who had lived it. Now, it seemed that he may have found another who shared that burden.

“Okay, I think this gives us as good a chance as anything.” Tav’s voice rang through the room. “Anything to add?” Astarion’s hand shot up in the air, but Tav gave him a look that caused him to lower it again. She took a deep breath and motioned for them to head for the door. Halsin took the cue to wildshape back into his bear form. He padded up behind Tav, braced and ready to follow her into battle.

#Someone take this man away from me #i cannot be contained #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 halsin #halsin x tav #halsin silverbough #bg3 headcanons #bg3 brainrot #bg3 fluff #the tadfools

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thedomesticanthropologist · 6 months

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Did you know that if you are a Bard (or maybe everyone can?? Idk)and you play the war drum outside of the goblin camp

Your character summons the goblins as backup but they start dancing, and you get off with a warning where

The head goblin guy says: "you shouldn't have done that because it summons reinforcements for battle but I'll let it off because you made everybody have a dance party and that's pretty sick bro"

Also if you hit screen cap at the exact right moment it looks like you are praying to some God and there's even a Divine Holy light that casts across the screen it's ridiculously funny given the context also probably good fan art reference

Also this is Lyric, the bard! She detects thoughts and uses insight to get the advantage on every situation. However, impulse control is an ongoing issue. Re: war drum 🥁 party 🎉🥳

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #tav bg3 #baldurs gate tav #my tav #oc tav #tiefling #bard #bg3 bard #bg3 screenshots #bg3 screencaps #Ill always talk about Lyric #she has lots of horrifying lore

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violetlunette · 1 month

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Ideas for Villainous Characters for your Yuusona / Ocs in Twisted Wonderland

To help fanfic writers and artists, I thought I’d make a list of characters/items that creators could use to make their own twst characters. Feel encouraged to add if you have any ideas as well! The bigger the list, the better!

These are all things that present a challenge to the heroes in the Disney films or are connected to an antagonistic force, such as the poison apple being connected to the Evil Queen, or are just shown in a wicked light, such as the vultures from the same movie who just follow the queen looking devious.

Below are things that feature from some of the other animated movies that aren't featured in the main story line. (Not all the movies but I'll get to them.)

Live action, games, and etc. will get their own list eventually.

Peter Pan:

*Captain Hook

*Smee

*Any of the other Pirates

*Tik-Tok the Crocodile (debatable)

*The Mermaids (They literally said their intentions were to DROWN Wendy when they first meet her. I'm counting them)

*Tinkerbell (Debatable, but considering she tricked her friends into trying to murder a child, then betrayed her friends to vicious pirates with the only price being not to harm PETER, I’m counting her here. And--even though she “redeems” herself and is labeled a “hero”--she’s primarily an antagonistic force towards Wendy throughout the movie.)

The Indians (Again, debatable, but they were going to kill a bunch of kids)

The Jungle Book:

*Shere Khan

*Kaa

*King Louie (debatable)

*Louie’s monkeys

Sword in the Stone:

*Mad Madam Mim

*The pike fish

*The hawk

*The wolf

Cinderella:

*Drizzella

*Anastasia

*The Key Tremaine uses to lock Cinderella away

*The clock which awoke Cinderella from her dreams and ticked down to end the spell

Pinocchio:

*The Coachman

*Stromboli

*Lampwick (debatable)

*Monstro (Note: This is the name of Azul’s lounge)

*Pleasure Island itself (Note: stated to be a location in the Playful Land Event. However, I argue this as that was NOT Pleasure Island. Pleasure Island was a place that tempted you to be your worst and then cursed you for it. Playful Land just had you drop your guard and use rules against you. It’s basically just a Disney remake.)

The Black Cauldron:

*The Horned King

*The Black Cauldron

*The Wyrms

*The Witches

*Goblin Dude

*The skeleton warriors

Robin Hood:

*Prince John

*Hiss

*The Sheriff of Nottingham

Beauty & The Beast:

*The Enchantress (debatable)

*Leboff

*The Asylum Doctor

*The Wolves

*The Rose that counts down how long The Beast has to fall in love (Debatable)

Mulan:

*Shaun Yu

*The Falcon

*The Huns

*The Avalanche (debatable)

Pocahontas (no connection to history, please):

*Radcliff

*The “drums” of war

*The settlers (debatable in the film)

*Kokocum (debatable)

The Hunchback of Notre Dame:

*The Flames from Hellfire

*The Robed Figures

*Clopin and the Romani People (debatable. They did try to hang the heroes, after all.)

Nightmare Before Christmas:

*Oogie Boogie

*Jack Skellinton (Debatable)

*The Trick or Treaters

*The Doctor

*The creepy doll

*Snake that ate the Christmas Tree

*Oogie’s bugs

#twst #twisted wonderland #mine #twst ocs #twisted wonderland oc #twsited wonderland #twistedwonderland #twst wonderland #yuusona #twisted wonderland yuu #twst oc #twst yuu #ramshackle prefect #villain list #villain ideas

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i-was-bored-so-this-happened · 2 months

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Greensleeves Chapter Ten: Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Wordcount: 4.5k Warnings: Canon-typical violence

The party has bought entrance to the goblin camp, but find themselves unable to complete their mission. Something greater is at work

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The goblin camp is in sight. The party had permitted themselves a short break to regroup and try to establish a plan. While Lae’zel and Astarion are in favour of going in blades shining, Gale makes a solid argument for diplomacy allowing for a quicker and more precise extraction of the druid Halsin. Wyll, however, warns that they shouldn’t over-plan and Xaph and Shadowheart have to agree. The stab-happy Astarion and Lae’zel are outvoted, and she starts complaining about their reluctance to go to the gith creche until she’s assured that it’s their next priority once they know the tiefling refugees will be safe. There’s an outpost before the camp proper, guarded by goblins and a pair of worgs as well as a scout up high on cragged rocks that Astarion points out to the others. Xaph has been shuttled to the front of the group again, rather unexpectedly. There’s nothing to track.

“A war drum,” Lae’zel points to the thing, “One of those can summon warriors far and wide. Should we fight, we must destroy it.”

“Lookit, Klaw! Supper’s here!” They’ve been noticed. Xaph draws nearer and nearer until the worg starts to growl. Absentmindedly, she holds her fingers out to let her smell them. She won’t attack until ordered. The goblin who had spoken, bringing everyone else’s attention to the party, looks up at Xaph. Is that admiration in his eye, that she’s not scared of the worg? If it is, it’s replaced quickly with disgust. “Unless you’ve got another reason to be here, feck-shite.” The worg’s tongue, hot but not rough, licks up the arm of Xaph’s leather armour,

“Good coat on this animal. Healthy shine,” she remarks, sliding a hand up the creature’s head to reach that place between its ears she knows would make its tail thump if it was sitting on the ground, “From the nordiland worgata family?”

“How’d you know?” the goblin asks, “Dumb as a rock, but world-class at tearin’ out the throats of wee ones, she is. Rest of her litter’s inside, in the pens,” Worg pens. What other animals are in there? A bear, perhaps. “Beautiful beasts.”

“I’ve never seen a pack up close,” Xaph admits, “Always wanted to. They have an unfortunate reputation, these beasts.” No, she’s not a smooth talker or a good liar but she can talk about animals for days, “Battle-tested, I assume, to be trusted to guard the gates?”

“‘Course. Ripped out three bellies on our last raid alone. Be a shame if you came all this way without havin’ a look…” the trainer says. Diplomacy. Bonding over animals. This is working, “But I can’t let you pass just like that. Celebratin’ a raid we are,” he pats the worg’s side, “This one’s first outing. You’ll have to wear our war colours.” He indicates a particularly stinky pile of worg dung that sits at his feet. That’s the catch.

“Any designs in mind?” Xaph asks mildly, and the goblin cackles.

“Whatever calls to you.”

“Whatever calls to me…” Xaph acts as though she’s deliberating over the choice when really she’s trying to wrangle her worm. Images are easier than words, and she pushes an image of her scooping up a fistful of the dung and flinging it in the goblin’s face into her companion’s minds. Her tail curls up to her handaxe secure in the loop of her pack.

“Oh, yes, Xaph, darling,” Astarion smiles, “We must join the celebrations.” That’s approval if ever she’s heard it. She follows through with her projection and even as the goblin howls curses and the other sentries beat their shields with the pommels of their swords, Xaph passes her axe from her tail to her hand and buries it in the worg’s ribcage. She whispers a goodbye to the animal, a would-be-blessing. The beast is too surprised by the betrayal to keep Xaph from knocking her over and dragging the axe to her hind legs before pulling it out. Chaos has broken out around her. With guttural warcries, Lae’zel has plunged into the heat of the battle, finally allowed to draw blood. Astarion, ever the bright-eye, sends a bolt of flame into the rickety frame of a wooden structure that collapses on top of one goblin and brings the two who had been standing on top of the structure tumbling to the ground. None of the three of them move again after that. Gale-

An arrow catches Xaph’s side, just under her arm, and the force makes her twist and fall off the worg’s body. They’d forgotten about the archer on the rocks. Shadowheart changes directions and slides onto her knees at Xaph’s side, slamming her shield between them and another arrow as it sails towards them.

“Come on. Up you get.” Shadowheart says, mumbling a healing word as she hauls Xaph upright. Warmth rushes through the tiefling, not only from the healing but from the affection Shadowheart is showing. She warms even more so when the cleric sends a scorching bolt of yellow light at the scout and he falls from the rock, burning. A second worg, smaller than the first, is barrelling towards them. Xaph nocks an arrow, breathes, and speaks a single word. Laqueum. When she hits the creature, thorny vines sprout directly from the shaft of the arrow and ensnare it, bringing it to the ground. The rush of magic is even more relieving than that of healing. She’d been worried that she wouldn’t be able to perform any spells. She wasn’t exactly a wizard before the nautiloid, her grasp on the Weave shaky, but she’d felt the loss as keenly as a sting. It feels the same as it had when she’d first fired an arrow again. Magic. Gale. He’d frozen last time. Surprised, or inexperienced.

Turns out, he’s not difficult to find. Wyll races away from him in hopes of intercepting a goblin’s path to the war drum, and pulls Xaph’s eye to the wizard. She holds the image of the trapped worg in her mind and darts towards her friend but…but…he claps his hands together, and as he separates them the sound reverberates until it’s something far deeper. A clap of thunder. Detono. A wave of air kicks up dust and knocks a handful of goblins over before they’re close enough to hit him. Astarion weaves between them once they’ve fallen, stabbing with wild abandon, and Gale’s attention is turned elsewhere. This is the Wizard of Waterdeep, cradling a miniature storm in his hands as easily as he breathes. Wyll is the Blade of Frontiers, delivering well-practiced flippant lines as eldritch-red energy cracks goblin bones. Xaph is the Sunset Ranger, her arrows finding home in eyes and ears and hearts before her targets even know she’s there. Lae’zel ploughs through opponents like a scythe through grass, Shadowheart picks up the pieces with bright yellow flames and Astarion darts between the warlock and the wizard to make their kills a little bit bloodier.

Still panting for breath and some of them spattered with blood a few minutes later, the party advance on the goblin camp. A trio of drunken guards had been easy to take out after the battle at the gates, and now bottles of wine clink in Astarion’s pack and Gale holds a locket Xaph had found.

“So much for diplomacy.” Lae’zel comments.

“We can’t say we didn’t try to be civilized about it,” Gale says, “They were the ones who…well-”

“Wanted Xaph to smear shit on her face.” Wyll finishes the sentence for him

“I’m not quite that feral,” Xaph assures them, “Pity, though. They were well cared for animals.”

All that stands between them and the goblin camp now is a bridge, spiked barricades leaving a zig-zag path. The party pauses momentarily, sharing looks. They’re ready. They think. Xaph steps foot on the stone bridge and falls. Her skull vibrates, and she swears she can hear her tadpole squeaking with joy. Is this it? Are tentacles about to burst forth from her jaw? Pain blooms in her kneecaps as she hits the bridge, and her tail pinches as someone behind her lands on it, but the greatest pain of all is in her head. She brings her hands to her temples, to her ears, to her horns, pressing in and in and in to try and relieve the pain, to squeeze the tadpole out, anything. Judging by that pinch in her tail, the groans and screams behind her, her companions are experiencing a similar pain. Xaph can’t stop the screech that’s building in her throat. Maybe if she’s loud enough it will stop. Maybe if she’s loud enough she won’t feel it any more.

Hear my voice. Obey my command.

***

They are not ready. The Absolute has spoken to them. The strange box in Shadowheart’s possession that Xaph had entirely forgotten about had…protected them? All bravado has shrunk to simply courage, and that is not enough. Camp is set up, hidden among some trees. Just a short rest, they say. Just a little break. But the sun is beginning to set. Xaph snaps the fire into existence when hunger starts to rumble in her stomach. She sits with her knees pulled to her chest and her chin resting on them. Her eyes are pinned to Gale’s fingers. It’s calming, to watch someone who looks like he knows what he’s doing. They’re perpendicular to one another, Gale’s legs behind Xaph’s back as she faces the fire.

“I really don't,” his voice is almost startling, almost. People haven’t been talking much, “Know what I’m doing, that is.” Xaph lifts her head up and frowns at him. Gale taps the side of his head with the butt of the knife he’s using and gives her that wry smile, she recognises it from their first night at camp.

“The wee one.” She whispers, repeating his words from that exact conversation, and his smile warms. It rivals the fire, the way it burns itself into Xaph’s memory.

“Oh, I know my way around a carrot alright, but this?” he gestures towards the glow of light that indicates the goblin camp. “Out of the frying pan into the fire, so to speak.”

“You’re not used to combat, are you?” Xaph asks, letting her chin touch her knees again. It occurs to her a moment later that this is a rude question to ask, but he doesn’t seem to take it as such,

“Not my forte, as you might have noticed.” Gale says sheepishly.

“You did well today. Thunderwave is an impressive spell in the right hands.” She says the word and her eyes jump from his face to his wrists. Those strangely purple veins.

“I’m out of practice.” He protests.

“Not many goblin camps to ransack in Waterdeep.” Xaph reminds him. Hair falls in his face and he blows a puff of air upwards to try and get it out of the way but when that fails he uses the back of his hand to push the stray strands back.

“Well, I-”

“Take the compliment, wizard,” Xaph cuts in. He has a habit of doing that. Deflecting positive words. Sometimes Shadowheart will take them for her own when he bounces them away. Xaph rocks forward onto her knees and reaches out to tuck another errant piece of hair behind his ear. She’s careful to curl her fingers and use her knuckles rather than risk catching his skin with her nails. His skin is warm against hers. His eyes are doing that honeypot thing. Honey, spiced by the flames reflected in his pupils. “You did good.” She holds his gaze. She needs him to know she means it. His face crumples just a little bit, but she misinterprets it and pulls back and it’s effort to not lean into the absence of her hand. “Does it hurt?”

“It always hurts.” He tells her. It’s true. The pain is always there, usually wrapped around his ribs and his vertebrae and it often pushes in on his knees. Today its focus is on his shoulders and it doesn’t matter how often he rolls them and stretches his arms. The arcane hunger is still there. The sending stone Xaph had given him is buried at the bottom of his pack, in his tent, far enough away that he can’t be tempted by it. He can’t accept it, but he hasn’t got the conviction to give it back to her. Every time he casts a spell, bile rises in his throat and his lungs burn. Xaph’s concern brings cool comfort. A little.

“Did that locket help?” Xaph asks, her fingers leaving him to go to the chain around her own neck. It’s the locket Arabella’s mother had given her. It’s what allowed her to cast dancing lights, and he knows that if she was so quick to give up her mother’s ring she would give him this too without question. Gale pulls the necklace she’d given him earlier from his pocket. It’s still intact. “Hells, Gale, why haven’t you used it?” She wants to push the metal into his collarbone, where that tattoo forms a target, but she doesn’t. That would be crossing a line, surely, a line she doesn’t have permission to approach. He holds her gaze, but Xaph doesn’t back down.

“It won’t be pleasant to watch.” He tells her. Xaph doesn’t move, except to take the carrot and knife from his hand. She slices into the vegetable without looking at it, trying to instil a sense of normalcy and prevent the others from wandering over and whining about food. Gale lifts the silver chain until the crescent moon locket dangles in between them. He pulls it to his chest. To where his heart sits. As Xaph watches, his entire body reacts to the magic within the metal. What Xaph had thought was a tattoo, that circle with the spindly lines that reach up his neck and over his jaw, they shine. Bright violet, almost white. His back arches and his jaw clenches and the grimace on his face pulls the skin of his throat taut. His name falls from Xaph’s lips and she has to resist the urge to reach out and hold him in some way, any way. This is painful, that much is clear. That bright violet light lifts from the circle drawn in his skin and purple energy pulsates around him, a miniature cyclone that encloses him and Xaph. In the next moment, the purple stuff is pulled back into his body. And he breathes. Eyes closed. Still tensed. Xaph’s hand falls to his knee, the closest part of him, and the point of contact is enough to bring him back to earth. His hand is still pressed to his chest, rubbing the flat of his breastbone.

“Gale?”

“It’s working,” he tells her, “The magic is like a lullaby that sings to sleep the demon inside. A metaphorical demon, I hasten to point out,” he says quickly, “Unlike in your…unfortunate case. But I’m afraid it’s no less dangerous - and no less bound to wake up again to continue its ravages,” he hasn’t quite managed to slip back into his regular eloquent cadence, and his breathing is still heavy, “Such is the nature of all monsters.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling…better.” Xaph is hesitant to use that word.

“On the plus side, my tower in Waterdeep has never been so free of clutter.”

“Let me rephrase,” Xaph proposes, “I’m glad you’re letting me help you. Admitting yourself to aid is bravery in itself.” Gale’s glad that she looks down at her own hands because the warmth of her words hits him directly in the face and he knows he’s a terrible blush. She’s unendingly kind to him, and he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve such softness from this woman. It’s the same softness she shows beasts three times her size. All of them strays, as Astarion had said.

“I know I ask a lot from you with few answers in return, but in time all will be told. I promise.” Promise? He can’t promise that. She deserves truth, but not that much truth. He can’t promise her this. It’s too much. She’s cupped her hands and brought them to her mouth, whispering words in a language he doesn’t understand. Magic blooms between her fingers, he can feel it, the thing in his chest lurching towards it even though it’s just been fed. The worm squirms in response, and he can sense hers moving in tandem. Still connected. The words are clearer in his mind, though he still doesn’t recognise them. Dearc fearrad. Yellow-green magic coats the tieflings hands. Chartreuse. Tendrils of it push out from between her fingers and form thin fern-like leaves, bringing light notes of fennel to the air. Matha súbh. Druidic magic, surely. Druidic language. Fás slán measan. When she opens her hands, they’re full of glowing golden berries. Gale opens his hands below hers to catch what she drops.

“Eat. They’ll help.” He obeys. It’s shaped like a raspberry, but it tastes nothing like one. It tastes like her, he realises. Or at least, it tastes like how she smells beneath sweat and mud and blood. Ginger. Saffron. Cherries, right at the end. A single strand of her magic buries itself in his chest and catches on his every breath, a string of green light arcing across the orb. The burning ache in his shoulders is cooled, just a little, and he can straighten his back without as much complaint as before. Goodberries. He’d read about these. A transmutation, taking threads of the Weave and sewing them into reality. To heal, to help. He eats another because he doesn’t know what to say, and because of a twinge in his chest behind where his hand still sits that has nothing to do with his condition. “I know we haven’t known each other long, Mr of Waterdeep, but you are my friend. You have kept my secret, and I keep yours. I care about you too much to watch you stumble around in pain. ” Friend. She cannot get further attached than that. She can’t. This is an adrenaline-allyship, fated by the worms in their heads and coincidence. Nothing more. Nothing good comes from trying to further a connection made through adventuring. A good shag, maybe, but now is not the time to think of baser wants over needs. He is her friend. She can’t keep looking at him, watching him eat. Xaph moves to put the other berries in a nearby bowl, but they go flying when Astarion plonks himself down next to her and bumps her elbow.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, with not an ounce of an apology in his voice. Before Xaph is forced to crawl around in the dirt to pick up her treasures, Gale waves a hand that lifts each and every one of them through the air and into the bowl. Astarion either doesn’t see this or doesn’t care, because he cuts directly to the chase, “Darling, Wyll’s bleeding and someone needs to take care of it before I do.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Xaph sighs, pushing up onto her feet. When she bends over to pick up her alchemy pouch, then the bowl, the open sides of her shirt fall forward to show the slight curve of her stomach and the red band of her small clothes bound around her chest. A mostly healed scratch sits on the side of her ribcage where she’d been hit earlier today. Once she’s collected her supplies she whisks off in the direction of Wyll’s tent. She taps a pole with her foot as a way of knocking on the door, then ducks inside. The tell-tale orange of her dancing lights makes the green fabric of the tent glow from within more than the oil lamp Wyll had set up. Gale pushes a third berry into his mouth and looks at Astarion, who’s looking at him as though he knows something and doesn’t like it.

“What?” the wizard asks, cherry aftertaste on his tongue.

“Don’t act so naive,” Astarion drawls. He reaches out as though to pluck dust from the shoulder seam of Gale’s robe, “I can hear it, you know, the way your heart goes pitter-patter-pit,” slender fingers tap dance on Gale’s shoulder, “Every time she calls you a good boy.”

“Excuse me?” Astarion is always forward, but this is shockingly so, “I’m not sure I understand what you’re implying-”

“Oh, yes, you do-” Yes, he does.

“She’s never said that.”

“No, not in those exact words, but that’s what it feels like she’s saying, isn’t it?” There’s stolen wine clutched in his hand. Is he drunk? Can vampires even get drunk? No, he’s not, Gale’s making excuses for him. Astarion pushes his whole weight onto Gale’s shoulder - bringing back the pain Xaph had just smoothed away - and stretches himself up to his full height, “Just bed her already, friend. If only to make her realise she has better options.”

***

Wyll and Lae’zel are on first watch, but the air isn’t cold enough to chill Xaph into her tent so she stays with them for a short while. They’ve hidden themselves in a copse of maple trees, which have proven to be common in this part of the world. Seeds twirl down around them on occasion, like shooting stars. Eleasis is drawing to a close. It won’t be warm enough to sleep outside for much longer. Xaph ensures Wyll’s arm is securely bandaged and will be kept clean until the cleric rises in the morning. Lae’zel stares up at the moon - if they didn’t know better they’d say she was misty-eyed - and shares her ambitions of becoming kith’rak, of battling among the stars, in the Astral Plane. Her voice is less grating now Xaph knows it, her heavy consonants mingling with the rustle of the trees and pausing for Wyll’s gentle requests for translation of gith words. Xaph is slowly drawn into sleep. A smile burns behind her eyelids.

She dreams. She hasn’t dreamt since the tadpole had taken her. It’s one of those dreams that tricks her into thinking she’s waking up, but her surroundings are entirely different. She lies on hard rock, blue grass brushing at her nose. White pinpricks in an endless lavender void above her, blocked by a face. Not Astarion’s, as had happened the other night. Another tiefling. Perhaps the most beautiful woman Xaph has ever seen. Her forehead is high and clear, and thick braids of hair are piled on her head in tiers. Her horns twist straight up, wrapped in silver ornamentation. Her eyes glow blue. She is familiar, and yet totally alien.

“I came just in time. You are transforming.” That voice. Xaph knows that voice, knows the way it echoes through space. This voice had spoken to her on the nautiloid. Xaph finds that she can move, that she’s in control of her body, and lifts herself onto her elbows and scoots backwards. She’s too close. Xaph can’t speak. She can form words but no sound comes out. “I saved you before.”

Before Xaph can even try to ask when, she’s falling. Falling from the nautiloid, but the wind doesn’t roar, her clothes don’t sting when they whip against her skin. She can’t smell anything. A scream builds in her throat again as she tumbles towards the beach…but she stops. Suspended upside down a few feet above the sand, the sky reverting back to that strange cool-toned void. The woman walks towards her, upright, and draws level with Xaph.

“And I’m here to save you again.”

Hadn’t Xaph wondered why the fall didn’t kill her? Hadn’t she been surprised by her lack of injuries? Can this be true, or something conjured by her mind to explain the phenomenon? Surely it can’t be divine interference - the gods wouldn’t touch her but to smite her - and it’s unlikely a devil would interfere with another’s investment or put on so pretty a show. The image of the beach recedes, the world turned until Xaph is the right way up. She sees a stone bench, wooden latticework with trailing ivy and unknown purple flowers.

“You will not become a mind flayer. Not while I’m around. I’ll protect you,” the woman stands. Offers Xaph a hand. It’s just a dream, there’s no reason not to accept it. Her grip is strong, the metal of her gauntlet should bite into Xaph’s skin but it doesn’t, “We haven’t much time, so listen closely,” she strolls casually towards the edge of the rock they stand on, indigo tail swaying. Xaph twists to look behind her and finds her environment has changed from a peaceful garden to something more like a temple. When she follows the mystery tiefling she sees little more than the same lavender colour, interspersed with bright spots, as far as the eye can strain, “There is great potential within you. It comes from that parasite. Your instinct is to resist the power it gives, but you must accept it. Nurture it. I will keep it from consuming you but for the sake of both of us, you must learn to wield it.” With a wide sweep of her arm, the rocks obscuring Xaph’s view clear. She has very few words to describe what she is shown. Another mass of rock, huge, that takes a bit of imagination to see the skull shape it forms. It is broken into shards, the empty gaps covered by turquoise and yellow energy. Shields. Flaming projections of people fly around it as the panes of energy pulse. “A fight for the fate of Faerun. A fight we are losing. For now. You can change that, but only if you embrace your potential.” There’s a moment’s pause. “I have to go. The enemy is closing in. I will be back.

Xaph wakes, really wakes, in camp. She’s lying on her stomach, her nose tucked into the crook of her elbow. She can smell the soil, her sweat, the leftover smoke of the fire. There’s a blanket over her shoulders. Thick, dark grey with crimson stitching around the edge. Wyll’s. He’s lying down. Lae’zel is curled in a ball next to him. Xaph crawls to them more than walks, leaving the blanket behind, needing to make sure they are asleep and not dead. No one is on watch. She grips Wyll’s shoulder and shakes him.

“Wyll. Wyll.” She didn’t know she’d miss her own voice so much. The warlock rolls over with a deep frown and hunched shoulders, but he wakes easily enough.

“Xaph? What happened?” his voice carries none of the signs of sleep. He hadn’t been out long, “We were…then…We were just talking, and then I was…dreaming.”

“Dreaming? Wyll, what did you dream?”

“I haven’t dreamed since our little cruise,” Wyll tells her. His frown remains, though out of confusion rather than irritation at being woken up, “I saw a man. A tiefling. He said he saved me, from the nautiloid.”

“That’s what mine said too.”

“What?”

“I had a dream. About a tiefling. Who said she’d saved my life before-”

“-and he would save me again. If we…”

“If we…” “If we open ourselves to further ghaik infection,” Lae’zel’s voice startles them both, Xaph’s tail whipping to the side. The githyanki is a light sleeper, it seems. That tracks, “It is a projection put forth by the tadpole. I have never heard of such a thing…but it must be. It must be.”

#rae's writing #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 oc #baldur's gate 3 oc #xaph [tav]#greensleeves #wyll ravengard #lae'zel #astarion #astarion ancunin #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #shadowheart

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mtg-cards-hourly · 1 year

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Goblin War Drums

The goblin idea of music is to hit something with a stick.

Artist: Peter Bollinger TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #$0.47 #peter bollinger #goblin war drums #seventh edition #enchantment

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greyias · 8 months

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A Fond Farewell to Act 1

After dithering about a fashion faux pas most unfortunate, and with nothing else to do on all of the maps, it is finally time for me to bid a fond farewell to Act 1 of Baldur’s Gate 3, and via the Mountain Pass head into the uncertain transition stage to Act 2 (and presumably the consequences of my actions).

But before I go. A moment. To reflect on my favorite memories in this journey so far:

Alfira’s song and The Harpy Rock Concert

Aravyn chickening out of lying to an evil mirror, Astarion shoving her aside to show her how its done, only to fail so spectacularly on every single conversation check the mirror spits out a giant orb of molten death that starts chasing us around the room spewing deadly AOEs as I loudly scream “OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO WHY CANT WE TARGET IT OH NO” and the entire party flees for their life, nearly locking Astarion in the cellar with the death orb he summoned

The Glitterbomb/Musical Mini-Heist

Best Quasit Girl

Ari seeing giant claw marks a dragon very obviously gouged into stone, failing her intelligence check, and then proudly declaring it the artistic statement of some mysterious person

Gale nearly dying from a concussion because I decided to put off taking a long rest and instead do a little lute concert tour around the Druid Grove, and one NPC loved it so much he enthusiastically hurled his tip of a single gold piece in the direction of my singing paladin — and straight into Gale’s skull and taking off 6 of his precious few remaining HP

Discovering the mighty cow summon spells

Operation War Drum

My dumbass Paladin talking to Minthara, and winning every single persuasion check, so that she entered into a conversation to very earnestly insist that this random forest is where the secret Druid Grove is, and have Minthara scream in frustration that they already checked there and to go FIND IT, only for us to return five seconds later and say that we totes got the real location this time and point to the same spot on the map. About five time in a row.

Halsin getting the whole party stuck in eternal combat for no other reason than he was a bear, and apparently the game took that personally

That time Astarion gleefully informed Aravyn she was unfuckable, only for a full 24 hours later to decide that he was actually jealous that she considered Gale prettier than him (but also approved of this??), and basically yelled out “CHALLENGE ACCEPTED” before flouncing off

The entirety of the Auntie Ethel adventure freaking me (the player) out so much I, the notorious loot goblin, refused to touch ANY food or beverage in the entire cursed swamp even after finishing all of the quests and clearing the area

Nearly blowing up a dwarf trapped in a field of flammable mushrooms, and somehow both he and the valuable quest item miraculously survived. Only for my dumbass Paladin to eat the quest item mid-battle for no reason at all, and me not realizing until twenty hours of gameplay in that I’ve doomed the dwarf and his unpleasant wife to a life of destitution and also preventing one of my companions from regaining precious lost memories.

Getting a TPK several times in a row from the giant landshark in the Underdark, before finally beating it with actual tactical smarts. Only to revive it with a temporary NPC ally as a spawn so it could help us in fights because we are smart and tactical now. And then forgetting to dismiss it after the temporary NPC ally turned against us, only to return to the same area several hours later where we once again nearly died to the now undead manifestation of our hubris

Smiling and waving at whoever is on the end of those scrying eyes like we’re in some sort of beauty pageant

100 Foot Sharran Walkway of Doom

Rolling a nat 1 on a wisdom save after picking up a cursed locket

Robo-Hugs

I will never forget you Act 1. We laughed. We cried. Made many poor life decisions that I’m sure are going to come back and bite me in the ass very soon. But for now, we must march onwards into the unknown, where I’m sure Ari and the Tadfools will probably almost blow up the multiverse or something, at the rate they’re going.

#shamelessly stealing the phrase ‘tadfools’ because it fits this beloved pack of weirdos so well #grey's bg3 tag #bg3 posting #bg3 spoilers #long post #NO CUTS you must scroll past all of my dumb bg3 adventures #oc: aravyn #ari's og campaign

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batrachised · 23 days

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over the past few days I've had some lovely moots message me and if I'm taking forever to respond, please know it's because I'm trying to beat back the goblins of adulthood that are beating their war drums on my psyche

#in other words: I'm moving

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dark-mikuchan · 6 months

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The Spider's Lyre

Minthara x Alfira

rated E

4915 words | anger/comfort | porn with plot

read it on Ao3

She joins them after her sham of a trial at Moonrise Towers. They wipe out her captors and pull her from the very claws of death, offering her not only safe haven in their camp but a space within their ranks, and Minthara seizes the opportunity.

Each of them are skilled in their own way – even weighed down, as they are, with their respective pasts. She can feel their thoughts and emotions brushing against her as their tadpoles whisper and connect, and they are no mysteries to her.

Except for one. The bard Alfira is an outlier, and somehow both an open book and a locked chest. She has no tadpole, and so Minthara receives her story in bits and pieces from their campmates – as well as from Alfira herself, who shows much emotion but little reserve at sharing her sad tale.

Her time in Avernus. Her cherished mentor, slaughtered. The grove attacked by goblins, Minthara’s goblins, with only a handful of tieflings making it out alive. A long, dangerous journey to find the band she and Minthara now belong to.

Alfira made the trip alone and without any alternate plan, Minthara learns. Just the lute on her back, a few days’ food, and a small dagger that would hardly threaten a mouse, let alone any actual enemies.

“And then there was all that with, y’know…” Karlach’s voice drops low, and Minthara’s ears perk with curiosity. Karlach doesn’t elaborate - in fact none of the camp, not even the usually forthcoming Alfira, seem eager to, but piece by piece, hint by hint, Minthara unwinds the tangled story. Their fearless leader, so plagued by those violent desires. Alfira’s scream just loud enough, just lucky enough, to wake the others. A story that had almost ended very, very differently.

Even with the whole tale spread before her, Minthara struggles to understand. Why undertake such a hazardous trip? Alfira couldn’t have known she’d make it alive, or if she did, that she’d be accepted by the group. She’d only spent a day before having murder attempted upon her. Yet…she stayed, and continues to stay now.

Minthara studies her, trying and failing to find the logic in the other woman. Alfira sings poorly and earnestly: ballads of past friends and future triumphs and everything in between, some written and rehearsed and others clearly not. She has very few combat skills - Minthara watches critically one calm afternoon as Astarion tries to teach her how to actually use the small dagger Alfira had arrived with, to little avail. She has no tadpole pressing urgently behind her eye, no stake in this war – not any more so than any other random, untrained civilian. But the bard’s dedication never seems to waver. She seems wholly committed to their ragtag group’s noble cause.

Perhaps she also frustrates Minthara because not only does she question why Alfira stays – she can’t seem to wrap her mind around how Alfira stays. How she stays alive, how she stays a member of the group, how the others do not poison her food just to stop the nightly caterwauling that accompanies Alfira’s middling strumming. Instead, Wyll dances as Gale adds his voice to the din. Karlach gives up on pitching her tent and begins using the flat of Shadowheart’s shield as a makeshift drum, playing along with the beat. Even the others – Astarion, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, their darkly haunted leader – keep humming or swaying as they lay out bedrolls and build the campfire. Alfira’s song is interrupted often with laughter, and the tiefling doesn’t seem to mind.

In Menzoberranzan, Alfira would have died long ago. She’s far too soft and far too naive. The fact that the girl is not only alive but thriving sticks in Minthara’s throat.

Minthara is no longer in Menzoberranzan. She knows this. She doesn’t have to follow those old, violent traditions. She can relax – and she does. She sleeps deeply and without the fear of waking with a dagger through her chest. She trusts her comrades in battle. She allows herself to sip wine scrounged from empty villages and abandoned crates and doesn’t worry that it’s poisoned (not much, at least).

But she still can’t help the uncomfortable anger that roils inside of her.

Alfira is naive, but – even Minthara is forced to admit – she isn’t stupid. Minthara watches her and Alfira watches back, meeting the drow’s glares with confused smiles and questioning glances. She asks Minthara’s help with weapon training, and doesn’t recoil when Minthara snaps back:

“A pointless exercise. In House Baenre, such a useless warrior would be thrown to the spiders rather than waste the armor and supplies to keep her alive.”

This is spat with purposeful pomp and cliche - she finds that it’s often easier to simply play into others’ ideas of the Underdark. Let them intimidate themselves with their preconceived notions, and do her work for her.

“Please?” Alfira presses, undeterred. “I’ve seen you fight. You’re good, you could teach me so much! I won’t even complain when you throw me to the spiders. I’ll even write them a ballad. Dark of form and bright of fang, came Minthara’s spider gang –”

“Go away.”

Alfira is not so easily put off. She follows Minthara around camp like a lost displacer kitten, making up ditties about pale-haired paladins and what she thinks Menzoberranzan might be like. She sits near the drow when they eat dinner, or when they all huddle around the fire on cold nights, flames flickering off the tiny golden bells dangling from Alfira’s collar. In battle, she shouts words of insipid inspiration as Minthara raises her mace high, readying a divine act of smiting – and to Minthara’s surprise they work, charging through her with something like magic and something like friendship.

An odd conflict blooms within Minthara. She finds herself humming to Alfira’s lute, laughing as Karlach tunelessly belts out a ballad or Lae’zel tries to teach a traditional githyanki dance (only Wyll is able to copy the complex steps). Her lips don’t twist in distaste when Alfira presses close, leaning against her to offer more food, more drink, more friendship. Slowly, Minthara has become part of the group, and Alfira has, too.

But something sharp still lurks in her ribcage, ugly and biting. It rears its head when Alfira trips over her own feet in the heat of battle, shadow-filled zombie going free thanks to her mistake, or when the bard smiles so broadly that Minthara knows, just knows, the guileless idiot wouldn’t last a second in the Underdark.

It’s on a night that they have more wine than food for dinner than Minthara notices the flush to Alfira’s cheeks, the way she leans in a little more than necessary into her companions. Her hands linger as she accepts a bowl of soup – broth, really – from Wyll, and the equally full mug of Chultan fireswill from Shadowheart. Like all of them (herself included, Minthara begrudgingly thinks) Alfira is lonely, and hungry for something more. She’s also transparent as a House D’Armgo courtesan, big eager eyes lilting over everyone and anyone.

When Alfira settles next to Minthara with her her half-drunk broth and her half-drunk cup, when she leans against the drow woman and laughs loudly and without apprehension, when she sets down her bowl to press her hand against Minthara’s arm, when she starts to run her fingers along Minthara’s smooth violet-gray skin – Minthara doesn’t pull away. The heady spiced drink has filled Minthara’s head as well, and Alfira’s hand is playful and confident. It annoys Minthara to no end. But she doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she finishes her own drink, and stands slowly. She lets her hand trail over Alfira’s waist, shoulder, horn as she rises, and she says in a low voice: “Meet me later.”

There is no further invitation. She doesn’t wait to see what the bard does – if she stares with wide eyes or smirks with success – just stalks off into the night, made darker by the gathered shadows.

Alfira finds her not long after. Minthara didn’t go far – just to the old, broken house by the edge of the camp, close enough to be safe, far enough to not be disturbed. She can barely hear the others, chattering amongst themselves as they ready for bed.

The bed is old and rather falling apart, but made comfortable with the spare bedrolls and blankets Minthara spread over it. She rises from it now as Alfira approaches. The bard has shed her top, leaving only a thin undershirt and her soft camp pants. Her cheeks are flushed, with drink or with nerves, Minthara can’t tell. Likely both. Her own face probably looks the same (by the gods, Shadowheart is generous with a bottle) but she keeps her expression poised. To a bystander, she’d look as calm and stoic as ever.

Again – the fangs sticking at her throat, the anger pricking at her skull. Alfira, with her wide eyes and violet-red cheeks, is not stoic at all. Even now, tipsy and aroused, she can’t suppress her anger at Alfira’s utter weakness.

Minthara touches the other woman’s waist, then presses her lips to the crook of Alfira’s neck. The bard makes a soft sound, and Minthara steers her to the bed. She tugs Alfira’s shirt and pants free, then sheds her own camp clothes.

She allows the tiefling a moment of admiration (and, she will admit, takes the chance to admire the bard as well) before pressing the other woman onto the blanket-strewn bed. The bard lies back, allowing Minthara to straddle her, though her hands wander eagerly: her fingers caress Minthara’s hips, waist, legs, arms, pressing and plucking as if Minthara is an instrument to be played. Her face is open, her eyes wide and admiring as she squirms under Minthara’s body. She leans up in an attempt to kiss Minthara, but the drow doesn’t meet her lips.

In the Underdark, where there are no stars, Alfira would be long dead and gone. Here, where the moon breaks through the shadows, far from Menzoberranzan, Alfira has been given a second chance.

Minthara moves in passion and in rage. Her teeth meet Alfira’s collar, her shoulder, her neck, leaving little dark marks where she nips and sucks. The bard moans and gasps at each one. Alfira’s hands keep moving, aimless in their eagerness, as if she can’t touch the drow fast enough, far enough. Minthara is careful and precise, as pointed as a wartime strategy. She tweaks Alfira’s nipples, bites at her earlobe, squeezes her thigh roughly, taking note of what makes the tiefling gasp sharply, what causes Alfira to whimper or moan or buck her hips against Minthara’s.

It’s more than a second chance, really. Chance after chance after chance is more like it. Alfira outlived her mentor, survived Minthara’s well-organized goblins. Traipsed through the wilderness with sheer luck on her side.

With one hand against Alfira’s shoulder, holding the bard down, Minthara grinds against the other woman until Alfira is moaning an aria of pleasure. She lets her free hand wander: pinching and rolling the tiefling’s nipples, caressing the base of her horns, raking her fingers through that long purple hair. She waits until Alfira’s wails reach a fever pitch, then pulls away. The bard gasps and strains against Minthara’s steady hand holding her down, trying to regain the pressure now lost.

Minthara does not reward this desperation. Ignoring Alfira’s whines, she presses lips and teeth in equal measure across the tiefling’s chest. The ridges and spines of the devil-cursed woman feel odd under her mouth: she swipes her tongue against them, and is answered with a shudder and a moan. Alfira’s skin tastes like campfire smoke, and below that, sweet soap and clean sweat. Her tail, partly trapped beneath her and partly hanging off the side of the bed, lashes wildly. Minthara is still straddling her hips, pinning her down, even as Alfira struggles to reciprocate; her hands run up and down Minthara’s sides, her fingers pluck and strum the drow’s dark nipples. Her movements are enthusiastic but amateurish (has the bard ever been with a woman? Is she just as clumsy at sex as she is singing?) and the eager touches only kindle Minthara’s abject anger.

There is no reason why this woman, who cannot fight or plot or even sing, has survived this long. It feels offensive that anyone could be so vulnerable and yet so cheerful despite it. So eager to seize life and love and Minthara’s ass, as Alfira is now, even when she’s so confidently bad at everything.

Not when Minthara had to fight so hard. The idea of herself in the starless Underdark, on constant vigilant edge while Alfira sang and stumbled through life overhead –

It enrages her.

Minthara swats off Alfira’s clumsy gropings, then swoops onto the tiefling’s body with a passion. She doesn’t want to hurt Alfira. That’s not it. She just wants – something. Power, perhaps. To make the tiefling realize how truly weak she is, maybe, and how wrong it is to be that way. She wants something, anything, to suffocate the growing pain and anger in her chest.

All Minthara really knows is that it feels good, in a dark and angry way, to press the bard into the blankets beneath her, to bite her nipple just a little too hard, to grab Alfira’s hips and let her nails sink just a bit too much into the tiefling’s soft flesh. Alfira gasps and moans, writhing beneath the drow, lost in the whirlwind of Minthara’s ministrations.

Minthara pauses, leaning back until she’s hovering over Alfira’s legs, no longer quite pinning her. She catches the tiefling’s gaze as she runs her fingers along her cunt – Alfira’s eyes are wide, but they flutter and roll at the slight touch, and she parts her legs willingly. Minthara teases her, running her fingers along the other woman’s lower lips, feeling how wet she is, and Alfira whines and moans and raises her hips, trying to gain access to more of Minthara’s hand than the drow is willing to give just yet. She circles Alfira’s clit with the pad of one finger, watching as the bard moans with pleasure. With her other hand, she keeps the other woman more or less in place, nails not-quite-but-almost digging into Alfira’s hip as she holds her still.

“Do you want this?” Minthara asks, voice low and husky.

“Yes,” Alfira’s response comes out ragged and breathy. “Yes, please, oh gods, Minthara, please, I really do, please Minthara–” she mewls and whines and squirms, and her voice is more musical than ever, at least to Minthara’s ears.

Minthara listens to Alfira beg, fingers alternating between circling her clit and teasing against her opening. There’s an unpleasant, hollow sort of feeling now blossoming within her. Watching Alfira tremble beneath her, listening to her desperate pleas, is not satisfying her frustration. Instead, the anger is turning cold and unhappy. Part of her just wants to kiss the tiefling deeply, to forget about everything – the tadpole, the Absolute, Menzoberannzan, everything – to lose herself in the soft warm woman beneath her. Part of her feels somehow angrier – angry that fucking Alfira is not doing the job, that seizing this little bit of control doesn’t feel as good as it should, that this growing emptiness is present at all.

She realizes that Alfira’s gone quiet, and her attention snaps back to the naked tiefling beneath her. No longer straining towards Minthara’s teasing fingers, Alfira is breathing heavily and watching the drow through half-lidded eyes. Minthara leans forward, grinding the flat of her hand against Alfira’s slick-wet cunt, and the bard groans, her eyes fluttering shut again – but then she reorients herself, concerned gaze finding Minthara’s once more.

“Hey…are you okay?” Alfira whispers, and Minthara is appalled. “We can take a break… Do you want to talk? Um, about us, about anything? Oh, I could find my lute, sometimes it’s easier with poetry than words–”

Minthara cuts her off with a kiss. She doesn’t want the tiefling woman’s pity. She doesn’t want her words or her poetry. She bites Alfira’s bottom lip and the taste of blood spreads through their mouths. Alfira makes a startled noise, but doesn’t pull away, so Minthara deepens the kiss; then she pushes her fingers inside of Alfira. One, two, three fingers stretching the tiefling’s hot wet cunt, pumping hard and fast and deep as Alfira thrusts against her, screams into Minthara’s mouth. She fucks the tiefling with her hand, letting the heel of her hand hit the woman’s clit as her fingers drive into Alfira more, more, more, her body pressed against the ridged-and-soft-at-once body of the tiefling, drowning the tangled emotions in pure animal movements. She sinks her teeth into Alfira’s shoulder as she moves her hand faster, driving her fingers deeper, harder, rougher –

Alfira gives a soft, sharp cry; no longer sounding pleasured, but frightened.

Minthara stills, feeling the tiefling shivering against her. Her face is buried in the crook of Alfira’s neck; for an idiotic moment, she doesn’t want to move. But she has to, and she does. Her hand is still inside of Alfira; she’s angry at the bard, angry at herself, but she slides her fingers out as gently as she can, and then she turns to face the tiefling beneath her.

Hurt is clear across Alfira’s face, but she meets Minthara’s gaze in a surprisingly steady manner.

“That was too much,” she says, and her voice is shaky but unflinching. “I don’t know how you do it in the Underdark, but that is not what we do up here. That was too rough, Minthara.”

“I’m sorry,” Minthara whispers.

Perhaps she was expecting a cruel comment or snapped rebuttal instead of the sincere apology. Alfira’s brows raise in surprise, then crease with concern.

“Are you okay?” She asks, and Minthara almost laughs. Naked and trapped beneath an angry, dangerous drow of Lolth’s highest house – and Alfira is asking how Minthara is.

“I don’t think I am,” Minthara finally says.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” comes the instant reply. Her stomach turns at the thought of opening up and facing all that fear and pain and weakness. She acted foolishly, there’s no denying that – but she doesn’t want to talk about it. Not now. “Not tonight.”

“Do you want to keep going?” Alfira’s question pulls Minthara out of her head, back to the blanket-strewn bed. The question is surprising. Minthara had been more or less expecting the other woman to push her off, dress angrily, and return to the safety of the camp proper. Maybe write a song about how mean drows are in bed, or how bad a lover Minthara is.

“Do you want to?” Minthara asks, and Alfira considers this.

“If you let me…” the bard presses against her, disentangling her legs from beneath Minthara. She guides Minthara with soft hands and determined touches, until it’s the drow who’s on her back, Alfira straddling her with a cautious smile. “Now, you have to play nice. Understood? No more biting and blood.”

Minthara has had many lovers throughout her life – but all drow, all steeped in the ways and customs of the violent, matriarchal Menzoberranzan. Being with a woman always meant a battle for dominance – sometimes culminating in a literal battle, if one or both partners thought to take advantage of the opportunity and slip a knife between the other’s ribs, coat her lips with poison, or even just try and throttle the other with her bare hands. Being with a man could mean an equal battle, or it could mean Minthara fully in charge, taking what pleasure she sought with little thought for the body beneath her own.

Sex has never meant Minthara allowing herself to lay prone and vulnerable – especially not beneath a woman like this, so utterly bad at fighting and yet so utterly in charge at this moment.

So she’s not expecting the jolt of arousal that shoots through her at this strange new role, catching in her chest and sending searing heat between her legs. She has to fight to keep her breathing even as Alfira, apparently satisfied with Minthara’s startled silence, leans forward to run her hands up Minthara’s body, hips rolling against Minthara’s own with the motion. There’s a watchful care in Alfira’s eyes that aggravates her still – but she forces herself to simply close her own eyes, to soak in the feeling of Alfira’s hands on her breasts, her lips on Minthara’s neck, her hair tickling Minthara’s shoulders as it falls around them both.

Alfira mimics Minthara’s earlier movements, but gentler – licking and kissing her jaw and collar, pressing lips where Minthara had placed teeth. She moves her mouth to Minthara’s breasts, swirling her tongue around one nipple, and Minthara can’t help but moan. She moves to sit up, to place herself back on top, but Alfira places one firm hand on Minthara’s belly, holding her in place.

Minthara is stronger than the bard by far. She could pick Alfira up and throw her if she chose. But – the thought comes through the fog of lust and need – maybe this is what Minthara needs.

Perhaps she was angry not because Alfira was so weak, but because she, Minthara, was made to be so rigidly strong for so, so long.

Did it mean anything? If someone like Alfira – soft, delicate, unskilled, naive – can exist in this harsh world, alive against all odds, did Minthara’s own hard-edged suffering mean anything?

She doesn’t know.

All she knows is that right now, Alfira is smaller and weaker and distinctly on top of her, and it’s turning Minthara on to no end. She groans and arches into Alfira’s mouth; the tiefling releases her nipple with a soft pop of her lips, wasting no time in focusing on the other. The bard is as clumsy as earlier, mouth undisciplined, hands wandering up and down Minthara’s waist, shoulders, chest, tangling in the loose white hair falling from her bun, caressing her face before moving down to seize her hips. There is no plot, no ploy, no apparent thought behind Alfira’s actions. She kisses down Minthara’s torso, then licks a long stripe below her belly button, and Minthara shudders and moans.

Alfira moves back now, straddling Minthara’s lower legs (a poor tactical move. Minthara could easily throw her off balance and flip the tiefling back under her, gaining the upper hand in an instant.)

She focuses instead on Alfira’s fingers running over the top of her thighs, letting drow logic fade away, allowing her own body’s desires to take its place. Alfira’s hands are firm and dancing; they flutter over the muscles of Minthara’s legs, and Minthara rolls her hips, squirming beneath the bard. Alfira leans forward to kiss Minthara’s stomach again. Her hands dance over the soft white hair between Minthara’s legs, and Minthara arches her hips into the touch; but Alfira’s already returned to squeezing, touching, grabbing everywhere but where Minthara needs it most.

She grabs Alfira’s wrist, directing her hand between Minthara’s legs, but the bard pulls away gently.

“Let me.” Alfira moves back, adjusting until she’s nearly lying between Minthara’s knees; and then she dips her tongue between Minthara’s lower lips, licking once across her cunt.

Minthara hisses and her hips move on their own accord, back arching, seeking further access to Alfira’s mouth. The bard places her hands firmly on Minthara’s thighs, but Minthara swivels her hips, bucking out of Alfira’s grasp.

“Be nice,” Alfira says, pressing the paladin back onto the bed once more. “Careful, please. You’re hitting my face.”

Minthara forces her body to lie still. It feels – unnatural. But it appeases Alfira, who returns her head between the other woman’s legs. She presses a soft kiss on each of the drow’s inner thighs, then murmurs “Good girl. You really need to work on being gentle, Minthara.”

Alfira so comfortably and so casually calling her good feels uncomfortably pleasant; in a soft and complimentary sort of way, yes, but also because – for some gods-unknown reason – it sends another bolt of arousal through Minthara. She is almost ashamed of the whimper that leaves her lips. She doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because then Alfira’s tongue is on Minthara’s clit and everything in her head goes white and empty.

Gods. The woman can’t sing, but her mouth is talented regardless. She laps and suckles at Minthara’s clit until the drow’s breath is hitched and ragged, then runs the flat of her tongue along Minthara’s cunt. She switches her attention randomly, never staying put for long, licking and sucking and occasionally pausing to pepper small kisses along Minthara’s thighs. Minthara moans and thrusts against the tiefling’s mouth, raising her hips in demand before catching herself, forcing herself to lie flat again. Her hands find Alfira’s head, tangling in her hair, grasping her horns, urging her mouth deeper.

Alfira is not still. She started between Minthara’s legs, ass in the air with her tail whipping from side to side; through fidgeting and readjusting, she’s now straddling Minthara’s lower leg. She grinds against it as she devours Minthara, and the drow’s hand moves from Alfira’s horn to her cheek, catching her attention.

“Turn around,” Minthara rasps.

“Uh?” Alfira looks up, and the loss of her lips is almost too much to bear. “Hey, we had a deal, me on top and you–”

“Stay on top. Turn around.” Minthara tugs at the horn she’s still holding. She can pinpoint the moment it connects, Alfira’s expression changing from confusion to excited realization. The bard moves, swiveling so that while she still has access to Minthara, she’s straddling the drow’s face instead of her leg.

“Is this okay?” Alfira hovers above her, tantalizingly wet. “We don’t have to, you can just relax and–”

Minthara grabs Alfira’s hips and pulls her down, burying her tongue in the tiefling’s glistening folds. Alfira shrieks, sitting up straight as she arches into Minthara’s mouth; then she falls forward, mouth and tongue working in redoubled effort.

Minthara is lost. Not in anger nor in pain, now, but in pleasure given and pleasure received. She holds the writhing tiefling still so she can flick her tongue against her clit before pushing it into Alfira as deep as she can, and is lost in the other woman’s groans and whimpers. Alfira keeps pausing in her ministrations to moan and gasp and thrust against her, and it’s both frustrating and flattering. She does so now, breathing raggedly with her cheek pressed against Minthara’s thigh. Minthara holds back a groan – she’s getting so close, she wants Alfira’s tongue back on her, but she tamps it down for now. Instead, she maneuvers her hand to press one finger into the tiefling, and Alfira shudders and gasps so wantonly that Minthara almost cums just from that.

She moves carefully, not wanting a repeat of earlier. She pumps her finger slowly but steadily into Alfira’s slick cunt, picking up speed as she continues flicking her tongue against the bard’s clit. With her free hand she takes hold of the tiefling’s ass, massaging the base of Alfira’s tail as she holds the other woman still.

Alfira moans operatically, octave rising and falling as she grinds against Minthara’s hand and mouth. The moan turns into a wail, which turns into a hitched gasp. She can feel Alfira’s orgasm, walls twitching and clenching around her finger; she works the bard slowly, gently, with her finger, fucking her through it.

Alfira finally collapses in a huddle, body sprawled hot and heavily across Minthara’s own. But she doesn’t stay down for long; as Minthara withdraws her hands, she presses herself back upwards.

“Gods, you’re good,” Alfira murmurs, breath ragged. Minthara isn’t given the chance to reply; the other woman dives back between the drow’s legs, mouth hot and wet and eager, and then she’s the one cumming. The world crashes around her: there is no more Underdark or World Above, no more anger or hurt. There’s only Alfira’s warm hands on her hips, hot tiefling tongue lapping between her thighs as wave after wave of pleasure racks through Minthara’s body.

When the stars clear from her vision, Alfira has moved. The bard now lies curled beside her, one hand light on Minthara’s shoulder. Both women breathe heavily; it is a long moment before either speaks. When they finally do, it’s Alfira who breaks the silence.

“Gods, Minthara, you’re incredible. You’re really good.” She grins. “When you’re, you know, being good.”

“You as well.” Minthara can’t help the crooked smile that comes over her face.

Alfira’s hand moves, fingers warm but tentative against Minthara’s skin. “Do you want to stay here, tonight? With me?”

Minthara considers; then she moves her arm, looping it around the other woman by way of answer. Alfira beams, eyes sparkling in the moonlight, and before Minthara knows it she’s practically drowning in tiefling, the bard flinging her arm and leg across Minthara, burying her head in the crook of the drow’s shoulder, expertly nestling her horns into the pillows. The weight of another body resting against her own is unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. Minthara closes her eyes.

“You really are nice, you know,” Alfira murmurs in the pillows. “You’re so strong, despite everything. I really admire you, Minthara.”

Minthara doesn’t respond to this. Not in so many words. She just breathes in the tiefling’s sweet words and soap-scented hair, and lets herself sleep peacefully, Alfira warm against her.

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