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thekindredcollective · 2 months

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HAPPY WYLLSTRAVAGANZA

the blade of frontiers has a special message for all of his supporters (human or rodent) this wyll month

thank you to the rats for funding this

#wyllstravaganza2024 #wyll month #wyll bg3 #wyll ravengard #theo solomon #i am going literally insane

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elemit · 2 months

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[something unholy]

#bg3 fanart #wyllstravaganza2024 #wyll ravengard #my art #bg3 wyll #wyll month #worship

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caspercryptid · 2 months

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Fellow disabled here.

What are your thoughts on Wylls horns or other parts of the transformation being painful, either acute from being new, or chronic as the days go on? Perhaps Gale or Karlach have some words of wisdom? Gale with the chronic pain of the orb, Karlach with a broken horn (is that painful too?) and an engine burning her up from the inside. Love to hear some fluff of folks quietly showing up for Wyll. ❤️

Hey sorry this took me a minute! I'm going to hit this one for Day 1 of @thekindredcollective's Wyll month, {Perception}

Sorry no karlach i don't know her too well yet, I'll have to write her another time.

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Wyll’s neck hurts.

It shouldn’t be the most important thing about all of this. It shouldn’t matter at all. There are so many more serious concerns with the way he looks, the way he feels, what’s been done to him. But they’re easy to rationalize and accept. The way he’s seen is, after all, out of his hands. There’s so little he can do about any of this. He’s yielding. He’s always, his entire life, done as he felt he had to. There was little choice in the matter. Offered the chance to do it all over, he wouldn’t do a single thing differently. There is no choice. He’s surrendered to the tide, knelt to it, sworn his fealty to his own soul and his own moral code.

But still. His neck hurts.

He can’t sleep.

That’s the worst of it, he thinks, laying back on his pillow and looking up at the sky above them. During the day the ache is easy. He has others, and more immediate problems, and when he’s run through and Shadowheart heals him all the pain fades and he almost forgets that the way that ache collects at the top of his spine is the weight of his own head and not another injury from a lifetime of collecting them.

He has other aches and pains. He’s young, he knows, objectively. The others are older than he is. When he was really young and reckless he used to jump off the banister of the stairs, impatient to get to the ground, never able to wait to get...wherever it was he was going. Always somewhere, in those days. Maybe now, too, always rushing to some new adventure. But sometimes when he was young he would be caught by the waist- his father, or a nanny, always someone bright-eyed and laughing and warning him one day his knees and ankles wouldn’t bear his weight the same way. I wish I was young like you.

He understands now. Still young, but his body bears the weight of the distance he’s traveled. Aching knees, sore shoulders, tendons stretched and stretched and not feeling quite as flexible as they’d been when he was younger and vaulting over tables. But those aches wandered and stayed dull, were easy enough to ease with rest or getting off his feet, not kneeling quite so much. This ache sat. Squatted on his shoulders like he was carrying the physical stone weight of the devil on his shoulder. Which, well. He supposed he was.

It was hard not to think about it when he had nothing else to think about. The night was almost totally silent, only him and his pain and the faint hooting of an owl and— footsteps.

He tries to twist his head, bumps a horn into the ground and winces as pain flares through his neck again, bright and hot enough that he has to close his eyes against it. He holds still, just trying to breathe and will it away, when there’s a hand against the bare skin of his neck, cool with something spread over the fingers, a little slick and a little resistant, spreading on his neck with the calm precision of jam under a knife. He opens his eyes again, holding still, confused, only to see....Gale.

He hadn’t expected Gale. The way the pain starts to ebb under a faint warming sensation, shadowheart seemed a more likely guess. But It’s gale, in his camp clothes and holding a jar, calm and rubbing a salve into his neck. Wyll tries to voice a question, but Gale looks embarrassed and answers before he can ask it.

“I apologize,” he says, quietly, “You’ve been rubbing at your neck and I could tell you weren’t asleep. That must hurt.”

“...It did,” Wyll admits, only a bit reluctant. As much as he hates to be a bother, embarrassing Gale wouldn’t be polite. And it’s helping- it’s not so much immediately soothing the pain as spreading an odd hot-and-cold sensation across his skin that seems to loosen up the muscles.

“I... think you may need to change your posture,” Gale says, recovering a bit. “In the long term, perhaps. Karlach holds herself differently than you do, and I think on the whole tieflings balance...differently. To accommodate the weight. I believe it would be easier for you to adjust if you hadn’t been trained with a blade, a bit ironically, because you’re so careful about your posture that I rather suspect that you’ve overwritten your natural inclination to stand in a way that makes up for any weight. Of course there’s probably very few cases where this has happened to draw from, it would be an interesting area of research, there have to be other people who’ve perhaps sprouted wings. Perhaps Halsin holds himself differently when he transforms. Not that you’re an animal, of course, that may be an unflattering comparison—”

Wyll can’t help but laugh a little. “I’m not offended,” he assures him. “It’s alright. You’ve probably got the right idea about Karlach. And Halsin is trained as well, he might be conscious about adjusting his posture. Perhaps he’d know a thing or two.” He pauses, weighing the question for a second, and then says— “Am I that obvious?”

“Oh, no,” Gale says, “I only noticed because I—” His hand settles over his chest, and as he does it Wyll realizes that it’s not the first time he’s seen Gale make that gesture. He’d thought it a kind of quirk of self-aggrandizing: pressing your hand to your chest does add the sort of dramatic flair that Gale tended to favor in his speech.

“—it hurts, doesn’t it?” Wyll asks. “The— thing. In your chest.”

“—terribly,” Gale admits, tone a little flat. He doesn’t quite ever sound properly downcast, always animated in some way or other. It’s odd to hear him drop some of the...gusto. From his speech. He clears his throat, as though catching himself, even without Wyll pointing it out, forcing himself to speak with a little more pep again.

“It’s not so bad. Everyone has been very kind about sharing their magic items with me.”

“Does it...stop hurting?” Wyll asks, “When you’re fed.”

“Well, no,” Gale admits, “but it’s not quite so.... Pressing. Easier to ignore.”

Wyll realizes, a little distantly, that it’s quite late. And Gale is awake too.

“—Hey,” he says. “I think I had a spare—” “No,” Gale says, waving him off, “I appreciate the thought, but it’s not... ah, the last time I went too long before feeding it. It’s sated now, but the feeling sort of...climbed up my throat. And now if I lie down my throat aches. It’ll pass, I expect, but I’m just...taking watch.”

“I see,” Wyll says, slowly. “I wonder if Shadowheart has any herbs that—” “It’s really no trouble—” “You helped me,” Wyll counters, pressing himself up, slow and careful, minding the weight. “It’s not too bad.”

“Neither was my neck.”

Gale sighs, sensing his defeat.

“—Alright. But I don’t want to wake her—” “We don’t have to,” Wyll says, “She’s one of Shar’s, she’ll probably be awake. Come on. Help me up?”

As Gale offers a hand, Wyll reflects. It was nice, not being alone. Perhaps he could remind Gale of that too.

#wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #wyllstravaganza2024 #wyll month #bladeweave #(if you squint)#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #casper's haunted fic tag #wyllstravaganza

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aevallare · 2 months

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Wyll likes to believe that everyone is doing the best they can.

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for wyllstravaganza, hosted by @thekindredcollective <3

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wyll ravengard #wyll #bg3 wyll #wyllstravaganza2024 #wyll month

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jewul · 2 months

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i, like the devil, can fly

extras: meet my tav / accompanying playlist

read it on ao3

preview below the cut!

Preview:

Wyll

He barely registers the knocking at first. It blends seamlessly with the persistent drilling in his skull that started somewhere around the five digit word count of his International Relations paper, and has been marching on with fervour as the sun crawled back into the sky, having completed its lap around the underworld and is ready to go again. He stands at the kitchen window and lets it burn into his retinas, numbly clutching a mug of coffee that has long gone cold, and trying not to think about the 52 ungraded term papers for the class he’s TA-ing this semester.

It’s a gorgeous day, if anything. Wyll can appreciate that, even in his delirious caffeine-addled state. The trees are starting to sprout after an arduous battle with winter, and there’s nary a cloud in the sky. His father once taught him that every new day comes a new chance at growth, and a new chance to be a better person.

If whoever’s knocking at the door would drop dead already, that is.

“Will you fucking get that?” comes Lae’zel’s voice from her room, followed by a muffled thunk that sounds like a brick colliding with her wall. After three years of cohabitation, Wyll knows it’s the sound of the boot she keeps at arm's reach from her bed to defend against intruding attackers or vengeful exes, who are, oftentimes, one and the same. She’s just as sleep deprived as he is, pulling an all-nighter to study for her Ethics midterm, but not enough to keep from using her drill sergeant voice on him at 7 am.

Wyll grumbles something acquiescent under his breath and trundles down the hallway, not even bothering to check the peephole before flinging the door open to—

A man.

No, man isn’t right.

A man wouldn’t— shimmer like that.

The creature standing at his stoop is tall and waifish, with wavy white-blond hair and dangly silver earrings. He’s wearing a white lace top with matching gloves, and a brown leather book bag slung across his chest. His face is delicate, all high cheekbones and unblemished skin, flushed from a walk across campus presumably, and Wyll might even call the creature pretty if it wasn’t for the dark glower currently marring his features.

“Can I help you?” Wyll rasps, voice gravelly from disuse.

The creature regards him contemptuously. “I’m looking for Lae’zel. I have business with her,” he says, and his voice is softer than Wyll expects it to be. The creature glances suspiciously around him as if she might be hiding behind the potted plant in the foyer. He must be another one of Lae’zel’s conquests gone wrong. Later, he’ll rib her for going back on her ‘no more blond men’ rule after a mere month, brought on by an ill-advised hookup with Astarion, but for now, he knows this song and dance well enough.

Wyll wedges his body into the doorway. “She’s not home,” he says, ignoring the scuttling sound that is undoubtedly Lae’zel scrambling to retrieve the boot she just threw.

The creature sees right through him, looking deeply unimpressed. “I need to speak with her,” he insists, and the longer he stands there, the more he seems to vibrate with pent-up energy.

Up close, his eyelashes are long and golden, sweeping the curve of his cheek and catching the light when he blinks. He has a faint scar running across the bridge of his nose, barely a shade pinker than the rest of his skin. Something about the creature makes Wyll itch, like he doesn’t know what to do with him, like he doesn’t know whether he wants to tame the beast or provoke it. Maybe it’s the near-lethal dose of caffeine running through his veins, but he feels like being a bit of an asshole this morning. It goes against all of his well-behaved instincts, but sleep-deprived Wyll can be an uncharitable sack of shit.

”And I told you, she’s not home,” Wyll says with his nicest shit-eating smile. The scuttling in the background turns into a crash as several doors slam shut behind him. “But I can take a message,” he offers, taking a slow, obnoxious slurp from his mug.

The creature huffs and shakes out his hair, face becoming increasingly flushed with irritation. Absent-mindedly, Wyll wonders how deep that flush goes. He glares at Wyll. Wyll smiles placidly back.

“Fine,” he sniffs. The creature glances around for a second.

“Is that coffee?” he asks in a sudden detour, leaning forward to peek into Wyll’s cup. The crown of his head brushes against Wyll’s nose, and he smells vaguely of the cotton candy body mist they sell at the mall, but there’s something else there, a strangely musky undercurrent. Leather, perhaps, or something more animalistic still. Wyll is too busy sniffing the creature’s hair to notice when he plucks his mug straight out of his hands.

“Tell Lae’zel I’m a friend of Shadowheart,” he says, taking an experimental sip and wrinkling his nose at the frigid temperature. He then gives Wyll a long, meaningful once-over, mouth twisting wryly, and he suddenly feels very self-conscious of his threadbare t-shirt and sweatpants. The sun hasn’t been up for an hour, and yet this creature looks like he could attend a wedding. “…And she would like to pass along this. ”

Is he wearing… lip gloss?

The creature proceeds to upend the entire contents of Wyll’s 2007 Academic Decathlon mug onto the front of his shirt.

“Son of a bitch,” Wyll gasps.

The creature gives a satisfactory hmph, primly deposits the mug on his doorstep, and flounces away.

Wyll is left there, speechless, with rivulets of cold coffee running down his legs, a soaked doormat, and, somehow, a semi.

He collects the mug off his stoop and slowly shuts the door behind him.

His lip gloss is… cherry-flavoured.

read it on ao3

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #wyll ravengard #wyll x tav #bg3 fic #wyll week #wyll month #wyllstravaganza2024 #bg3 wyll #bg3 fanfiction #wyllweek2024

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ssalballoon · 4 months

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bg3 aggie doodles (1 layer and a dream)

bonus: not from aggie but look at this microorganism gale

#this wyll is one of my favorite profiles i've ever drawn #the first 3 are from months ago oops #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #wyll ravengard #lae'zel #shadowheart #jenevelle hallowleaf #my art #bg3 fanart #almost forgot to tag gale lol #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep

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geezmarty · 3 months

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we all know that wyllstarion goes crazy as hell but you really have to think about it from Wyll’s perspective. You’re the most fairy tale brained man on earth whose life is a continued sequence of romantic and heroic ideals set up to fail. You want to be a heroic duke and save your city but wind up making a pact with a devil. You want to use that pact for good and are almost (or straight up) tricked into killing an innocent. You go on the most princely quest of all to ask a dragon for his help and we all know how that ends. And then in comes Astarion jangling like the most weaselly evil court advisor, a vampire no less and you’re like actually fuck it this slippery eel is where it’s AT. and this time you actually do get a happy ending with it. it goes crrrrazyyyy

#sorry I log in once a month to make a yaoi text post sometimes it is what it is #wyllstarion #im also thinking about wyll 24/7 half of this post is directly lifted from the 8k meta doc I’m never posting. anyway #txt #bg3 spoilers #I guess? vaguely

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littledigits · 6 days

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your honor she canonically is obsessed with romance novels and the supernatural but like, in a safe and accessible way - she had no chance against this man.

#art #ocs #willamina #bg3 #wyll ravengard #just some scribbley doodles #wyll is such a boyscout but he gets the edgy horns its so funny #its perfect for this marshmallow of a lady who needs 5 months before she holds hands with someone #they are the bridgerton couple but they both have dark powers its fine

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ryonello · 8 months

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