The Companions (Alphabetical)

ASTARION

Something that may surprise you is Astarion's preference for personal space when he sleeps. Given how enthusiastically he pursues you early on (and his reasons for doing so), you thought that he would be clinging to your side as soon as your tent flap closed.

Instead however, you find that Astarion appreciates a very active goodnight cuddle before separating to sleep. You're both lying down on your sides, facing each other. Your bodies curl into one another, legs overlapping. Astarion traces over the silhouette of your body as you talk about your day, the softest touch of his fingertips bringing goosebumps to your skin. He hovers over the area where neck meets shoulder, lightly scarred from his previous feedings.

You rest your hand comfortably at his side, taking advantage of his stillness to really study his features. The smile lines in his pale skin, the length of his pointed ears, the sliver of collarbone under his shirt. He's constantly on the move during the day, so you drink in the details while you can. He debriefs to you as well, moving his hand to interlace his fingers with yours. His body is cool, and you notice his tendency to press up closer to you on to sap your body heat.

Once it's time for sleep, you untangle from each other and sleep pretty normally. He's not much of a sleep-snuggler. Though, with your nightly conversations you're not left necessarily wanting for more (not that you mind either way). You sleep in your regular position, and he on his back in the typical elven meditative pose. It's comfortable, safe, familiar.

GALE

Your nightly routine with Gale revolves around a lot of tending to the day's wounds and mishaps, paired with a constant flurry of comfortable conversation. A tear in your trousers gets patched up while staffs are cleaned and reinforced. Adjustments for tomorrow's spells are made, trails are planned. Gale sifts through your alchemy pouches, answering your questions about herb origins with gusto. You move as a unit, like two gears in the same machine. As you move about, there are other conversations occuring, subtle ones, silent ones. Gale presses his forehead to yours to stop you from scowling as you mend; you hand him bits of twine and leather as he passes by, knowing that he's looking for them.

Even as you lie together, there is movement. You're tucked under Gale's chin as he lays on his back. If you're quite still, you can feel his pulse in his neck. Gale busies his ever-moving hands by drawing on your back. Alchameic symbols, runes he's seen, trails you've walked. He illustrates his thoughts and your adventures, your body his canvas.

When you start to fall asleep, you'll wriggle your body down so that your temple rests atop his chest. He traces the curve of your neck to your shoulder. Gale switches to words, messily writing incantations over your skin like a tattoo. If you pay attention, you catch him writing 'I love you' over and over, but you elect not to say anything as he does. Before you tuck your arm around his side, you trace love hearts over his stomach. Your head over his heart, you feel it beat a little faster, then slow as you both fall asleep.

HALSIN

Halsin enjoys being present. He drinks in the sight of you slowly, revels in the ability to simply take his time. After living such a long life lived already and the turmoil of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, he has an even greater appreciation for the smaller things in life. You've not lived quite as long as he, but you've already seen and done more than seemingly entire villages of people. Time and circumstance has worn you both down to a point. Resilience bounces you back, but a healthy regular dose of affection helps too.

At night, you both sit close to the fire. Halsin whittles, chipping away slivers of wood to carve out tiny pieces of art. He looks up, stretching his neck, and watches you as you map the stars above. You scrawl over maps and spare parchment, trying to write and doodle down your memories lest you forget them. When you look over to Halsin, your eyes meet, and you chuckle a little being caught off guard.

Taking you by the hand, Halsin leads you to your shared tent. You undress him, taking your time to smooth his hair back, to run your nails over his biceps. He returns the favour, cupping your curves with his large palms, spreading warmth all throughout your body. He lays on his side in the bedroll, one arm bent and tucked under his head. You use this as a pillow, enjoying his scent so close; wood and musk. Halsins free arm drapes over your midsection to pull you in closer. You push your knee through his legs and you slot together like puzzle pieces. You begin to talk about your latest mapping, your need for more parchment, and plans for tomorrow. Halsin kisses you on the forehead, entire being relaxed. You'll sleep squished together like this, encompassed by heat and comfort.

KARLACH

Cuddle supreme. You bet that once that engine is pacified enough to touch that Mama K is all over you like green on grass.

Prior to this, Karlach was sure (if not overly cautious) about maintaining a healthy distance between you. She was excessively worried about setting you ablaze during the night, and often opted to sleep just outside of her tent while you claimed her bedroll inside. Her claims of worry were partially genuine, but she also enjoyed how you left her tent. The smell you lingered on her sheets, and you often left little things behind like a water canteen or a book you'd been reading.

Once her engine was quelled though, the things she imagined could finally come to fruition. You often cuddle facing each other, changing positions like the moon over the sky. Most comfortably, Karlach settles her head under your chin, face pressed up against your neck and chest. Her arms wrap all the way around your middle, her legs crossing over yours. You curl both arms around her head, trying to leave enough room for her to breathe, and use your free hand to run through her hair. When you start gently scratching over her scalp, you get a snoring Karlach in an instant.

You find that you need to leave the tent flap partially open to vent out some of the warmth; even the most frigid nights are no match for Karlach's body heat. With how impossibly close you're smooshed together, there's little room for the cold to find you anyway.

LAEZEL

Given her dedication towards training and being the youngest in the group, it shouldn't be a surprise that Laezel is quite inexperienced when it comes to affection. Before she met you, and even during, quiet intimacy is somewhat foreign. When you first explained what cuddling was, Laezel thought it was some kind of defensive grapple.

When you both settle for the evening, you find yourselves prepping in comfortable silence for the days ahead. Laezel counts rations and sharpens blades. You condition leather and secure packs. Sometimes, she admires you silently as you focus on your tasks. She smiles to herself at your willingness to help, your competence, she feels security in your choosing her as a partner. Once it's time to settle into your bedrolls, you spend a few precious moments facing each other. She grips your hands in hers and studies your face. She stares with such intensity that it's like she's trying to commit every freckle and line to memory forever. There is some truth to this. When she closes her eyes in peaceful moments, she meditates on the things in her life that bring her joy; her accomplishments, her goals, and you, her partner.

Laezel most often sleeps on her back, leaving her more ready to react to ambushes in the night. She refuses to let go of one of your hands though, with you acting as a kind of anchor for her. Laezel's mind is constantly buzzing with what's to come next, reflecting on what's already happened. It's rare, and precious to her, to indulge in quiet moments of care.

MINTHARA

For practical reasons, Minthana rarely falls asleep with her limbs restricted - it's much harder to stab an intruder if one of your arms is cuddled under your lover. A light sleeper, Minthana doesn't mind sleeping on her side with you. She enjoys being the big spoon, and is certain to let you know that it's not solely because of the protective factor as she deems you just as capable as she (though internally, there's certainly a reflexive protective factor at play here).

Before you sleep, Minthana will curl around you, pressing the entire front of her body to your back. She commits your scent to memory, and recalls the days events aloud. You hold one of her hands in both of yours, mostly paying attention. She enjoys the way you massage her hands, rubbing your thumbs against her wrist, testing the sharpness of her nails against your skin.

When it's time to sleep, Minthana untangles from you, laying on her back or side. She likes to know that you're there though, so she crosses one of her legs over yours in some way. Her ankle rests over yours, or your thigh against her hip, or even just your heels touching each other. Enough closeness to feel your presence, enough space to breathe freely.

SHADOWHEART

You and Shadowheart vary your nighttime routines. Most times, you'll be engaging in mutual and self care, reflecting on the day, prayer, and washing. You offer to brush through Shadowheart's hair, carefully working through knots and bumps and smoothing it into something comfortable to sleep in. The feeling sends tingles down her spine, and she shivers like a cat purring, feeling sleepier and sleepier. She, in return, examines your hands. She cleans over them with a warm washcloth, applying healing balms and ointments to your cuts and bruises, filing your nails to shape.

You both spend time setting and resetting your shared bed space. Being adventurers, and with Shadowheart's past, you're used to moving around often. Your bedroll, your belongings, everything is set up ready to pack at a moment's notice. Though, if you take the time you notice small personal touches that make it feel like yours. A dense hairbrush adorned in silver, Shadowheart's. A thick, hand-woven blanket made in fibre native to your home, yours.

When you begin to collapse from exhaustion, more often than not Shadowheart will settle in behind you. You don't mind being the little spoon, indulging in Shadowheart's body heat and mindlessly playing with her fingers in yours. Shadowheart enjoys pressing her face to the back of your neck, sharing your body heat. She feels somewhat protective of you in the night. Quietly, she worries every now and again that something in the dark will take you away forever. You sense that fear sometimes, the way she drifts off in thought before squeezing you a little tighter. It's a feeling you're not unfamiliar with. She falls asleep to the sound of your voice as you tell her of your adventures past. She dreams of your adventures together in the future; this is something you have in common.

WYLL

Wyll enjoys holding you close basically any chance he gets, and bedtime is no exception. You both keep a reasonable distance while doing simultaneous night routines: Wyll polishes and stores your days' weapons, you pack and prep bags for the next day. As you flit past each other, there are subtle passing touches. A lingering glance at your exposed shoulder, the tips of your fingers grazing against his night clothes. Some are less so, you rake your fingers over his hair and horns, pressing your faces together. Or he'll stand behind you as you wipe down your face, body pressed impossibily close to yours. He teases you about the blush that crawls up your neck.

As you lay together, Wyll finds that sleeping on his back with some tactically stacked pillows works best for his horns. You rest your head at his collarbones, holding his hand. It calms you to feel his chest rise and fall as he breathes, and you never pass up an opportunity to ask him about his seemingly endless adventurous stories. Wyll watches you doodle on his palm, his other hand holds you at your waist, occasionally slipping his hand under your nightshirt to caress your skin.

Lying on your side, you fold your leg over his. You relish in how he squirms slightly depending on where your thigh ends up. Revenge. Most nights, you both fall asleep just like this in each other's embrace. Surrounded by a nest of pillows and a light blanket, you fall into warmth. Comfort in the night that takes you away from the horrors of the day.

Bonus!

NPCs (Alphabetical)

GORTASH

Routine is something both you and Gortash appreciate but rarely achieve with your busy schedules. If Gortash gets a moment at home, you're out in combat. If you come back at a reasonable hour, he's in meeting after meeting. The one thing you try in earnest to maintain though is a nightly routine when your times do align.

You both debrief and undress, spewing out the stress of the day with little regard for whether it makes sense or how many tangents you go off on. Gortash stands at your back as you sit in front of your vanity. He loosens your hair while you clean your wounds, chuckling about the injuries you'd inflicted in reply. You take Gortash's hand in yours and sit him down on the mattress. You run your fingers over his temples and he melts like snow. His muscles are tight as you massage over his neck, his shoulders, leaving light scratch marks over his skin.

In bed, you both lie on your sides, facing the window. The night sky casts the dimmest light into your room, the air outside is quiet and still. There is respite here. You curl around Gortash's back, spooning him as he clutches your hands tight in his. This is your routine, your normalcy. Here, neither of you are bloodstained, neither are performing. Comfort is a strange and rare indulgence in your plights to take over the world; but whether here in your chambers, in a bedroll camping in the forest, or in a jail cell, it's the one thing you can find in each other.

RAPHAEL

Raphael is fond of studying you, examining every inch, every curve of your being with all the patience in the Hells. He's currently asked you to pose for a portrait, draped loosely along a red velvet chaise while the light of the outside world shines just right over your body. It's difficult to catch your face, your eyes especially, in paint. Raphael finds your eye contact far too inviting to concentrate for another quiet hour, so he ceases.

Placing his brushes down, you sit up and crack your neck. You stretch the stiffness from your limbs and extend your hands out to encourage Raphael to join you. He kicks off his dress shoes, climbing atop you with his knee inbetween your legs. His spine curves as he lowers down, lips brushing over your ear as he embraces you.

With some effort, you wrap your arms around him, smothered by warmth and the faint scent of sulphur. You do get used to it after a while. An open window allows a gentle breeze in the room, slowly drying the paint. The light diffuses through sheer curtains, and it makes you sleepy. Time is confusing and unruly here, but you crave a lazy afternoon (at least, that's how it feels) nap. Stroking the back of Raphael's hair, you relax back and close your eyes. Despite his reservations, Raphael soon joins you. His face stays buried against your neck, every breath embued with your smell. You're surrounded by each other, neither of you especially keen to move away.

ROLAN

Finding a place to sleep in Ramazith's Tower wasn't the difficult part, choosing where to sleep was. For the first few weeks, you and Rolan explored a great depth, you'd never climbed so many stairs and walked so many invisible platforms in your life.

One night, you'd decided rather adventurously to sleep up high on a balcony. You'd made a nest of sorts with Rolan, harvesting pillows and blankets and a mattress. The weather was clear and mild as the sky slowly turned to black. Rolan had set up approximately four hundred fail safes to ensure neither of you would fall in your sleep.

You both huddle down into the swathes of fabric. You remark to Rolan how different this was to the camps you'd slept in when you met him, or the Emerald Grove where he and his siblings had stayed. You face each other, legs interlocking, and Rolan places both hands on either side of your face. He remarks that it's to keep you warm but the air has barely a chill. You shift slightly to point out constellations in the sky, and Rolan's hands move downward and settle at your sides. He plays with the hem of your nightshirt, eyes affixed to wherever you point and gesture. The spell of night overtakes you both, and you fall asleep with your foreheads pressed lightly together.

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waa we did it gamers my first multi character piece!! Originally this was supposed to be a short and sweet dotpoint-style headcanons post but apparently I can't help myself. Because of how many characters there were to write and because I'm me it took a little longer than expected but I'm really happy

I've been committing myself to doing even just a little tiny bit of writing/creative stuff every day (with some gaps obvs I'm only human) and I gotta say it really does help

so if you're reading this, go write something. Or draw, or edit, or whatever but just do a little bit of something today. its good for the soul

You squint at the faded label of the liquor bottle. It lays heavy in your hand, one of dozens procured by your party during your travels.

Arabellan Dry

Little flakes of wax seal crumble onto your fingers as you crack the top, and you sniff the contents with caution. A little more sour than you'd like, but you've certainly has worse. You take a hefty first sip, a familiar burn lacing down your throat and into your chest. You wince and ponder how people actually like this stuff. The scent lingers on your breath now, and your wandering eyes land on the tiefling you'd been avoiding since the party started.

It wasn't that you hadn't wanted to see him. No, quite the opposite. It was only recently that you'd returned to the Emerald Grove bloodied and bruised, a gentle giant druid at your side and victory in your veins. The rest of the day therein was filled with a flurry of conversations that you couldn't remember. Your body was exhausted, your brain a blur. Tieflings, druids, so many mixed emotions. You remember being thanked, being scolded, wiping goblin viscera off your weapons, eating gruel.

One thing you do recall was the golden gaze of one tiefling wizard; Rolan. Your brief conversation is lost somewhere in your mind between the sleeping tadpole and the likely head trauma from battle, but you remember those eyes. The high of combat made your hands quiver. It took most of your attention to will your body to calm, weakening your listening skills.

Now, rather than adrenaline alone, your blood buzzes with dry red wine.

Shadowheart's gaze catches yours over her own goblet of something undoubtedly strong. She smirks, gesturing her head towards Rolan and his siblings. Mischief twinkles in her eyes, and you resist the urge to roll yours in response. Shadowheart tips her cup back, draining the contents, and mimicks for you to do the same.

You glance down. Your face looks back at you at an unflattering angle in the deep red. It's unclear whether it's the colour of the wine or if you really are that flushed in the cheeks. Looking back up, you bring your chalice up in a silent toast to your friend.

Fuck it.

You gulp down your drink with little elegance. Courage, Sharran-style.

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"Patience. Have you no respect for showmanship?" Rolan chides his siblings as he cracks his knuckles.

Oh, that voice. Low and warm and boastful, like velvet.

Your head swims slightly as you approach. You focus very hard on keeping your feet from crossing over. Perhaps you'd overestimated your drinking abilities.

"Having performance issues Rolan?" Cal heckles. Your stifled giggle announces your presence, and Cal waves you down in greeting.

"Hush you, now..." Rolan replies, eyes quickly flicking over you before he braces himself. "Behold!"

A gorgeous burst of glittering light manifests in the air like a firework. You stare in child-like awe, and find yourself clapping genuinely. Finally, Rolan turns his attention to you.

"Adoring applause? You're too kind." He bows, smiling.

"Humble as ever, Rolan." You bow at the waist in mock-servitude, just catching your balance.

"Remember when he could hardly cast that?" Lia laughs.

"They grow up so fast."

You procure a handkerchief from one of your pockets, dabbing your eyes in jest. Cal sobs like a proud mother, patting his own tear-less eyes.

"Never have I met such troglodytes. Now, pass the wine." Rolan extends a hand towards Lia, not an ounce of venom in his words.

"Don't suppose you have any tricks to one-up Rolan the Great?" Cal asks as you join their log seat. You run your finger around the rim of your empty chalice, thinking. The atmosphere is familiar and calming, you feel your shoulders relax.

"Afraid not, although I've been told I have two incredible left feet on the dance floor. I'm sure that's worth something."

"Ha! I'd like to see that." Lia chides, having produced a small loaf of bread to accompany her drink. Quick as lightning, Cal reaches over and plucks a chunk out of Lia's hand and into his own mouth. She flicks one of his horns in annoyance.

"Needs cheese, Lia." Cal nods thoughtfully.

"Thanks, Cal." She responds in the same tone, "Show me where the good stuff is and I'll snag more bread from the table."

"Deal. Rolan, mind my drink, yeah?"

Before you or Rolan can catch up with their conversation, the two are already off. Lia laughs as she holds the remainder of the loaf high out of Cal's reach.

"Idiots." Rolan chuckles affectionately. He looks good when he smiles, when he's relaxed, you notice.

"Can't live with them, can't live without them." You agree, pointing your head towards some of your companions.

You spot Volo holding Astarion a conversational hostage, the very picture of disinterest on his pale face. As Cal passes by, carefully balanced stack of cheese wedges in his arm, Astarion ropes him into the chat and makes a smooth escape. Cal looks helplessly around but it's too late. Volo has brought out a quill and several hundred questions, it seems. You laugh, drunk on moments of normalcy after weeks of planning and fighting and surviving.

"What are you drinking tonight?" Rolan asks, a glass goblet half-full of something dark and red in his grasp. There's an easy smile on his face.

"It was Arabellan Dry," You tilt your hand to show it's emptiness, "Although, I've discovered that I may be more of an ale person."

"It does have a bit of a bite," Rolan laughs. You eye his pointed teeth, wondering if he does too. "I suppose it's more my thing than yours. Not to worry though. With the amount that you and your companions have borrowed during your adventure, I'm sure there'll be something there you'll like."

"You look good, Rolan," You admit, a little too tipsy to catch yourself. "Good-happy, you look happy. It suits you."

It's hard to see with the red hue of his skin and the dark light of night, but you swear you see a flush crawl up his neck and towards his cheeks.

"Ah, thank you." He stammers just slightly, golden eyes raking over your face, "You as well. I imagine that's the glow of victory on you."

"Well, that and the good company." You cast your eyes around your camp again. People are talking, drinking, dancing. Scratch is zipping between people like it's a race to get as many pets as possible. The air smells deliciously of campfire wood smoke. You hope it never washes out of your hair. "It feels safe here, even if only for a moment. I like seeing my friends just enjoy something. I think we all deserve to let off a bit of steam. I'm certain I'm still washing goblin smell out of my clothes."

As you turn back to your conversation, you catch Rolan's lingering eyes. He looks slightly out of sorts, like he was half-listening. At his lack of response, you brush imaginary dirt from your forehead.

"Something on my face?" You chuckle, only slightly self-conscious.

"No," Rolan startles back to reality, sounding somewhat embarassed. He hesitates a moment, gulping down a healthy amount of wine before continuing, "I just, I understand what you mean. Not necessarily for the bard and the druid, but for Cal and Lia. All things considered, I'm glad you asked us to stay."

"I expect it'll make a good story for Lowakkan."

"Lorroakan."

"That's the one! Looking forward to Baldur's gate, I assume?"

"Oh you've no idea." Rolan grins wide, all of his excitement tensing up in his shoulders. Noticing that his siblings are otherwise occupied, he sits himself down next to you. He's so close that you can feel his body warmth against your side. There are fine lines around his eyes that crinkle when he smiles. He smells like the campfire and something vaguely herbal. Your head swims again.

"Something on my face?" Rolan teases, breaking you out of your staring trance as you realise with embarassment that he was still talking.

"No! Sorry, please go on."

"It's all right," He laughs, draining the last of his wine, "I think it comes with being a wizard. The talking, that is."

"Should I expect Lorroakan to be chatty too, then?" You ask genuinely, turning your body to face more towards him. Your knees knock against his and neither of you make an effort to move away.

"I hope so, I want to hear everything he has to say. He's going to make me the best wizard in Faerûn, I bet my robes on it."

"He can hardly make you into something you already are," You nudge him, making a gesture similar to his when he did his glittering light spell earlier.

"You flatter me," He laughs. You feel your chest swell a little. You think that you could come up with every cheesy compliment in the book if it made him laugh like that. "Though I will admit, it's not easy to even get to that point with most. People see my appearance and in their ignorance miss out on something spectacular."

He boasts, but his tone is tinged with something more. Genuine hurt, sadness. You eye your arms and legs, more exposed in your casual wear than your armour of late. Though you'd been given several new scars and gashes, you supposed most people greeted you as an adventurer. You weren't a tiefling like Rolan, like Cal, like Lia. Ironically, you felt sorry for people who would had never heard Cal's quick humour or his incredible mediating skills. You felt angry at the thought of them not taking Lia seriously - her fierce determination and loyalty, her compassion, her resolve.

"Ignorance is right," You nod, "Their loss for not having met you, or Cal or Lia. You're destined for greatness, I can sense it. Even if you are stubborn as an ox and have awful taste in wine."

"Flattery, insult, and a pep talk? I should join you more often." He scoffs lightly, adjusting some loose strands of hair that have curled around his horns. "Though I'll need you to tell me when I look dishevled. People already take one look at my head and move aside, I don't need to look like I've fought an ogre and lost too-dammit!" His claw tangles into a knot in his hair, and you notice his voice slurring slightly and fingers fumbling.

Looks like Arabellan Dry hits everyone hard and fast.

You place your cup down and stifle a laugh. Looking into his eyes, you raise your hands up towards his head.

"May I?"

Rolan stops losing the fight with his hair for a second. He looks taken aback and relieved in equal measure . He nods, electing not to speak, and you swear he looks a little shy as he does.

You reach up, vision blurring your two hands into four, then back into two again. Gently, you untangle Rolan's hair, smoothing it back where it usually sweeps around his horns. You untuck his fingers, and he softly grasps your hand in his as you brush against the base of one curved horn.

"I like them. Your horns." You profess, absentmindedly. You take in the details up close, refusing to look down where you're sure he would be looking up at you.

"You'd be the first." Rolan swallows hard, his glass bone dry.

You aren't lying, you have always been fascinated by the diversity of body parts in Faerûn. Tiefling horns, Dragonborn tails, cambion wings. Having appendages typical of a human meant that you'd only ever admired from afar - not wanting to risk offending or overstepping. But basking in the dim moonlight, wine in your veins, and the permission of your friend and ally; well, it would be a shame not to revel a little in the moment.

You press the pads of your fingers against the side of one horn, unsure of how much feeling it might have. You move slowly, allowing plenty of time for Rolan to interject with that assertive tone you hear so often from him. It's smooth, but textured with ridges and grooves. It reminds you of the tusk of an elephant or the curled horn of a ram.

Rolan's breath hitches, his free hand clutching so hard at his cup that it might shatter. You lighten your touch, realising with horror that you might be making him uncomfortable. His hand stills, remaining atop yours, keeping you there without force.

"Sorry, is this okay? Should I stop?" You ask genuinely, frantically.

You finally cast your eyes down, eyelids heavy. Blood rushes through your face at breakneck speed, swelling your cheeks rosy. He meets your gaze, his own golden eyes slightly glazed from the alcohol. His voice comes out in a low whisper, nervous, curious.

"No, it's okay. You don't have to stop."

"But do you want me to?"

You can practically hear the cogs turning in Rolan's brain. His cheeks are flaming red and the heat from his skin could singe off your eyebrows. You're not really any better, heart hammering like your chest was a forge. You've got tunnel vision, just about forgetting that you're at a lake-side camp with your friends and not in an isolated dreamscape on the Astral Plane. Rolan seemingly finds his words, opening his mouth to reply when you're both accosted by a jostle and the smell of baked goods.

"Remind me never to rely on you two for rescue, you're useless!" Cal admonishes you both. You and Rolan snap away from each other like you've been burnt. "I was stuck talking to Volo for ages."

"Oh my gods, Cal, is that you? Why, you must've aged about a century since I last saw you!" Lia gasps, plucking Rolan's chalice from his grip and replacing it with a small wicker basket full of bread. "You all right? Rolan's not giving you a hard time is he?"

"No, no! Of course not," You stammer, giving your most convincing attempt to appear casual, "What did you guys end up finding? Did you raid a picnic island or something? You've got enough cheese to feed an all-out mouse army."

"Well despite being prisoner to Volo for twelve tenday, I managed to get something useful out of him. Apparently this cheese is best with grapes, so I got grapes, and then this one is a dessert cheese? So I think we should try that last. Oh, and this one..."

You tune Cal out slightly as he pulls wedge after wedge of various dairy products from a basket lined with cheesecloth.

"You and Rolan been drinking from the same cup?" Lia asks you, the ghost of a smirk on her mouth.

"Pardon?" You practically squeak, voice an octave higher than normal.

"The Dry? You both stink of it," She laughs. Lia pinches a slightly crumbly block of a harder cheese from Cal and hands it to you with a slice of a crusty bread. "Here, it's good for sharing."

Your face burns as you try to decipher how serious she's being. Rolan looks just as embarassed at the exchange, tight-lipped like he doesn't trust his tongue. You split the block in half and offer some to Rolan to break the tension.

"Want some?" You ask, almost shyly.

Your hands touch again, and you're certain you're both as transparent as a window to Lia.

"I would love some, thank you." He replies, a little too stiff to be convincing. Turns out you both have something in common, you're terrible actors.

Lia eyes you, all three of you picking up on the silent conversations that seem to be happening simultaneously.

"Oh! That's a good one," Cal interjects, "Volo says that one goes best with Arabellan Dry."

You lose your composure, giving into a fit of laughter as you raise your empty cup in agreement. You're drunk; whether that's on wine or embarassment or exhilaration you can't tell.

But given the company you're currently in, you don't mind not knowing just yet.

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You reach up, hand outstretched to investigate the purple blooms on his face. Rolan's breath catches. He doesn't want you to think of him like this, to worry, to pity. He can vaguely see his own reflection in your glossy eyes, pupils darting frantically with equal parts concern and confusion. You'd been so very thrilled to hear about Rolan's succesful immersion in the apprentice world. You thought fondly of him during quiet moments on the road. You imagined him slicking back his hair neatly every morning, straightening and adjusting his robes one hundred times, listening intently, learning eagerly. You could practically hear the pride in his voice as he boasted to Cal and Lia about his newest incantation. You could see him now, eyebrows furrowed as he mimicked his learnings alone in his private quarters. He would be muttering curses at himself at his mistakes, bolstering with confidence at his successes. You hoped he was eating well, sleeping well. You couldn't wait to see him in action. You couldn't dream that the next time you saw him he would look like this.

Your touch grows closer, painfully slow. You're giving him all the time in the world to signal you to stop but he can't quite find the right words to say it.

"Please..." He brings his own hand up to grab at your wrist, using so little force it's almost negligible. The tips of your fingers ghost over a faded bruise, one you wouldn't even notice unless you were looking for it.

"Please don't." He finally forces the words through. He swallows, feeling like his mouth is full of sand. He meant to sound firm, polite, collected; the greatest arch mages have fought and won bigger battles than simple backhands - he would too. But like the loose grip of his fingers, he falters, and it comes out in a low whisper. He sounds like he's confiding a deep secret to you in a quiet library. If he speaks too loud, he speaks the truth into existence. He confesses. He admits. Rolan is worryingly quiet in this moment. His typical boisterous confidence is snuffed out; not entirely gone but smothered by something anxious and withdrawn.

Silence stretches out as you search his eyes for explanation. You don't want to utter the questions, you can just about guess the answers. You plead at him with your gaze, but his dulled, golden stare gives away just as much as his mouth does. Your hand is frozen in place, still just a whisper away from the skin at his cheekbones. He doesn't make any moves to push you away. A gentle warmth emanates from his palm, and he doesn't move to unhand you either. You're both stuck, each willing the other to understand.

"Rolan."

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sorry rolan but I like my blorbos suffering a little bit :///

it's okay though we skip forward in time to tav casting These Hands on Lorroakan

Warmth pools in the pit of your stomach. A single pearl of sweat rolls along your arched spine, paling in comparison to the slick wetness between your thighs. Your knees ache against the mattress, knuckles white as your fingers grasp at satin sheets.

Raphael laughs lightly, though not in jest, seeing you on display like this - on all fours at the edge of his bed, legs spread and facing away from him. Something possessive, carnal, flashes in his eyes as he surveyes you.

"Your persistence is almost admirable, however foolish. I can see that your body is ready to admit defeat, but the question is: are you?" He asks, voice low and teasing. Spurred on by the evident smirk in his tone, you remain silent, eyes fixated on the intricately crafted headboard. He approaches at a leisurely pace, heat radiating off him even in human form. You feel your pulse quickening. Counting grooves in the wood to calm you down does little to help.

Raphael lets a single beat of silence pass before placing the tip of his index finger at the front of your core. He runs it along your clothed slit, and your body reacts before you can stop it. You arch lightly, presenting yourself further like an animal in heat.

"The clock ticks ever forward in your world, but here? We will have eternity for you to break," his hand glides over your ass, his grip settling at the soft flesh where your hip meets your thigh, "And I can be most patient, a man."

You whine then, growing frustrated. How long will he keep you here? The cycle was torturous. He riled you up, feathering light touches across your body, confessing his dirty thoughts aloud, all before letting you calm down and doing it all over again. You'd been so determined not to give in, not to give him what he wanted. You were certain that you could beat him. You two had been dancing around each other for weeks, thinly veiled flirtation and lingering gazes heightening the tension over time. But as the last hour ticked over, your confidence was wavering. Your underwear was all but soaked through, and you grew more and more desperate as you continued to clench around nothing.

Raphael enjoyed watching you rut against the air. You were like a feral dog hungry for anything. Sit. Stay. Beg. But he was closer to giving in than he let on, unbeknownst to you. He was down to a half-buttoned undershirt, dress shoes, and his trousers, straining tightly against his crotch. He dug his nails into his palms to prevent himself from changing forms; he would not let you know how you had gotten to him. A light sheen of sweat dusted across his forehead, and he clenched his jaw as he locked eyes on you. Your wetness rendered your underwear all but transparent, and he could see you shaking lightly in your efforts to deny him.

Brat.

He wanted nothing more than to rip through the thin fabric separating you from him, to dig his claws into the plush skin at your sides, to feel the warmth of your sex.

But he refused to be bested by you, his mortal muse. He wasn't joking when he said he would wait an eternity, he was sure that his steadfast discipline would earn him a prideful victory. Though it was becoming exceedingly difficult to ignore his most basic needs. You had been the object of his desires in more ways than one. Intrigued by your journey, interested in your utility, and impressed by your complexity. Raphael was not pleased when he realised his fascination with you reached beyond any mutual worldly goals. He... enjoyed your company. He explored your mind willingly. And on the other hand, there was no denying even to himself that he wanted you. What was strange though was that he found himself wanting you to want him back.

He watches you lean down onto your forearms, completely arched up now. Arousal coats the inside of your thighs, and you mewl a pathetic little noise that brings him to a tipping point. He's so hard that it's painful, breathing heavily, strung so tight that he's about to snap and resign to his fate. He furrows his brows, frustrated, readying himself to admit defeat.

But in the moment before he breaks, you finally open your mouth and grant him the permission he's been teasing out of you for the past hour.

"Raphael," you say weakly, needfully. He grinds his teeth together to stop himself from talking. Both of you are breathing erratically. He feels dizzy with lust, thoughts scattered and consisting mostly of you. If you don't hurry up, he's going to break. He uses the very last of his composure to reply, his fingers digging so hard into your skin that he's certain there'll be bruises,

"Yes, pet?"

"Please, please fuck me," You beg, "I want you, I need you to touch me, to use me. I need you to do something, anything."

It feels like time stops for a second; then Hells gates unleash.

"With pleasure." Raphael asserts with a growl, still not freeing himself from his trousers. He can feel his blood pulsating throughout his entire body. He tears your underwear from your body with little care, taking in the sight of your naked, glistening pussy for a precious moment before completely giving in.

Raphael kneels on the floor, spreading your cheeks apart with both hands and bringing his face to your core. He wastes no more time, licking a long line from your clit in the same way he'd traced along with his finger. You cry out, finally feeling something, anything.

"Like nectar," Raphael pants, unsure himself if he's speaking to you or just thinking aloud, "Addictive. Sweet. I'll drink from you until you're drained dry, little mouse."

"Promise?" You tease, energised enough by your relief. Your voice dies down into moans as Raphael responds by lapping hungrily at your cunt. You grip the sheets so hard that they're beginning to tear. Soon, you feel a familiar tingle run up your spine. Raphael keeps pace, completely blind to the world around him as you lose your composure.

"Oh," you pant between words, "Oh Gods, Raphael I'm, I'm going to-". You fail to complete your sentence as you start to finish, eyes rolling up as white-hot sparks shoot through every nerve in your body. You try desperately to catch your breath, still arched in the air, dripping with saliva and your own arousal. You come back to the world after a few moments as you hear Raphael moving behind you.

"Your begging is a beautiful symphony, a song I've waited too long to hear." He gloats, having regained some confidence.

"Begging? Me? Never," You laugh weakly, attempting to banter back as usual. Though you're not typically face down, ass up, soaking wet and panting.

Raphael doesn't jest back again as he normally might. He doubles down, completely possessed by desire.

"Oh?" He asks in a dangerous tone, "So you weren't desperate for me? For whatever I would give you?"

You're preparing a bratty reply but choke up. Raphael lifts his foot and presses the toe of one shiny dress shoe against your core. You're still sensitive, riding post-orgasm waves, and caught off guard.

"If I recall, you needed me to do anything." He says, drinking in the sight of your conflicted form. The last remaining part of your stubbornness wants to deny, to play into it. But you're overtaken by desire. You relent, giving up your pride and pushing backwards to grind against Raphael. He watches you, satisfied despite being so physically pent up.

"My proud little mouse, so mighty, so determined. I'll be asking you to lick my boots next and you'd do it no hesitation. Mortals so righteous always have the dirtiest minds. You'd taste yourself and come back for seconds, wouldn't you?"

Mildly humiliated, you clench your thighs together and quicken your movements. You refuse to confirm verbally, but your actions say more than enough to respond. You feel that coil begin in your stomach again, tightening more and more as you rock backwards.

Raphael's tether snaps, having had enough of observing. Watching you lose yourself, willing to take anything he gives you, ignites a fire inside of him. He needs to take you, and he needs to do it now.

With disturbing ease, Raphael flips your body so that you're laying on your back. He leans over you, palms flat against the shredded sheets either side of your body as he brings his forehead to yours. You blink up at him as you gather your bearings, pupils dilated and darting over his face.

Raphael's hair is loose and messy, falling in tendrils around his face. His eyes are lidded, searching your expression, drunk with want. The moment is surprisingly intimate as you realise this is the first time tonight that you've actually looked each other in the eye. You bring a shaky hand up to cup his cheek, his skin flushed and hot. Raphael leans down, the atmosphere in the room taking a sudden nosedive into something slower, more tender. You tilt your face to meet his as you kiss. You feel your chest swell, overwhelmed, at the softness of his lips. Raphael eases his trousers down with one of his hands, kicking off his shoes. You separate from each other, now both naked and exposed, both looking like complete messes.

Raphael's eyes bore into yours as he lines himself up with you. You feel the smooth head of his cock brush over your clit as he wets it with your arousal. He maintains eye contact, surveying your expression. You bring your other hand up, lacing your fingers together at the nape of his neck to bring his head down. You're nose to nose again, feeling almost whiplashed at the contrasting mood.

"Raphael-" You begin to speak but only air escapes you as Raphael pushes into you. Your previous orgasm has mostly readied you, but you still find yourself clutching at Raphael's hair as he stretches you out. He enters in one steady movement, unwilling to stop until he's buried himself to the hilt. You can only respond in moans as he keeps himself inside you, his whole length to the base, allowing your body to adjust.

He groans, closing his eyes to completely immerse himself in the feeling. For months he imagined how warm you would be, the noises you would make, the look on your face. All of that paled in comparison to reality. Raphael felt himself fit into you like a puzzle, like your bodies were crafted for one another. Every muscle in his body is tense. He thinks of this moment as his last act of consideration towards your body, feeling you twitch and adjust beneath him.

As Raphael opens his eyes, you can see that something has shifted. He's wide-eyed now, full of fire and passion. The air in the room has changed once more, now electric, alive. You pull Raphael's face down to meet yours again as he pulls out to the tip and buries back into you with feverish vigour.

Raphael smothers your moans and cries as you kiss him desperately, barely catching your breath. He fucks into you relentlessly, headboard slamming against the wall behind it. His mouth breaks away from yours once more as he stands up straight. You hike your legs up over his hips, Raphael's hands gripping firmly at your sides. He pulls you towards him with every thrust, angling into you as deep as possible. He pants through clenched teeth, completely lost in the feeling of you around him.

"Fuck," He grunts, speeding up his pace with an almost animalistic anger, "Fuck, your body. You look so good, so good for me." He speaks absentmindedly, not expecting a response. He rambles on, pussy-drunk and chasing his incoming climax.

"Touch yourself," Raphael instructs, eyes flicking between your face and your bodies together, "I want to feel you finish on my cock. I want you to feel me fill you up as you cum, would you like that? Tell me. Tell me you want it." You struggle to find your voice as he punctuates his every word with another thrust. You reach down obediently, aimlessly rubbing against your clit.

"I- I want you Raphael. I want your cum, want you to fill me, so bad," You manage to speak simply in between breaths. You start feeling a little lightheaded, the coil tightening even more, getting closer with every second. "Please, I'm close. I need you to fuck your cum into me, don't want to waste anything."

Your admission brings Raphael to the final stretch, raising your legs higher and thrusting into you deeper than you ever thought possible. You're consumed by him, every sense is Raphael. Every nerve in your body yearns for him. Nothing else matters in this moment, you can think of nothing else but Raphael. You moan incoherently as you start to climax, scratching at Raphael's back with your free hand. He pumps into you, three slower, deep thrusts as he cums. He floods your pussy with warmth and you clench tightly around his cock as you finish. He moans out a series of nonsensical praises, your name mixed in a few times. He kisses you, messily, as you both try to catch your breath.

Raphael rests his forehead against yours again as he begins to pull out. You grind against him once to tease him, and he chuckles in response. You stay laying on your back, still very much exposed with your knees bent. You feel Raphael's cum slowly beginning to seep out of you, and close your legs in response. Raphael wanders a couple of steps to find something to clean himself off. He looks up at you on the bed, and smiles. You smile back, satisfied, exhausted. He approaches the bed with a clean face cloth, gently parting your knees and looking with admiration at the mess between your legs.

You suddenly feel a little embarassed as you've calmed down, laughing lightly yourself at your position and covering your face with your hands.

"Don't tell me you've gotten shy now, my dear." Raphael tuts, kneeling back down on the floor again, "Especially after the show you just put on."

Raphael takes two of his fingers and enters them slowly into you, pushing his seed back inside your overstimulated core. You make a sound akin to a combined moan and complaint, which makes Raphael laugh. He has mercy on you, removing his fingers and cleaning you off with the cloth. You sit up, face to face again with the handsome devil. You gently smooth his hair back away from his face, not quite into his regular style but close enough. Your fingernails rake gently across his scalp, and he sighs in contentment.

"Well," Raphael says, eyes closed as he relaxes, "I would say that is a victory well fought."

You scoff and roll your eyes, poking your index finger at his forehead.

"You may have won the battle, Raphael," You grin, and he opens one eye in mock curiosity, "But believe me, I will win the war."

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cheesy last line but it's okay being kind of embarrassing and playful is part of the aftercare process here

okay so this was absolutely supposed to be a short smut drabble and it somehow evolved into a smut one shot

idk what happens I was possessed by a horny ghost I think

anyway this is my first time posting smut in a looooooong long time so I hope I did it justice! gentle constructive criticism is welcome but if you hurt my feelings you are banned for life

take care everyone! :3

20/05/24

11/6/24 1056

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ASTARION

Running Out (11/05/2024)

Astarion sees the city (and his predicament) in a new light: day light.

Description: one shot (completed), third person musings, very low stakes, bittersweet if you squint

Pairing/s: none

Warning/s: none

Multi-character posts:

Night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions (08/10/2024)

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GALE

Certainty (23/08/2024)

What is your humanity worth to you?

Description: After having seen the horrors of mankind and beyond in the face of the Absolute, you discuss ascension with Gale. A healthy amount of conversation with a dash of comfort from you to Gale (we know this man has a complicated sense of self) (TBC)

Pairing/s: Gale x reader (aka tav aka you aka y/n - unnamed, I don't use the y/n format in my writing but include it in the tags)

Warning/s: none

Multi-character posts:

Night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions (08/10/2024)

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GORTASH

Multi-character posts:

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Night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions (08/10/2024)

HALSIN

Multi-character posts:

Night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions (08/10/2024)

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KARLACH

Dear Gortash (04/06/2024)

Karlach writes a letter to her now out of commission ex-boss. Or: Karlach tries an actionable therapeutic activity

Description: one shot (completed), Karlach's pov, a letter written in her hand to Gortash following the end of the events of bg3, closure, healing vibes

Pairing/s: none

Warning/s: none

Multi-character posts:

Night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions (08/10/2024)

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LAEZEL

Multi-character posts:

Night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions (08/10/2024)

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MINTHARA

Multi-character posts:

Night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions (08/10/2024)

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RAPHAEL

Victory (12/06/2024)

You only need a little push to get you over the edge, but Raphael isn't going to let that happen. No, you'll get your reward once you give in, and you will give in, won't you?

Description: NSFW/NSFT/MDNI, smut one shot (completed), second person ('you') POV, a wordy scene of denial slow burn and eventual smut, AFAB body

Pairing/s: Raphael X reader (aka tav aka you aka y/n - unnamed, I don't use the y/n format in my writing but include it in the tags)

Warning/s: mild orgasm denial, very mild humiliation, very mild d/s dynamic, dirty talk, PiV sex, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, creampie/cum, shoe grinding, light aftercare

Multi-character posts:

Night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions (08/10/2024)

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ROLAN

Speak to me (02/06/2024)

You'd imagined a dozen different ways in which you'd see Rolan again. But seeing him like this only throws you into a flurry of confusion and anger; what happened to Rolan?

Description: a you (tav) X Rolan WIP/sneak peak, second person, just a little snippet so far (updated 02/06/2024)

Pairing/s: reader X Rolan (tav X Rolan) (you X Rolan)

Warning/s: mild reference to physical abuse (nothing graphic or detailed)

Speak to me update 1 (10/07/2024)

Arabellan Dry (23/09/2024)

Arabellan Dry (Part of the Speak to Me writing) (23/09/2024)

In the company of one tiefling wizard, you find yourself drunk on more than just wine.

Description: a light-hearted Rolan X reader chapter set at the Act 1 Tiefling party! Takes some direct in-game dialogue from Rolan, Cal, and Lia, I've tried to place it within the canon timeline for a good-aligned run. Bit of light pining, light tension, conversation, and of course, wine.

This is adjacent to the Speak to Me post (which I'll be turning into more of a chapter series over time) but you don't have to read either for the other to make sense

Pairing/s: Rolan X reader (aka Rolan X tav, Rolan X you, Rolan X y/n)

Warning/s: None

Snippet 1 (27/08/2024)

Description: tiny mild NSFW snippet of some Rolan smut in progress

Pairing/s: reader X Rolan (tav X Rolan) (you X Rolan)

Warning/s: none

Multi-character posts:

Night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions (08/10/2024)

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SHADOWHEART

Multi-character posts:

Night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions (08/10/2024)

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WYLL

Hand in bloodied hand (20/05/2024)

Viis knows very little about the world, or about themselves, and finds they have even more to learn about others. Wyll Ravengard, an unlikely ally in most circumstances, piques the interest of someone who is otherwise mostly interested in stabbing things

Description: WIP/sneak peek (updated 20/05/2024), third person, descriptive, mild typical durge indulgence

Pairing/s: Wyll Ravengard X dark urge Tav

Warning/s: depictions of violence

Multi-character posts:

Night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions (08/10/2024)

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MULTI-CHARACTER

Headcanons: night routines, cuddles, and sleeping positions with the companions (08/10/2024)

Ever wonder what happens when the sun goes down and the campfire starts to die out? Settle in and cuddle up, we've got headcanons to read

Description: A headcanons post for most of the companions + some bonus NPCs! SFW, each having a short few paragraphs each describing some night routines and how the characters and reader sleep of a night time. Gender neutral language for reader

Pairing/s: Reader X (Alphabetical) (Astarion - Gale - Halsin - Karlach - Laezel - Minthara - Shadowheart - Wyll - Gortash - Raphael - Rolan)

Gale sinks into the vision, adrift in a sea of potential power. Even in his illusory form, you can feel the magic radiating off the God of Ambition. Tiny lightning sparks crackle at his fingertips. Your skin prickles with goosebumps.

"Wow," Gale, your Gale, admires. "This. I could have, I could be all of this."

"Gale," you begin to interject, promptly silenced by his continued awe.

"No really, imagine it. No more Orb, no more pain, nor suffering. I could lay the path between mortal and god in a way no one has succeeded before. I could be a god of the people. I can protect us." His eyes shine with delight at the prospect, and you feel cruel in your inability to share his excitement.

A small voice in the back of your mind indulges in the desire to support his ascension. Gale, a mortal man with a mind beyond his body and a series of unfortunate fates. You would like to see him happy. After all of his pondering, yearning, suffering; doesn't he deserve to feel powerful? Doesn't he deserve to feel safe?

You reflect on your own trials in your journey towards the Absolute, victory at your fingertips if you can make it just that little bit further. You've grown, yourself. Acquired skills in strategy and combat, used muscles in ways you've never needed to before.

You've survived. But you need to win.

Gale takes notice of your sudden silence. He watches you for a moment too long as you lose yourself in your own mind. It wouldn't be the first time he's seen you at a stalemate with yourself, and he knew it wouldn't be the last.

"What's on your mind?" He asks, dampening his enthusiasm.

"I don't... I'm not sure this is the right choice." You admit with a sigh.

"Don't think that I'm taking this lightly. I mean, the 'God of Ambition' isn't exactly a subtle title." He chuckles lightly. Sensing your hesitation, he lowers his timbre, eyes earnest, "I'm familiar with the boundaries and responsibilities of a god, truly. But I really believe I can be that mortal link the world desperately needs. I'm tired of having an immortal audience always at arm's length. Tired of being just a man, a pawn in fate's eternal chess game. I want to be more than that."

You both allow silence to settle around you. A comfortable quiet that blankets around your bodies. You pick up one of Gale's hands in both of yours, his fingertips lacking any lightning static. You trace your fingers over the lines on his palm, the callouses on his skin, the redness of his knuckles. He looks expectantly at you, gaze eager but restrained.

There's a tiredness in his eyes. But still, they shine. They're welcoming, inviting. A warm brown that seeks you out with sincere interest, that observes you with genuine care. The God of Ambition's eyes spark with passion and delight, but look right through you. They're steely and strong and determined. But they're not human.

"Gale," Your voice seizes slightly. For some reason you feel like you're about to cry, "You're already so much more than that."

Gale furrows his eyebrows in confusion, opening his mouth to interject. You gently press two fingers to his lips, and he abides in silence.

"You have so much already, you've done so much already. You could fill a tower with your stories and learnings from the past year alone. I don't... I really don't know if this is the best path."

You remove your hand away from his mouth and instead move to cup his jaw. His stubble itches your palm, his warmth encourages you further.

"It's not that I don't believe you could do it. In fact, I know you could. You're already an extraordinary wizard, the best there is in my biased mind. I know you can tip the scales in our favour. I know you would use your power for a higher good. But you and I both know that these things come with a cost."

The dull purple vein that trails like a spiderweb to the Orb in his chest is still visible under his skin. You follow it down until your palm rests over his heart. It beats gently. If you pressed your hand to his Godly form, would you feel anything at all?

"Your humanity, Gale. You would be a god for the worlds, but you wouldn't be you anymore, not really."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" He asks quietly. Gale presses his lips together, like he didn't mean to say anything at all.

"Of course." You disagree with quick certainty, "Gale you are already worth so much to the world, to me, just as you are. You're entirely capable and endlessly brave. You've survived seemingly impossible fatalities and insurmountable situations. We're battling against a giant, Netherese-infused brain with its offspring still in our heads. Stop discounting yourself as if you're only worth what you can give to others because it's simply not true."

You feel your own face growing hot, a strange kind of anger flourishing through your veins. You couldn't understand how, after everything he's accomplished, he still thought so lowly of himself. He meets your eyes, somewhat taken aback by your complimentary lecture. His face is flushed, and you can't help but appreciate the small mortal quirks you're suddenly fixated on.

A slow breath releases from your lungs, tension making your neck tight. There has been nothing sure about your journey thus far. You've been tossed around and shaken up by fate, still stumbling to find your feet. You respect Gale. You love him. It's your only certainty.

"Ultimately, I want you to choose. Whether you ascend or you don't, I will be here with you." You hold his hand as you lead him closer to the God of Ambition's projection. It's still smiling, eyes void of emotion, face to face with its human counterpart.

"But please Gale, look inside yourself and make the decision based on what you find. Don't do it for me, sweet as you are. This sounds horrible but don't do it for the people alone, either. You can and do incredible things already. If preventing the illithid empire reborn isn't proof enough, then I don't know what could be." A laugh bubbles up at the thought and you shake your head slightly.

Gale looks at the projection, an almost-exact copy in its physical traits. Draped in extraordinarily detailed robes, shining like pure moonlight. Even as an image alone, an aura of power radiates in gentle waves.

You're honest in your words; you're going to stick by Gale, God or not. The trials of recent times have left you battered and bruised, but they've made you and your companions resourceful. You have a world to save, and you will find a way to do it.

Gale turns towards you. He lets out a shaky breath and pulls you close, grounding himself. His forehead touches yours, the ends of his hair curling around his face as he hides from the world. In this moment, it's just you, and him.

"Gale?"

"I've chosen."

be prepared to hate me lol I'm leaving it on a cliffhanger for now!! vote below (like a choose your own adventure) which ending you would choose :33

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Trapped.

Wedged at the chokehold centre of an hourglass, feeling the sand slip between his fingers too fast; so fast that he hasn't any time to count the remaining grains.

+

They've made tracks now, progress. Rivington, then the lower city of Baldur's gate. Home. It petrifies him.

His boots crunch on uneven terrain, roguish reflexes saving him from a haphazard branch to the face more than once.

"Is the promise of reunion troubling you, Astarion?" Tav asks, skirting around a splintered wheel on the path, long separated from its wagon. He pauses, only a moment too long to project any real sense of ease in his voice.

"Of course not," he scoffs, "I'm certainly interested in what's in store for us. Blood, brawls, death. If anything, I'm positively giddy with anticipation!"

His toothy grin fools his friend very little. Tav humours him anyway, the concern in their eye clocked by both of them but acknowledged by neither.

+

"Gods it feels good to be back home! I'd almost forgotten what city alleys even looked like," Karlach beams, completely immersed in what was to most citizens a perfectly mundane day. She bumps the lid off an oozing fish barrel of questionable freshness. Her eyebrows knit together in quick response, "Whoa, didn't quite miss some of the smells though."

Tav looks sideways at Astarion, keen to catch a mischievous eye, an unspoken jest. Instead they catch a glimpse of him staring, blank-faced and open-eyed at the bustling streets. An older human man carefully counts out copper coins for a wedge of cheese to accompany the Arabellan Dry in his rucksack. A unaccompanied gaggle of elven children rush through oncoming citizens, dirty-faced and smiling wildly; they duck and weave between bodies, playing a game that looks more confusing than fun. A young tiefling couple sit closely together on a granite bench. The taller girl shyly grasps the hand of the other, who herself nervously holds a slightly wilted poppy bloom in her other shaking fist.

Alive.

In the day time, the space is filled with life.

Sunlight, gentle as a caress, bathes Astarion in a pale golden light. It suits him. He can see his home in a light unseen in two hundred years. Only this time, the world can see him back.

"Chaos, isn't it?" Tav says lightly, leaving a conversational door open to break the tension. They can see his wonder, they can sense his longing.

"It," he surveys the streets again, "it looks so different in the day time. I'd nearly forgotten." His voice is slightly flat, distracted.

Neither of them speak. They share in a brief, quiet moment, as if another word might snuff out the sun itself.

"Come on daydreamers, it's time we get a move on," Gale, ever the wordy wizard, breaks their silent spell in his approach, "I'm also having a terrifically difficult time keeping track of Karlach. I think the waging war between mind and stomach has finally come to a close."

Astarion sighs with dramatic vigour, "I suppose you're right. We've a lot on our plates already, let's not add hungry raging barbarian to that list."

The three of them make haste, only barely glimpsing the tip of Karlach's tail rounding a corner towards the Elfsong.

Drunken chatter grows louder as they reach the tavern doors. Astarion is the last at the entrance, stopping halfway in the doorframe. He looks over his shoulder once more at the city, his city, draped in light. The hum of conversation fades into static as he allows the sun to dust over his face once more. As far as events in taverns usually go, he doesn't expect they'll be out before sundown.

The warmth across his cold cheeks sparks something within him. Not quite a roaring, all-consuming forest fire. Instead, the dim flicker of hot ember clinging to candle wick. The pale vampire, with his skin warmed by the sun.

He hears his friends call out for him, pulling him away from himself once more. He feels the weight of the sand in the hourglass grow lighter, less and less and less. He can't be certain how much is left in the top, how far he and his companions have to go before it's all over.

Astarion finally moves his gaze towards the bar. Gale is regaling stories of almost-bar brawls gone right to an amused Tav. His animated arm movements punctuate every sentence. Tav catches his eye and beckons him to join, gesturing towards Karlach with a nod. She's sitting opposite a sweating dwarf, his face bloated with alcohol. An impressive stack of beer mugs lay at their feet as they play an unidentifiable drinking game. By the determined look on Karlach's face, and the concerning sway of her balance, it seems neither of them are winning.

He laughs, then. A genuine chuckle that gives him the last push he needs to close the door behind him. It's still there though, that warmth. A gentle, fond flame, small as a grain of sand. It radiates from somewhere in his undead chest. He's found, it seems, light that even the inevitable shadow of night can't extinguish.

Even though there may not be much time left, here, for now, that's enough for him.

-end-

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11/5/24 AM

first bit of writing on this blog shitting myself with nervousness

just gotta take the plunge and upload

if you see this (meaning you probably read to the end, or skipped down to see how long this was) thanks for visiting :3

I might come back and edit this if I feel particularly motivated. this was very much a spur of the moment musing very quickly inspired by art I saw on my dash. I haven't written in such a long time, it's like stretching a really stiff muscle

Gortash.

The crew and I are sorting ourselves out now that the dust has settled a bit. We're rebuilding things, healing and all that. We also get drunk under the stars and eat our weight in stew but I think that's also helping.

Some of us are working on things like forgiveness, and guilt. Some of us are training, socialising, moving on. All of us are grieving.

I struggled for a bit, thinking of a way to find my closure. I lost so much of my life. I was punished so deeply for a crime I never committed. I was put through the ringer, ripped out, and ran through again. One of my friends suggested that I write you a letter, and I won't lie, I laughed. A letter? What the Hells will that do?

But still, I kept it in the back of my mind. I think it's just in my nature to trust the people I care about. I carried a sheet of parchment and a quill in my pack with me for two weeks straight. Except every time I tried, I had nothing to say.

Then I went to visit my parents. I clean their gravestones and sweep away fallen leaves as often as I can make it. I tell them about my adventures, my health, everything really. I tell them about my nightmares, and my daydreams. There's a merchant at the cemetery who sells flowers out of a tiny cart. She's a widower. I pay her thrice her asking price for blooms to decorate my folks place, and ask her about her day. She was telling me about how she still talks to her husband sometimes, when she sleeps. She knows he's gone, but it brings her peace. She asked me about my dreams, and about my peace. I didn't have an answer for her then, but I think I would now.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I see you.

You're dressed plainly, not an adornment in sight. You're crouched low in the soil, joints aching, hands calloused. The knees of your peasant pants are permanently dust-stained, and there is dirt under your fingernails that you'll never get out.

You water an endless field of flowers of every variety gently, there is no other way you are able to do it. There is no company. No conversation. Just a gentle wind meant to carry the pollen of infinite blooms to each other. Light beams down onto you. You've developed deep crows feet from squinting when you look up to note it's movement - the artificial sun is the only way you can track the time here.

You are quiet. Frowning. You're too exhausted to rage anymore. You tend to the flowers, a stark and lovely contrast to the hells that lie just beyond the field. You can never reach the edge, you can never crush the flowers. They simply spring back when stepped on, they simply regrow when ripped out.

You would have spent the first few weeks screaming, ripping roots out of the ground, scheming, plotting, swearing. What else would you have done? But over time, you began to resign yourself to your situation. I hope you find comfort that you're not the only one who knows how that feels.

Far away from the world's living and dead, unable to destroy or devise, this is where you'll stay. You can't sweet-talk the flowers, you can't take advantage of the wind's trust. You cannot leave and you cannot die. You will never hurt me again.

And over time, these dreams will fade with the nights. I replace them with my friends and family. I'll close my eyes and think about meals in the moonlight, about playing with dogs and cats and owlbears, or about nothing at all. I think more about myself now. About what I want to do with every day that I have. I learned to make mince pies, I admire the setting sun. I make more friends. I treat myself. I deserve that. I saved the fucking world. I saved my fucking self.

When I think of you, tending to a field of flowers in the Hells forever, I feel relieved.

One day, I won't think of you at all.

And that makes me smile.

Bye forever, pal.

Karlach.

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my sweet gal Karlach deserves all this and more

ty for the love and kind words/tags on some of my works!!! It's seriously so encouraging to know that actual people like what I do!

as I said in my intro I'm pretty inclined to do bittersweet, wordy pieces so I think you can definitely see that across my works so far

anyway thanks again!! :3