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mooshywrites · 3 months

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Hello hello! May I request a Halsin one shot or companion headcannons of how they would react to you having the flu? I've caught the most recent bug going around and it has absolutely floored me 😞🤧 thank you x

How they take care of you when you’re sick

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A/N ~ I’ve been so under the weather lately as well so I love this sm ;~;

Masterlist

Art commissions

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Astarion ~

~ Astarion was a very begrudging nurse

~ He couldn’t deny the fact that being around a sick person disgusted him on some level, but he couldn’t see you suffering alone

~ It was almost comical to watch him, grimacing as he approached your sniffling bundle of sick

~ He was so brave however, even landing a small kiss on your forehead as he situated you to be more comfortable

~ As a compromise, he settled in across the room, reading to you throughout the day to keep you company

~ In your sleepy and delirious state, you would feel him replacing the wet rag on your head, softly chiding you for having such a strong fever

~ Despite his attitude, you knew he was worried about you, rarely leaving you alone for more than a few minutes at a time

~ “Please get better soon, darling. I’m simply not cut out for such affectionate work”

Halsin ~

~ Halsin was a little lost when you came down with a cold that his healing magic didn’t fix

~ He had no basis of what to do when his magic failed, so it was interesting seeing him try to come up with ways to help

~ At first, all he could think to do was bundle you as tight as he could in a fluffy blanket, holding you close to keep away the chills

~ When that didn’t help your stuffy nose, instead of setting you down to try something else, he simply carried you around as he thought

~ You felt like an overgrown baby, bundled up and tucked tightly against the Druid’s chest

~ Finally, he decided the only remedy would be lots of affection and some very warm peppermint tea

~ He fed you the brew spoonful by spoonful, almost as if he didn’t trust you not to choke on it in your feverish state

~ “Sip slowly, my heart, can’t have you dying on me so suddenly”

Gale ~

~ When you started complaining to Gale that you were coming down with a cold, you expected the wizard to be a doting and affectionate partner

~ You did NOT expect him to become some sort of depraved mad scientist

~ After corralling you to the bed and snuggling you up in a plethora of blankets and giving you a smooch on the top of your head, he beelined it to the kichen

~ Your fever had you flitting in and out of sleep, so you didn’t quite know how much time had passed before Gale had returned

~ It took you a minute to realize what he was carrying, your eyes widening at the ray of various soups he had concocted

~ The rest of the day was spent lazily, your wizard reading to you from your favorite books as he rotated the soups for you to try

~ To your delight, most of them were delicious, though some neared the edge of all things bitter and medicinal

~ Gale’s hand never left your own, squeezing appreciatively as you tried every bowl

~ “Don’t eat too much now, I’m not quite sure how those potions will mix with each other, love.”

Wyll ~

~ Wyll was a nervous wreck when he realized you were sick

~ You had to spend most of the morning calming him down, convincing him not to wrap you up and race you to the nearest healer

~ You assured him it was a minor case of the sniffles, a minor fever that probably wouldn’t last the day

~ After he had finally relaxed, he insisted on waiting on you hand and foot

~ He was ever present, refilling your water and handkerchief before you could put it back on the table

~ The duke even poured a basin of warm water, keeping a hot towel over your feet constantly

~ It was nice being cared for so diligently, despite your hellishly progressing cold

~ When it reached evening and your cold hadn’t subsided, Wyll gently carried you to bed, tutting over you nervously

~ “Whether I have to kidnap you myself, you will be going to a healer tomorrow, my sweet.”

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marbobar · 3 months

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~open invitation to all bg3 artists out there~

Feel free to reblog this with your own addition for some platonic tav on tav smooches, courtesy of my circle of spores druid Mrinthyr

Could be the cheek, the lips, the hand or whatever suits for fancy

Go nuts and have fun

💋

#doodlins #my art #art wip #mrinthyr #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanart #baldurs gate fanart #bg3 tav #baldurs gate 3 fanart #baldurs gate 3 tav #druid tav #tav fanart #baldurs gate tav #my tav #tav #i might sketch responses if i have the energy #just silly doodles probably

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mossy-rock-in-a-field · 5 months

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My Elderly Mother Plays Baldur's Gate: Part 4

If you're not up to date on the saga, my mom is having me play Baldur's Gate 3 on her behalf because she has trouble using controllers/keyboards but still wants to "smooch the wizard boy." She is playing a neutral good wood elf druid; this is a detailed account of her crimes. Part 1 & 2 Part 3

Hey, everybody! Thanks to everyone who followed my blog to keep up with my mom's adventures. Also, shout-out to whoever called my mom "Crime Mom" last time I posted about this; she really got a kick out of that. We played for a full day yesterday so we could really get into Act III and make some progress.

Here are the atrocities she committed during yesterday's play session:

My mom is very pissed that she cannot keep Myshka the white cat. When she found Myshka, she told him that she was his mother because of course she did. Naturally, Myshka started following her around the city after that, and she was SO thrilled about it. However, when we went back to camp to trade out a companion and immediately came back to the city, the cat wasn't following her anymore, and my mom was so fucking upset. ("That boy thinks I'm his mother and I LEFT HIM! Why can't I take my son back to my camp with us?") My mom told me to tell my "tumblr friends" that Myshka should be able to join our camp like Scratch and the owlbear cub. So, if any of you guys are from Larian—take notes, I guess. My mother demands a cat son.

Upon seeing Mystra for the first time in the Stormshore Tabernacle cutscene, my mom immediately said in the bitterest voice imaginable, "I'm prettier than her." She is, of course, right. Fuck Mystra, all my homies hate Mystra.

When we found the Hag Survivors Group, my mom asked me if she could try combat for the first time, and she actually started to get the hang of it. ("Left bumper, mom. No, that's the trigger. BUMPER. Other left. There you go.") However, she didn't fully understand what "area of effect" meant and decided to cast Fireball ("Ooh, I've always wanted to use that one!") in an enclosed space before I could stop her. She instantly incinerated Mayrina, the floorboards, and the paladin, Adrielle. I was so fucking proud of her but also laughing so hard I was nearly in tears. She had me reload the save for her.

My mom returned the stolen money to the Counting House's head banker, then asked me to rob the rest of the building on our way out. When I asked her about the logic of this particular decision, she said, "We're saving the city from mind flayers, so these funds are really going back into the local economy when you think about it. We're a great cause!" I have no idea why she didn't just keep the stolen pouch of money in the first place. We wasted so many scrolls and Arrows of Transposition to get everything out of those vaults.

She was FURIOUS when she found out Auntie Ethel wasn't actually dead. My dad called in the middle of the day to check in on dinner plans and mom kept him on the phone for at least ten minutes while she ranted about hags who "should stay dead when they're told to."

My mom adores Jaheira. The two of them are very similar to each other, so I think she gets a kick out of seeing Camp Mom do Camp Mom things that she would do if she were actually in the game. My mom also loves Minsc and Boo. TASTE.

Don't know how soon my mother will come back for another play session, but I'll keep you guys updated whenever I can! She has already asked me if I would DM a D&D session for her retired friends, so I'm trying to find time to do that. Maybe I'll do some updates on that if we get it going.

Thank for everyone's support! Crime Mom and I appreciate it.

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autistichalsin · 5 months

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This is a Christmas PSA: Your Druid needs smooching. Please go and smooch your Druid immediately. Druids are for smooching and they will become distressed if not smooched

#halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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rebdekarios · 2 months

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Friendly tip to take your big fine Druid man to Jaheira’s hideout in Act 3 so you can use the pond as a pretty backdrop for your smooch photos

Thank me later

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #halsin #daddy halsin #archdruid halsin #druid halsin #halsin x durge #halsin romance #bg3 screenshots #bg3 halsin #bg3 screencaps #bg3 act 3 spoilers #halsin bg3

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rayskittles33 · 3 months

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✨ Come here to me ✨

#making me melt over here #smooching is for druids #halsin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 halsin #baldurs gate 3 #halsin bg3 #halsin silverbough

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2kmps · 4 months

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SMITTEN

dammon x reader | 2.5k

story summary; all it took was an argument with your party leader and an incident of misfortune for dammon to realize he was smitten with you.

story warnings; huge spoilers for act 1 & 2 of baldur's gate 3, mentions of burns and cuts, implication of dammon and mc drinking before a smooch, mc is not tav, no pronouns or descriptions used. very briefly proofread.

if you'd like a part two, please interact & reblog! ❤️

No one knew the time of day as black, tense air splintered those in fitful slumber into wakefulness that made their hearts hammer and bodies cold. There were shouts coming from outside the Last Light Inn, an unwelcome disturbance in these awful, glum days encompassed by death, shadow, and cries of beasts beyond Isobel’s barrier.

Dammon had been one of the first inquisitive souls on scene, already hammering away in his makeshift forge at some hour, surrounded by glowing iron, hot coals, and the smell of ox shit lingering over his workspace like a smoky cloud embedding its malodor into any pororous surface. As long as he stayed busy, deafened himself to all but the sting of metal, vibrations from his hammer memorized deep into his marrow, gave himself to the roar of the furnace—he didn't mind anything else, didn't think about his exhaustion, nor the fear that coiled his spine at every uncertainty around him.

But, he recognized your voice above the fierceness of his fire—knew the one retaliating your indignance just the same. He was drawn to it, leaving his tools by the anvil to step out towards the dilapidated stonework at the center of this improvised settlement, an old water fountain that once was beautiful artistry before the Shadow-Curse.

“I will not be cast aside! I will not be abandoned here to die, Dreston!” you were borderline hysterical, arms strewn about you wildly as you shouted. It was clear no one in your company wanted to feel the venom spitting from your throat. “I survived the crèche—I was integral to us all making it out alive! My abilities to heal are unparalleled, how can you just—”

“They need someone here,” said the tall drow at the core of your ire, leader of your motley crew. “Isobel needs to focus on the barrier. Someone needs to be able to heal the wounded.”

“They have a druid! They don't need me!” you tried again, rage weakening as your voice cracked and eyes gained a watery luster that you blinked back. “I've already done so much for the group. Do you think I'm useless on the battlefield? Is it because I'm not a druid like Halsin? A cleric like Shadowheart? Karlach, speak for me!”

You could've looked through Dreston at that moment and Karlach would've felt the desperation of your stare. She looked towards the ground, pushing stones with her boots. It was so drastically different from how she had been helping you with adjustments to your new armor just hours ago, laying hands everywhere now that she could thanks to Dammon

None of the others spoke for you, either. It was admission of guilt, silent consensus that you were to stay behind here and die if the barrier fell. You couldn't believe it.

“We’ll seek your aid again once we're en route to Baldur’s Gate,” Dreston said, his finality and firmness making words stick in your throat, jaws so tight your teeth could shatter. “Not a moment before. If you leave the barrier, what befalls you is of your own consequence. Protect these people here and wait for us.”

You spat at his feet, wiped your mouth, and then your tears before stalking off until you were far out of sight and alone.

Dammon stayed for the exchange and watched you go, a heart wrenching sight in his mind to be robbed of the love and passion you lived for. Adventuring and healing for you; the smithy and embers for him. Still, he never remembered you with such a temper, at least not one so outward, but these cursed lands had a way of bringing out the worst in everyone.

He had seen it many times over already—in others, in himself as well. Emerald Grove had been a perilous time just as this, but with the light of sunrise and sunset swathing him in some sort of feign comfort. This was not the same, there was no ease except what he knew with flame and steel and heavy hammer.

Still, back then, when he had met you the first time when acquiesced to eradicate the goblin hoards, you were different—brighter, skin aglow beautifully, eyes so radiant and divine. He remembered finding his gaze shifting to you more times than not, catching a jagged end of Dreston’s annoyance when he needed to repeat himself once or twice.

Dammon found it hard to focus in those days until your departure for the goblin camp, and that relief once you were gone had followed until now with your reappearance here at the Last Light Inn.

Now, he had to ask himself why he was standing before Dreston with an approachable smile, hoping he didn't fall on the receiving end of his bad spirits, and spoke his fate aloud:

“Don't worry, I'll keep a watchful eye out.”

He had assigned himself as your custodian like it was nothing, like you actually needed one in the first place. Dreston never mentioned it to you, probably for the best because your foul mood sat on your heels for many days thereafter. It took nearly a week to rouse you out of that state well enough to even visit him at his forge again.

“How are you holding up, Dammon?” you had asked with surprising calm, a similar sort of placidity you had when you'd first met. “It can't be easy being in this place. I keep looking at the barrier, expecting something to happen.”

“I can tell, you look tense”—he dunked red, searing iron into a vat of water and walked away as steam rose and hissed while it cooled—”Given the circumstances, I can't say I'm any worse than anyone else. If I worry, I hammer; if I can't sleep, I hammer. That's enough for me.”

You shared a smile with him, eyes wavering from his piercing blue to the arsenal of newly forged weapons he had managed to craft in a single night. He hadn't slept at all, but hadn't felt it until this moment.

“Don't forget to rest or you'll be one of the unfortunates lying unconscious on a bed that I have to take care of.” You said with a certain playfulness, a certain amount of snide and seriousness that he wasn't sure how to respond to. However, you gave a large logbook in your arm a pat. “I keep a record of everyone I've ever cared for—methods and medicine administered. Everything. I'd like to not add you to it.”

Dammon was a new entry in your logs a few weeks later, as it turned out. Misfortune seemed to torture everyone here beneath Isobel’s barrier, and he was not immune despite believing, foolishly, that losing himself to his projects would save him forever.

“Tell me what happened,” you already had an inked quill readied, a crisp, empty page dedicated to him. “The sooner you do, the sooner I can patch you up.”

For once, the makeshift infirmary sat barren besides the pair of you. It had originally been the bedchambers for weary travelers once upon a time, modified into a strategy room for Counsellor Florrick, and then finally commandeered as an infirmary by you and Isobel to bring some temporary sense of normalcy.

Jaheira let you have that small victory.

“Well,” Dammon wasn't sure what all to tell you that was necessary. It had all been an accident—a ridiculous oversight on his part, a disrespect to his craft and the fires of his forge. “You see—I, well, it's been a few days since I've slept. It's been difficult with those ravens constantly taking blows to the barrier. So, I've spent my time hammering away. Gets my mind off of things, off of everything.”

All went silent but the scrawl of your quill upon yellow parchment, faithfully recording his words verbatim. He waited for the feather to fall flat against your hands and eyes to rise to his before continuing:

“Honestly, it was just a freakish thing—a raven struck the barrier, startled that strange ox they have in the stable and I… my hammer missed and the sword I was working on came back on me. I had just taken out of the fire. Infernal blood I may have, I'm not immune to burns and cuts from my own craft it seems.”

Dammon tried to lighten the severity of his embarrassment with a laugh, hoping it would make that harsh crease between your brows smooth out. Seeing you worry over him did not fill him with a buzz of delight, but feeling your cold hands rest over his injured one did.

“Luckily it isn't too bad. Tiefling reflexes are impossibly good.” You sounded impressed, careful as you drew his hand closer, turning it whatever which way you pleased and he allowed it. He wasn't fond of the cold, but found himself reveling the magic that gushed out from your palms and soothed the burnt flesh on the back of his hand. “It'll be an easy enough fix, but, Dammon, you'll have to stay here and rest. You're not to return to your forge until you do. Understood?”

Perhaps, at a different time, such a demand would be reprimanded. To take a blacksmith from his forge is to take a healer from their potions and herbs—it would've at least aroused some frustration, but now, as he there on the edge of a worn mattress with your frigid hands caressing his scorched skin, wrapped in soft white light that reminded him of the long lost sun, he didn't refuse you and didn't think he ever could.

“Amazing,” he breathed out once he was awash in relief from his agony. The blistered, lacerated flesh from his own creation had closed and disappeared. Only the memory remained now, and the sensation of one of your hands hovering over his open palm. “You're no cleric or druid yet you can utilize magic like that. I've never seen the like.”

“Hopefully you never will again,” came your response, this time with much lightness and satisfaction. “How does it feel? Is there any pain remaining? I treat certain wounds traditionally with herbs and potions, but I know burns are in a league all their own.”

Dammon met the space of your palm facing his, fingers closing around you until the ridges of his well-earned calluses pressed warmth into your skin. Yours had a roughness about them as well without the same sinew and narrow bones and nails as him. There was a new sensation that struck him at that moment, like a jogged memory, a renewal of something once forgotten.

This simple touch reminded him of how much he had forced it away since Elturel was swallowed into Avernus—how much of his being now belonged to survival, and whatever was left was spent flattening iron with a hammer so his mind didn't escape him.

“I feel right, thanks to you.” Dammon said in soft, vulnerable tones that made flounder for words and withdraw your hand in a single, sharp motion.

You cleared your throat once and then twice more, closing your sizable book of records and rose from your chair. “Good! Good! I'll—I’m glad to hear it. I'll just step out so you can rest. Sleep well, Dammon.”

He did not rest for a long time because his thoughts were full of you, and that's where they stayed everyday afterward while he worked in the heat of his forge. It became easier to bear the ominous darkness that swirled around the barrier, a mere splinter in concentration away from consuming him and everyone else within.

Your company was a beacon of light to him in these terrible days, something he looked forward to after however many indeterminate hours clanging away on his anvil. He occupied a space next to you at the bar most times, some old beer in a mug that had lost its froth, listening to the dwarves among the settlement drunkenly, vivaciously explain their grand exploits while Alfira made up new lyrics to the strum of her lute.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked this a few times a day, a midday, an evening, a night, because there wasn't much else to do or to ask. But, right now, he was feeling bored and courageous with a pint in him, “Would you like to take a walk? I don't think the dwarves are telling stories we haven't already heard once every night the last tenday.”

You didn't disagree and went with him to make laps along the barrier. There was nothing new about this, either. You could walk the perimeter of the settlement with a blindfold on at this point and never snag a stone, stumble, or catch a briar on your sleeve. Dammon always stayed in stride with you despite his height, always kept himself at a decent distance from you despite how much he wished otherwise.

“What will you do once we get to Baldur’s Gate, Dammon? Hm?” It was a familiar question, one usually forgotten after a glass or two of wine in you. “I’m thinking of telling Dreston to piss off and working as an apothecary. Get some stability in my life, y'know?”

“It’d be good work for you.” He understood that desire for something solid, a safe life. “I’ve realized through all of this that I'm not the adventuring sort. I like my hammer. I like my forge; I like a bed at the end of a long day. I like—”

Dammon was quick with a glance down at you while walking, arms close and brushing. His heart was a growing drumbeat in his ears. “I like the idea of coming home to someone, to share my bed with. After all this, that sounds like a luxury—a dream.”

“Oh~” you put a hand near your lips, pretending to hide a scandalous smile. “So you are the marrying type. A couple of us were talking about that the other day, gossiping about who’d end up married or die alone in a bottle.”

Dammon let a smile grow, fingers edging nearer to your own until he could curl one or two with his. “I’d say the latter is quite extreme.”

Your voice trailed but you didn't pull away, not even as you were led away from the prying eyes of patrolling Harpers into dark foliage behind low hanging trees. It was sufficiently hot behind your ears, beneath your layers of thin clothes, and your throat tightened in your effort to look up at him.

His ribs were a prison for his heart, a good thing in this case as he tucked a hand against your neck and kissed you. He kissed you until the uncertainty fell away, until he felt your hands climb the length of his arms and every touch grew with assurance, fostering the beginning of a new dream.

a/n: possibly a part two if y'all let me know you like this??? so, pls interact and reblog to let me know!

this is also based off of my headcanons for tieflings that they're very loyal once they trust you—but they also fall h a r d.

it won't turn into anything big since I have my major projects going on in the background, but I'm just obsessed with dammon atm and figured the best way to get him out of my system was to write about him 💀. a second part would probs be smut.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 dammon #bg3 dammon x reader #bg3 dammon x you #dammon x reader #dammon x you #dammon x tav #bg3 dammon x tav #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate dammon #2k writes

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galaxymagick · 18 days

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the thought of gortash, orin, and cazador just waiting around while I run around completing side quests with my silly wizard, cleric, or barbarian, in tow, while smooching my vampire…. and now, erm, fellow druid, is so funny to me.

like.. yeah don’t mind us we’re just going shopping, Gale really needs a book, and then we’ll be stopping by the blushing mermaid. might visit the hells for a laugh..

do you guys need anything?

#I wish I was talented at drawing I have so many ideas I would love to draw 😭#I’m envious of all the talented ppl out there drawing their tavs #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #*#astarion #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #karlach #halsin #shadowheart

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thechaoticdruid · 4 months

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Shhh....Eeepy time...

Sim Lae'zel has only been here a day and she and Gale for some fucking reason are sword fighting in their pajamas the next morning.

Wyll is in character as usual.

Okay well this makes much more sense than Gale with a sword.

Dressed her up in something else cause the druid outfit made her arms all wonky in some animations.

Smooch 💋

He got a little hungry. 😅

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #my tav #sims 4 #Lae'zel #Shadowheart #wyll #gale dekarios #BG3 recreated in the sims #druid tav #They don't have yellow skintones I did the best I could with Lae'zel #She is infact an alien tho

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mossy-rock-in-a-field · 3 months

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My Mother Plays Baldur's Gate: Part 5

Summary: My retired mom is having me play Baldur's Gate 3 on her behalf because she has trouble using controllers/keyboards but still wants to "smooch the wizard boy." She is playing a neutral chaotic good wood elf druid; this is a detailed account of her crimes. Part 1 & 2 Part 3 Part 4

Sorry for the long break! Life got super busy for a second there. We're about 30-40% of the way through Act 3, and we finished up some companion quest lines and started making some plans to kill Gortash and Orin.

Here's what happened during yesterday's game session:

Scratch gave us an iron bowl at camp. My mom assumed this was somehow plot relevant, so she had me carry it around everywhere because "we might need it." I am not allowed to sell the bowl. She is a druid and her carrying capacity is still garbage. I suffer.

She LOVES Gale’s new kiss animations. I tasked with smooching him before we leave camp every single time. Even if I just stop by to switch out a party member, I still have to kiss him goodbye. (And pet the animals, obviously.)

We accidentally blew up Volo outside the Steel Watch foundry with a poorly-placed Ice Storm that nicked the edge of the explosive barrels. His corpse was charred and unrecognizable, and my mom was distraught. She demanded to know why I blew him up, so I reminded her that casting Ice Storm was HER idea. We saved him the second time.

Cazador accidentally won his fight several times because we kept rolling dogshit initiative and got zapped by status effects before we could move an inch. The first time Astarion got turned to paste in the ritual, my mom nearly leapt out of her seat. (“RELOAD RIGHT NOW, HONEY.”) We killed Cazador on the fifth attempt, the rotten bastard.

My mom was locked in for the Iron Throne mission. The turn limit really freaked her out, and she kept second-guessing my choices every time I made a move because she was so nervous I was wasting time. I had to gently remind her that I’ve done this mission literally dozens of times. (We got everyone out with a whole turn to spare. Pfffft.)

Got the wavemother robe. I put it on Gale because I thought my mom would love it, but she was actually horrified because he “might catch a cold.” She robe is now somewhere in the camp stash next to all the spoons, iron tongs, and rags. It will probably never be found again.

Saved the Gondians, and Mom now rides the “fuck Wulbren Bongle” hate train. Shout-out to my boy Barcus!

After watching the conclusion of The Pale Elf quest line (Astarion did NOT ascend, thank you), my mom quietly said, “I hope that actor knows how perfect he is as Astarion. What a wonderful man.” I had the pleasure of informing her that Neil Newbon won Best Performance at the Game Awards for his role. Congrats Neil Newbon, my mom is super proud of you!

Hoping to get together with my mom again soon and make some more progress through Act III. She told me to thank you for all your kind words of support!

#bg3 #crime mom plays bg3 #baldursgate #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #cazador #gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #wulbren bongle #bg3 wulbren #barcus wroot #barcus my beloved #volo #volothamp geddarm #neil newbon

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