#i am having so many Thoughts and Feelings about wyll and his fucking father

[voltaical-art]

HE WAS SEVENTEEN. AGHHH ULDER WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU

#bg3 #wyll ravengard #baldur's gate 3 #ulder ravengard #i am having so many Thoughts and Feelings about wyll and his fucking father #his dialogue abt him is so heartbreaking 'Did he ever miss me?' RAGHHH #man the game this would be if they actually explored this with wyll>>>> #whatever ill just do it myself

[nightingaletrash]

With a Little Help From My Friends 2/2

aaaaaaand part 2 of the Karlach Fix-It fic!

AO3

--

There was an acrid stink of sulphur that filled the workshop as Dammon melted down the unfinished infernal armour. The parts had been studiously dismantled, the leather and cloth being set aside should they be needed for another project some day, while the iron was carefully checked for impurities that might meddle with the mechanisms or prove too brittle even for a prototype. And while Nemeia couldn’t boast any real knowledge on the subject, it had evidently passed the test as Thulla had immediately handed roughly two thirds of the iron off to the smiths with the rest being thrown to one side for disposal. 

Meanwhile Zanner and Nickles worked on the parts that their people had salvaged from the Steel Watch. Their work was rhythmic in its own way; they would each pick up a piece or part, lift it to their ear, strike it delicately with a hammer and then lifted it to listen again. The difference was indiscernible to Nemeia, but it was enough for them to form a small series of piles - rejects to be discarded of, ones suitable for use in the prototype, ones to be melted down for later, and the ones they intended to save as they were for the final product.

Between the sweltering heat of the forge, the constant bustle, and the stink of rotten eggs, Nemeia and the others decided to wait outside until Dammon and the gnomes were done.

For some, the stink of fish and brine wouldn't be an improvement over the sulphur, and the sun still beat down with its warm summer rays, and while the cool sea breeze more than made up for it, the sudden relative calm left open air to think and the ghost of Karlach began to buzz in her ears once more.

What was the point? I’m still dying. I’m dying. I’m going to die!

The anguish burned in her ears as her chest tightened. She reached over her shoulder to grab her violin, as if tuning it would push the memory away. It was done. Gortash was dead, and now they were going to fix what he had done as best as they could. It wouldn’t be the same as getting her heart back, but it had to be better than dying.

You’ll just keep going, won’t you, Karlach accused. Watching the stars. Warming your hands on the campfire. Dancing, eating, making fucking love all night - all of it, all of it!

Her fingers trembled as she turned the pegs to tighten the strings, and she had to force away the crushing sensation in her chest because this wasn’t about her and her feelings. It was about Karlach. Karlach who had watched as Astarion struck down Cazador, saw Shadowheart reclaim her family from Viconia DeVir, and witnessed Wyll defy Hell itself to rescue his father from the Iron Throne and Mizora both. They all confronted the ones who had controlled and abused them, and they had all emerged from the other side a little less broken, a little more whole, with their lives finally back in their own hands after so many years at their mercy.

And now Karlach had finally faced her monster and had come away with nothing.

She had every right to be furious. They’d taken her heart. Taken everything. And as far as she knew, no one had any idea on how to get even a shred of it back.

What am I supposed to do now?

Live.

If Dammon and the gnomes did their job, all she’d ever have to do was live. Then she could watch the stars, warm her hands on the fire, sing and dance and eat and make love all night - she could do it all. Whatever she wanted, wherever she wanted. Even if she’d never have her heart back, she would have everything else.

The thought was enough to finally give her fingers their steadiness back, and she drew her bow and played a few notes to test her tuning. One string was much too tight, so she loosened it a little, and then began to play in earnest.

It was a tune she only vaguely recalled from her childhood. From a play when her mother took her on a trip to Neverwinter. It had been a story about a hero on a journey to try and stave off a sudden and inevitable death caused by a curse placed on them by a sorcerer. Of course, the hero had succeeded in the end, but had learned that there was much value in living life to the fullest instead of chasing tomorrow’s glory.

What had struck her as odd even then was the lack of a battle between the hero and the villain. Not five minutes after the curse was placed on the hero, their saviour arrived and abruptly killed off the villain altogether.

It had seemed an odd choice at the time. Why not give the hero the chance to be victorious over the one who had doomed them in the first place? Especially when it remained unclear as to how they were going to save themselves. At least, her young mind had thought, if the hero goes down, they know they’re taking their enemy with them.

Well she understood now. There was no satisfaction in destroying someone when you were just as doomed as they were. And that moment of understanding would have been a very hard sell for a show that was meant to be for children.

But the tune of the closing number had lurched into her mind unbidden, so that was what she chose to play. It was simple and catchy, and that was all it needed to be. Anything to stave off the idea that something might still go wrong and bring their plan crashing down around them.

As she played, the others took advantage of the brief chance to rest. In the sudden rush to try and get all the pieces for the new engine, that fight seemed so far away now. Like it had been days ago rather than hours, though the fact that his hand was still whole and intact in her pack rather than wasting away into sludge said otherwise. 

Maybe once they’d dealt with this Murder Tribunal business, she’d let Karlach decide what to do with it and all of its gaudy jewellery. A final ‘fuck you’ to the bastard that had ruined her life.

Two hours were whiled away before Barcus emerged from the workshop, covered in soot and grease stains yet beaming broader than Nemeia had ever seen before.

“It’s perfect,” was all he said before beckoning them to come back inside.

They filed back into the workshop where Dammon and the gnomes were all admiring their hard work, and frankly, if Nemeia hadn’t known better, she might have thought that it was the real thing. 

It was a contraption unlike any she had ever seen. The infernal casing was opened up to show the inner mechanisms that had been crafted as close to the shape of a real heart as was physically possible, the chambers all contracting and relaxing in rhythm with one another as the mechanisms whirred and the pistons pumped.

Yet as strange as it was, it was beautiful in its own way. Even though it was just a prototype, and even though she was no artificer, she could see the sheer amount of love that had gone into its creation. The perfection in the curves, the polished shine of the steel and iron, even its presentation on the table showed just how proud they all were of their work. 

They had made this for Karlach. They did this to save her life. And they’d made it beautiful.

“We altered the design to make use of the existing framework that Karlach’s current engine uses,” Dammon explained. “If we ripped out everything that Zariel put in her, we’d have to rebuild her entire chest cavity, and that would leave her out of commission for months. So these-” He indicated to the pipes that tapered off and connected to nothing. “-will snap into place. It’ll be almost as fast as installing her upgrades, which puts much less stress on her body.”

“Dammon’s been vital to the process,” Barcus said brightly. “His understanding of infernal engineering allows us to account for everything this new engine will need to be capable of to cause as little disruption as possible.”

Dammon chuckled and shook his head. “You say that as if I didn’t nearly throw out all of your hard work for the sake of the infernal casing. If it weren’t for Thulla’s suggestion, it might have come to blows.”

“The heat build-up it could have caused was a very serious issue,” Zanner mused as he poured himself a cup of coffee - when was the last time he’d slept anyway?

“But it’s all been resolved now,” Barcus said reassuringly. “We need to run a couple of stress tests, but more for our own state of mind than anything.”

“Meaning you can go fetch the infernal iron,” Dammon added, “and Karlach. I’m sure she’ll want to see this for herself. Maybe make her own suggestions.” He added the last not with a cheeky grin and Nemeia giggled at the thought.

“I can imagine an engraving that says ‘Property of Karlach Cliffgate - fuck off Zariel’ would be her first thought.”

“If she doesn’t think to ask for that, I’ll definitely suggest it,” he laughed. “Go on now. We’ll get to work on the stress tests. Once we know for sure that it won’t burst into flames, and that Karlach is firmly on board, then we can get to work on putting the real thing together.”

[]

For all their talk of camping, the ‘camp’ that the party had set up in the city was actually just everyone cramming themselves into Nemeia and Kyreth’s family home and making do with the squeeze. But according to the message on the cabinet in the hallway, the others had all decided to clear out so that Karlach could have some space to herself.

It seemed that her dark mood had accompanied her home then.

While the others drifted off to tend to their own devices, Nemeia headed upstairs to her bedroom. Karlach was inside as predicted, sitting on the edge of the bed with a picture held gently by the tips of her fingers. 

It was a small charcoal portrait of Nemeia and Kyreth when they were both much younger. Nemeia had been maybe five or six when she saw the artist on the corner of the street, being paid to draw passers-by, and she’d begged her mother for one.

He’d been delighted by her enthusiasm, and it had remained on her bedside table ever since.

Nemeia knocked on the door softly before stepping inside, and Karlach looked up. 

“Hey soldier. You’re back.” She smiled though it didn’t quite meet her eyes, and she set the picture to one side.

“Still ‘soldier’ after all this time, huh?” Nemeia asked, only letting a small tease slip into her voice as she shut the door behind her. She noticed that Clive had moved from one end of the bed to the other but said nothing about it.

Karlach just shrugged. “Old habits. Did I miss anything while I was off having a sulk?”

“Oh if only you knew,” Nemeia laughed. “I did miss you though. It’s less fun without you around.”

“I missed you too,” Karlach sighed. She shook her head. “You know, I wouldn’t have bothered falling in love with you if I knew that saying goodbye was going to be so hard.”

Nemeia just smiled and moved to sit beside her.

“But what if you didn’t have to say goodbye? Not now, not tomorrow, not for a long, long time. What then?”

She sighed defeatedly.

“Don’t Nem. I’m trying to stay here, now, alive while I can. But it’s like my mind is being whittled down to the black hole that should’ve been our future.”

She ran a hand through her messy black and red mane, sparks flying off of her fingers as they brushed over the metal clasps in her braids. But Nemeia didn’t even flinch.

“But we have a future. A beautiful one,” she said firmly, unable to hold back her smile. “Maybe a short and violent one depending on how things go, but its there.”

And the smile caught Karlach’s eye. She frowned, her glowing amber eyes narrowing as if she was trying to figure out what the trick was.

“Alright… and why is that? Because if it turns out that you’re just that doppelganger freak Orin here to mess with me, I will literally split you in half with my axe,” she said sternly.

At that, Nemeia had to laugh and she shook her head.

“Karlach. You don’t have to die,” she said, unable to stop the smile spreading over her face at all. “After you left, one of the Gondians found us and said they’d found a way to help. Them, the Iron Hands, and even Dammon - they put their heads together and figured out a way.”

A beat passed as Karlach stared at her, utterly gobsmacked. Her eyes were wide and her jaw had gone slack. And then her engine threw off a telltale blue flare, like a heart skipping a beat. She was dumbstruck, unable to speak. Her mouth flapped a few times with effort, but no words came out. So Nemeia threaded her fingers through her’s and explained it all, from Lowa finding them at the bridge, to the prototype that Dammon and the others had built in just a few hours.

As she finished, there were tears pouring down Karlach’s face. Steam rolled off of the tracks, but the heat of her body couldn’t evaporate them fast enough as they raced down her cheeks and dripped onto their joined hands.

When she finally found her voice, she whispered, “...are you real? Or am I having a really cruel daydream right now?”

“I’m real, darling,” Nemeia pressed. “I’m real, it’s real, it’s happening. The only reason I didn’t come tell you straight away was because I had to be sure that it would work, or I’d never forgive myself for getting your hopes up just for them to get snatched away again. Not after what happened with Gortash.”

She disentangled one of her hands to cup Karlach’s face and thumbed away her tears.

“I know it’s not your real heart. If I could get that back and give it to you so that you’d never need another engine ever again, I would do it in a heartbeat. If I ever got a single Wish, it would be all I could ever wish for. But if I can’t do that, then the least I can do is make sure that you get to live on your terms. Not in Hell, but here, where you belong.”

At that, Karlach laughed wetly and shook her head.

“Are you actually sorry that you can’t just find my heart and put it back? Babe, it probably got eaten and shat out by imps years ago,” she said bluntly. “All I want is to live, and you and everyone else - you’re giving me that! Gods, I could kiss you, but if I do that now, I won’t be able to stop myself, and then what will Dammon and the others use to make my new engine? Besides, there’s gonna be so much time for kissing because… because I’m going to live…!”

And in a stark contrast to the utter despair and fury that had befallen her that afternoon, her face was now brimming with unbridled joy as she leapt to her feet and dragged Nemeia up with her.

“I’m going to live!” she shouted joyfully as she began to bounce and dance around the room. “I’m going to live, darling! We’ll get a house and a goat, and fuck it, you still want kids? I’m fucking down! Fuck yeah! We’ll get to travel! Oh man, we have to go to Athkatla, you missed out on so much when fuckface tried to possess you, and I can show you all the places we went, and hey, do you think Gale would let us stay at his place if we went to Waterdeep? I bet he’d let us stay, and he’d make us dinner and show us all the amazing stuff there is. I’ve always wanted to go to the Yawning Portal, and I’d love to get a proper cuddle with Tara too! And we can go on adventures with Wyll and kick some evil butt, I bet Minsc would love to come along for that! Ooh, and we can go on so many more dates!”

Laughter filled the room as they danced haphazardly together, the unbridled joy exploding out of them as Karlach’s eyes and chest glowed blue with excitement. The tears had all dried up. If there were more today, they would be tears of joy. But for now, there was only laughter and shouting and dancing.

And by the time they were done, Karlach was out of breath from shouting so much. Even as she giggled and spun around, clutching Nemeia to her chest, her voice was hoarse from use. But eventually she slowed down and pulled back, grinning from ear to ear.

“So, when do we get this new doo-hickey in my chest so we can put this Gortash bullshit behind us?”

“As soon as they’re done building it. Which they need infernal iron for.” Nemeia grinned. “So let’s grab what we have and head on down there, shall we?”

[]

As it turned out, the real engine was the ultimate test of patience for everyone involved. After Dammon performed a cursory check of Karlach’s engine, he determined that it would be a while longer before it gave out and recommended that the Gondians get some rest after their long ordeal under Gortash’s thumb - he and the Iron Hands would work together to get the parts and pieces made for assembly, and when everyone was rested and ready and at the peak of their ability, they’d bring it altogether to create the perfect engine for Karlach.

As it turned out, the best way to keep Karlach preoccupied until it was ready was to encourage her to write a list of all the things she would do once the Absolute was defeated.

To no one’s surprise, she wrote ‘Nem’ at the very top in bold letters.

“Do I need to cast Silence on your room tonight?” Gale jabbed when he glanced over at the list.

“Oh mate, every night,” Karlach laughed. “Probably wanna put one on them two as well while you’re at it.” She nodded in Kyreth and Halsin’s direction with a smirk. “I bet they’re just as bad.”

“Worse,” Kyreth said bluntly with a cat-like grin, and Nemeia pulled a face.

“Please do not make me confront the fact that those two have sex,” she groaned as she wrapped her arms around Karlach from behind. “Now what else do you want to do, besides me?”

Karlach tilted her head and made a pensive looking face as she tapped her pen against her chin. “Oi Shadowheart!”

The room burst into laughter as Nemeia slapped Karlach on the bicep playfully.

“Don’t even joke, you!” she said with a grin.

Shadowheart sprawled across her armchair with a dramatic sigh. “Ah, and to think I was this close to finally getting a piece of that big, beefy tiefling.”

“Dream on Princess, I was here first,” Nemeia laughed. “Now come on, seriously. You mentioned Athkatla yesterday. What do you want to do when we go there?”

“Whatever you do, don’t bring Lae’zel. She’ll murder your child before your very eyes,” Shadowheart interjected, earning an angry ‘chk’ from Lae’zel as she dragged a whetstone down her blade.

“The imp was returned to the Hells, not murdered,” she hissed derisively. “If you truly want it back so badly then by all means, delve into Avernus to rescue Bing Bong.”

“You set him on fire and splatted him on cobblestones.”

“He should have tried harder not to hit the cobblestones.”

“You threw him-!”

“Girls.” 

Both of their mouths snapped shut as Kyreth eyed them with the imperious gaze of a mother and the argument came to an abrupt end. And just in time too, as there was a sudden rapping on the door. Kyreth stepped out into the hall to answer it.

“Ah, Lowa. This is about the engine?”

“Yes! Dammon’s doing some last stress tests, but its ready to go otherwise. We can do installation whenever Karlach’s ready-”

She barely finished the sentence before Karlach had leapt out of her chair and barged out to the front door with all the energy of an overexcited puppy.

“I’m ready now, let’s go, go, go!”

Everyone was up and moving without any instruction, doing their best to keep Karlach from immediately taking off without them while they locked up the house and shouldered their weapons. It was easier said than done because she just couldn’t seem to stop herself to the point that she started jogging in circles on the spot.

“Come on already, I’ll start carrying you all if it gets us there faster,” she groaned.

“It pays to be cautious when Shapechangers are on the loose, darling,” Astarion sighed. “Don’t want them rooting through our things while we’re gone. Imagine if they took Clive hostage next.”

“He’d fight them off, easy,” Karlach snorted, holding up her fists as if to demonstrate. “Now hurry up, let’s go!”

And they were off, heading down to the Gondian-Iron Hand workshop at the harbour. Karlach kept running ahead and having to wait for the rest to catch up, resulting in her bouncing on the balls of her feet impatiently. At least the passers-by seemed to find it amusing enough, judging from the bemused grins and giggles that followed them as they went.

When they reached the workshop, every last person who had pitched in on the engine was gathered in the main room with the fruit of their labour displayed on the table before them.

If Nemeia had thought the prototype was beautiful, then it was nothing compared to the real thing. It was sleek and compact, with the glowing infernal iron moulded into perfect shape for the casing. Everything was sleek and polished, and practically glowed in the lamp light, and everyone from engineer to alchemist to coffee-runner was beaming with pride as the party filed in.

Karlach was gobsmacked. With a quick glance for permission at Dammon - who nodded in assent - she stepped forwards to pick the engine up and examine it. It glittered from every angle. Everything fit together in a beautiful harmony, with so much love and care that nothing could be a more fitting tribute to its new owner. Then Dammon caught her attention and silently mimed opening it up with his hands. So she did so with an almost uncharacteristic care and gentleness, as if she was terrified to break it.

And there, on the heart inside, was an engraving that read:

Property of Karlach Cliffgate - fuck off Zariel.

“Well… fuck me,” she sniffed as tears welled up in her amber eyes.

“Do you like it?” Barcus asked tentatively, his mouth pressed into a thin line with nervousness.

“Like it? I love it,” she sobbed. 

She set it back down tenderly, then strode around the table and scooped him up into her arms in a fierce hug. For a moment he was caught off-guard, but returned the hug with a brisk firmness and a wobbly smile on his face. Then once she released him, she turned to Dammon and pulled him into a hug next.

“Thank you,” she sobbed. “For everything.”

He grinned as he wrapped his arms around her back and squeezed hard.

“Don’t thank me. It was Zanner’s idea in the first place.” He pulled back. “I just chipped in.”

But Karlach just shook her head. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have lived long enough to meet Zanner. Hell, I wouldn’t be able to touch anyone. You gave me so much already, and now you’re giving me the rest.” Her lip wobbled and her voice grew thick as she continued, “you’re giving me my whole life back.”

He squeezed her again and patted her shoulder before pulling away to give her the chance to rub the tears from her eyes. And when that was done, she continued with her hug train, giving a hug to every last person who had worked on her engine. The gnomes all looked a bit flustered at first, but otherwise were glowing with pride as the tiefling thanked each and every one of them.

When she was done, Dammon clapped her on the shoulder.

“Ready to get to work?”

She beamed brighter than the sun.

“So fucking ready, mate.”

[]

The house was packed to bursting that night, and the drinks were flowing. Wyll and Halsin had returned from a trip to the tavern, having procured three whole barrels of ale, and no one wasted any time in cracking them open and pouring out the drinks.

Karlach was the centre of attention with her new engine, despite Dammon’s repeated pleas for her to take it easy for a few hours at least. While no longer aflame with a hot orange flame glowing in her chest, her spirit was by no means reduced. If anything, she was more boisterous than ever. She bounded from room to room, hugging everyone she saw and dragging people out for dances more than once, and it didn’t seem like she was going to be slowing down any time soon.

Right now, Wyll was on the floor with her, both of them smiling and laughing and having the time of their lives as the alcohol flowed. Some of the Iron Hands had broken out into drunken singing, and the Gondians were taking the chance to just relax and enjoy themselves. Meanwhile Gale was in the kitchen, trying to figure out how much food he’d need to make to accommodate for everyone, and it seemed that Astarion had decided to ‘help’ - meaning he was hanging around and drinking wine while offering commentary. Shadowheart was once again in her armchair by the window, though this time with her own glass of wine, and she seemed more content with observing the festivities over joining in. The same could be said for Lae’zel who had slunk off upstairs to engage with martial exercises over chatter, though she appeared soon enough when Gale finally called for dinner to be served.

Halsin and Kyreth busied themselves in helping Gale with serving, doing their best to make sure that everyone got a portion, and soon enough, the noise died down to a general chatter as everyone settled in to eat.

By the time Dammon and the gnomes all departed, it was past midnight and it didn’t take long for everyone to decide that they were ready to retire for the night. There was a queue for the bathroom as usual, and nightly routines were carried out in short order before everyone shuffled off to their bunks for the night. But as Nemeia passed Gale as he stepped out of the bathroom, he winked at her discreetly before disappearing downstairs.

For a moment she was baffled, but upon opening and closing her bedroom door, she suddenly understood. The house outside of the room had suddenly fallen silent. No shuffling footsteps from downstairs or loud coughs from the other rooms. Just Nemeia and Karlach, who was sat on the bed humming to herself. 

Clive was perched on a chair in the corner with his back to the bed.

“Thinking of your boy as always,” Nemeia joked as she approached.

“Of course,” Karlach chuckled. “I would never forgive myself if he got scarred for life.”

She sat expectantly on the edge of the bed. Her whole face glowed with boundless delight as her lover cupped her face and tilted it back. Nemeia ran her thumbs along her jaw, taking in the beautiful sight of her love filled with joy and hope, with her whole life ahead of her.

Then, without warning, Karlach wrapped her arms around Nemeia’s waist, tipped back on the bed and pulled her down with her, cackling with glee as her lover squealed in surprise. She pressed her lips to the delicate pink neck, then to her jaw, up her cheek, over her nose, down the other side and finally reached her mouth.

They melted into each other, hands finding purchase on shoulders or in hair, tugging their bodies together into a tangled mess. They rolled over, with Karlach taking her usual place on top of Nemeia where they paused briefly to gaze at one another.

A beat passed before Nemeia broke the silence.

“I love you so much,” she said softly.

“Well that’s good,” Karlach replied cheekily before she leaned in, her lips just barely grazing over Nemeia’s as she added, “because I plan on loving you for the rest of my life.”

The rest of her life… that sounded beautiful indeed.

#nightingale writes #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #karlach cliffgate #nemeia #nemeia/karlach #karlach x tav #dammon #barcus wroot #zanner toobin #fix-it fic

[hartsvale]

PLEASE share more thoughts on tavtash because I am OBSESSED with some of your little ideas… like how would the camp react?? especially if tav is good aligned?? how would this work for the ending?? SO MANY POSSIBILITIES FOR ANGST

i might've just woken up moments ago, but i am here. i am awake. i am going to talk about tavtash.

in my mind, most of the camp is willing to give tav the benefit of the doubt after everything they've done. karlach is more than willing to stand by with a watchful eye, though it hurts her to see tav get closer to the monster who handed her to zariel. in my opinion, it's hardest for wyll, considering both the fact that gortash was part of his father's tadpoling (is that what we're calling it?) and is also holding him prisoner, but tav has shown themselves to be of excellent character, right? so, he stands by them, thinking that it's a ploy, that tav is playing a lanceboard game all on their own. and for some tavs, maybe that's even true. maybe they're siding with gortash because they aren't sure if they can control all of the netherstones on their own, and gortash seems more stable than orin. their companions don't look at them and go, "this is someone who is susceptible to a man like gortash's manipulation," and so they wait. they listen. they do what they can, all while tav is getting closer and closer to him. i feel like both wyll and karlach would leave if they found out that the alliance with gortash was anything more than simple strategy. it's obvious that they were mistaken about them and that they are on different paths. halsin would be disgusted by what gortash was capable of and willing to do to sentient beings, but he's not... wholly invested in keeping baldur's gate afloat and can still help in the ways that he wants badly to help. shadowheart is hesitant, but in the end, she sees tav as her closest friend and wouldn't abandon them, not after they helped her reunite with her parents. with lae'zel, it fully depends upon the path you've taken for her. i can see it going either way. either she abandons you at the end or she sticks by the side of the person who opened her eyes to the truth of her brainwashing. astarion doesn't care. at that point, tav has helped him so much that he'd stand by their side regardless of where they were going. and gale? gale's just like, "alright," because guess who has no fucking say in who someone is in a romantic relationship with. it's gale. and THE ENDING. i'm the ceo of weenie hut jr, so i like to imagine both rosalind and ismay have gortash just in check enough to keep him from stepping in and getting fucking zapped, but god. the delicious angst when that does not happen for other tavs. when they realize that they lost their friends and sullied their morals for something that would never happen, for a love lost because of gortash's... sudden inexplicable lack of patience? GUTTING.

also i am SO SORRY that this got so fucking long, i just have thoughts. and feelings. and i love gortash, but i also deeply love tav.

#enver gortash #lord enver gortash #type: headcanons #type: replies #game: baldur's gate 3 #ch: enver gortash #thank you for asking bc i love themmmm 😭😭😭

[ab121500]

Okay, this is purely just cause i had feelingstm about a potential choice in the game with Wyll and what it would mean for my tav in particular. And THEN i saw a post about how Wyll might not have had many romances before because he thought it was selfish and that just encouraged me to like actually post this dumb thing i wrote. (And tumblr needs more Wyll content anyway)

Spoilers for Act 3/The end of Wyll's questline

"I can make you into the grand duke." His father's voice was firm, proud even.

Wyll felt his words get stuck in his chest. Him? The grand duke of Baldur's Gate? Was his father mad? His mouth opened to reply, only for Dove to cut in. "We need to talk." Her hand was shaking as she dragged him to a private clearing.

"I can't believe this madness. Me? Grand Duke? I look like a monster! I would be more likely to scare everyone than inspire them." He paced back and forth in front of his love, standing while she sat on the soft grass of the clearing. "Not to mention, the Sword Coast needs me, it needs the Blade. Plus, turning it down means we can be free and happy-"

"I wouldn't be happy." Dove's words were soft, and yet the sharpness of them dropped his excitement to the bottom of Avernus.

"W-what?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. She stood and took his hands.

"Wyll." Her voice was strained. "I am not an adventurer. I'm not someone who finds joy fighting goblins and killing demons. I've done that now because I had to." Her hands were shaking again. "For fucks sake, I'm a noblewoman. I was raised to perform little shows in the upper city and schmooze the dukes. Not… to do what you need to do as the Blade." She took a deep breath. "I want that life back, Wyll. My life back. You being the grand duke would do that."

He was stunned, never even considering that Dove was completely out of her element. His enjoyment of his lifestyle blocked the idea that anyone, especially the love of his life, would hate it. Now he was conflicted; he needed to be the Blade, that's who he was, but being the blade meant his partner would be miserable. Being the grand duke meant he'd be miserable, but she'd be happy. There was no winning scenario. After all they'd been through, freeing himself from Mizora and stopping the dead three's chozen, he never even considered the possibility of not continuing his adventures.

Dove knew of his hesitation, she always did. She could tell the slightest of emotion changes with the twitch of an eyebrow, and he was clearly concerned. Her hands gave his own a firm squeeze, bringing him back to her. "Wyll, I know that becoming the Duke would be your worst nightmare. Maybe something for you to do when you're old and done adventuring, but not now especially not when there still is so much to be done. You know that I would resent you if I was forced to participate in that life." She swallowed, and he waited. While being a warlock meant he was good with words, bards were even better and Dove was the best of the best. "So, I purpose that we get married tonight."

He did a double take. "What? Not that I wouldn't want to, but.."

"If we get married tonight, I will become a Ravengard. I can assume the title of the grand duke whilst you're away. You can stay the Blade, visiting the city often to see me. And once you're done with your adventures, I can pass the title to you. Not to mention, getting married now instead of later means all our friends can attend. We both know Karlach's engine is bound to blow any day now, and I promised her she'd be apart of our wedding." One of her hands moved to his cheek, brushing a half circle under his good eye with her thumb. "Besides, I love you. Getting married now means that even if we fail tomorrow, I can still call you mine and I yours."

His heart swelled with love, hearing her little speech, feeling like the luckiest man in the world to be able to call her his. "I can't deny that logic." Her little smile made him get butterflies in his stomach, and he never wanted that to stop. "Lets tell everyone, we're going to need their help to get this going." He was about to pull away from her, but he stopped a moment before adding. "But first." He placed a hand on her cheek, tugging her face upward and into a loving kiss.

This is so dumb lmaooo there is more to it but i think i'll save more of my embarrassment for later lmao

#wyll ravengard #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 wyll #wyll bg3 #baldurs gate wyll #wyll romance #tav x wyll #bg3 #oc: Eldove Oberon (Dove) #depending on the reaction to this I might post the rest #and also maybe post more about my tavs in general lmao

[slusheeduck]

Fictober 2023 Day 27 - Prompt: "I don't know if they'll accept this." Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Just one rest more, and they would be in Baldur’s Gate.

Wyll leaned against the crumbling wall of the old fortress’s tower—he’d come here as a boy more than once with his friends, and they’d play soldier until sunset. He wondered how many of them had actually followed that path…or how many of them were still alive. Certainly no one else had gotten in a fool’s bargain like he had.

“Well, aren’t you the broody hero? Am I interrupting?”

Wyll jumped, and he turned around to look at Astarion. His hand was still on his horn—he’d found himself absently rubbing them when we thought in a new nervous habit. After a moment, he shook his head.

“Of course not, just thinking.” He sighed as he looked over the city again. “What a homecoming, right?”

“Mm, if you can call it that,” Astarion said dryly. “My Baldur’s Gate has been gone for centuries. Living in the shadows of the city as I did doesn’t make it feel much like home.” He lightly rested his arms on the tower’s wall, scanning over the lights below. “It’ll be interesting seeing what it looks like during the day. In-between the horrors that await us, of course.” He looked to Wyll. “It’s been a long time for you, though, hasn’t it? Well, relatively speaking.”

Wyll half-smiled. “Seven years.”

“And you’re only…twenty-three? Twenty-four? Gods, you’re a fetus.” Astarion sighed. “All the same, I hope this cesspool welcomes you home.” As Wyll shifted uncomfortably, Astarion’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I…I’ve dreamt of this, you know. Ever since I was cast out.” He gave a small smile. “I always imagined a big fanfare—the Blade of Frontiers finally welcomed home, my father’s arms open, his pride at all I’d accomplished, all the good I’ve done.” His smile faded, and he let out a long sigh. “Being a devil hadn’t been part of those plans.”

“I think Baldur’s Gate has much bigger problems than your handsome pair of horns,” Astarion said. “And, if we’re being honest, I don’t think Gortash would have arranged anything nice for you either way.”

“I know, I know, I just…” Wyll pressed his lips together, gaze focused on the lights below. “I’ve worked so hard for this…for them. Even after all these years, part of me is…still that seventeen-year-old boy who wanted to be the city’s hero. My city’s hero. And I…I have that chance now, but…” He looked up at Astarion, looking lost as he gestured to his horns. “I don't know if they'll accept this."

“If they don't, then fuck the lot of them.”

Wyll startled. “What?”

Astarion met his gaze. “You’ve done more for the entire Sword Coast than most people would do for the people they love the most. You’re…disgustingly heroic and good, you know. If anything, the horns are a nice reminder that you’re real and not some fairy tale knight out of a storybook.” He sighed, looking back out to the city. “And if the people of Baldur’s Gate—your father included—can’t recognize that, then fuck them. You deserve better.”

Wyll stared at Astarion for a moment, then his mouth twitched up into a smile. “Thank you.”

Astarion waved his hand. “It’s the truth. Nothing to thank me for.”

Wyll puffed out a laugh at that and nodded. “Of course. You know, Astarion, I think you’re actually…”

“Do not say what I think you’re about to say.” Astarion glared at him, and Wyll held up his hands.

“All right, all right,” he said with a laugh. “You’re awful and evil and the worst.”

“Thank you.”

“…but I’m still fortunate to have a friend like you.”

The vampire looked caught off-guard by that, faux-affront softening before he could stop it. He looked over Wyll for a moment, then turned back to the city.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “Drizzt Do’Urden didn’t even leave Menzoberranzan until he was over thirty. You’ve got a headstart on him.” He tilted his head with a grimace. “You should probably stop posing when you do something heroic if you want to get to his level, though.”

Wyll barked out a laugh. “Noted. Make sure the biographers don’t mention I do that.”

“Oh, naturally, I will. Provided I’m depicted very flatteringly in accounts of your first big adventure, of course.”

 “Of course.”

Fictober 2023 Drabble Master Post

#fictober23 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #wyll ravengard #LOOK #I have a LOT of feelings about the two of them #And I think they would make great friends #And I wish there was more content of them interacting #IT'S THAT CONJUNCTION OF THE ULTIMATE GOOD HERO AND THE ULTIMATE EVIL VILLAIN WORKING TOGETHER #ENCOURAGING THE OTHER TO BE BETTER AND THE OTHER TO JUST FUCKING DO SOMETHING FOR HIMSELF MY GOD #It's my favorite dynamic #Oops messed up the prompt lol

[mumms-the-word]

Release

Day 18 of the BG3 Fic February Challenge

holy hells I am still doing this huh

Fortunately, today was a fic I had already written for funsies and just polished up for today.

In Ardynn's game (first time I played the game ever) she had Gortash try to strike a deal with her, Orin kidnap Lae'zel, and Mizora come and visit the camp all in one day, not to mention fights with githyanki in the emperor's hideout and the start of a few sidequests. It was a busy day, and I remember being slightly overwhelmed by all the sudden progress all at once. And if I was overwhelmed, my Tav must be on the literal verge of panic.

So that's how this came about. It's one of my fave little fics I've written for BG3 :)

CW: slightly nsfw, not graphic

Check out my masterlist of BG3 fics!

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18. Angst with a happy ending

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Mizora deciding to stay in camp was the last straw for Ardynn, whose patience, resilience, and emotions had been tested too many times that day to suffer another major inconvenience. She stormed away, snatching up a dagger from amongst her armor as she passed it, wishing she’d had it on hand when Mizora first appeared with her damned witnesses to torment Wyll. She could have thrown it in that treacherous bitch’s chest. It wouldn’t have done anything but at least she would have tried.

She hated this city. Nearly every person they’d met that day who was not categorically poor or downtrodden had tried to manipulate them, use them, and torment them. Gortash, with his offer of kingship if they did his bidding. Orin, kidnapping Lae’zel while they tried to find a way to her lair, and manipulating them to target Gortash first. And now Mizora, leveraging Wyll’s father against him with his pact in the balance, and staying in camp simply for her own amusement, like they were her playthings. All in one fucking day.

Ardynn was at her limit. Despair, hopelessness, and, most of all, rage swirled within her like a black hole that consumed all other thoughts and threatened to explode with disastrous energy. A fleeting thought came to her, that this was what ceremorphosis felt like, based on what she’d sensed in others as they transformed. Not as much of the pain, but all the rest. Feeling as though your body was too limiting for the horrible thing that was trying to escape, as though your body needed to separate and crack and split apart to release the energy inside.

Clearly she was spared ceremorphosis for now, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like she might rip herself apart if she didn’t find a way to vent.

She hurried past the campfire, past poor Yenna who had slunk back into camp after hiding from Mizora and her demons, past Gale and Astarion as they followed her with their questioning eyes. She wanted a secluded place, a high place, but this city was the antithesis of secluded. Every rooftop just made you more visible. She pushed on past Karlach, heading for the heavy doors of an abandoned building just next to her, hoping whatever was in there would suffice.

“Soldier,” Karlach started to say, but Ardynn flung out a staying hand.

“Just—give me time to think,” she snapped. She yanked open the heavy doors to the abandoned building and stepped inside, slamming them closed after her. She was a little disappointed when she saw the interior.

An old chapel of some kind. Hewn stone and carved statuary, metal candelabrums, simple wooden benches and banisters carved from hard, unyielding wood. Everything dead and lifeless, and very hard to destroy.

She kicked over one of the benches but it gave her no satisfaction. Her breath grew labored, almost frenzied as she paced up and down the aisle of the little chapel, her dagger in hand, wondering, in her state of half-frenzy, that if she couldn’t find anything to tear to shreds, she might resort to turning the dagger on herself. 

The doors opened again and she whirled, holding the dagger at the ready to stab or to throw, whichever might be the case. But the figure who stepped inside was no enemy. It was Halsin. His eyes fell on the dagger and he slowly held up his hands in a gesture of calm surrender.

She said nothing at first and it took her a moment to lower her blade. She turned away, pacing back up the aisle toward the stone altar. She wanted to tell him to go away, but in the next breath she wanted him to stay, so she said nothing.

He apparently took her silence for consent, and closed the doors behind him, quietly approaching until they were only a few feet apart, while she continued to restlessly pace to and fro in front of the alter, separated from him by a few wooden steps and the carved banisters.

“I’m here if you need me,” he said. “Just say the word.”

“I don’t know what I need,” she said, passing her dagger to her other hand. She turned then, descending down two of the steps and pointing the dagger at him, not threatening, just gesturing. “No, I know—I need everyone in this gods damned city to stop toying with me and everyone I care about. It’s too much, Halsin,” here her voice cracked and took on a tone of desperation. “I can’t have every day be like this—with Gortash and Orin pitting us against each other like we’re captured pawns on a lanceboard, and Orin stealing and torturing us one by one. And Mizora—gods—“

She choked on her own rage and slammed her dagger into the carved banister at her left, the blade sinking only point-deep into the hardwood. She grit her teeth and tried to yank it out again, but it stuck fast. She pulled harder, fiercer this time, and it gave way with enough force to send her stumbling down the last two steps and driving her to her knees, the dagger flying from her hand and skittering across the stone into some cobwebbed corner. 

The fall nearly broke her. She pressed her hands into the stone floor, panting, almost desperate for air, her body trembling with the rush of emotion. Weak. Stupid. Ineffective. Naive. Gods, could she do nothing right? She slammed her fist into the stone, gritting her teeth against a groan when the pain jittered up from her hand up into her arm and shoulder. 

Halsin was immediately before her, kneeling and placing a hand on her back. “Ardynn—“

“Is this what it feels like?” she interrupted, lifting her head and pressing a hand to her chest, clenching her fist in the fabric of her shirt. She felt like she couldn’t get enough air, as though her lungs were constricted and every harsh breath was too shallow, choking her. “For you? I’m so angry, I can hardly breathe. Like there’s—some monster inside me that is—bigger than this body can hold—and it—it needs out, fast.”

Halsin studied her with a face full of concern. She shook her head, sweat slipping down from her temples.

“Not like ceremorphosis,” she panted. “Like this little body wasn’t meant to contain all of—of this.” She flung a hand out wildly. “One person can’t be this angry or desperate, or they’d shatter.” She pressed her clenched fist harder against her chest, grimacing as the next several breaths came in short, harsh hiccups of air. “Gods I can’t breathe—“

“Ardynn, look at me,” Halsin said. He cradled the back of her neck with one hand and held up his other hand between them. “You have to breathe deeply, or you will faint. Do you understand me? Focus here. Breathe with me, on my count.”

She focused on his hand, watching his fingers as he counted to five while breathing in, and then five again while holding his breath, and then five again as he slowly blew out his breath. She tried to mimic him, her breaths stuttering and shaking, until at last she could match him breath for breath. It wasn’t until she felt like her lungs had relaxed again that she noticed his hand at her neck was icy cold, a bit of ice magic maintained there to cool her overheated body.

“Better?” he asked quietly when she was no longer gasping for air. He began gently massaging some of the tension at the base of her neck. 

“Only a little.” She could breathe again, but she still felt wrong, constricted, like all her emotions were still trapped inside her with nothing to release them. His breathing exercise had helped, but only so much. She pressed both palms against the cold stone of the floor between them, trying to ground herself. “You never answered my question. Is this what it’s like for you?”

Halsin settled on the stone floor, seating himself near her and propping his arm on one bent knee. “Sometimes,” he said quietly, now rubbing into her back, both soothing and firm. “There are times when the blood rages or…burns with desire, as you’ve seen. But changing your shape doesn’t always release you from your rage. Trust me. You simply rage in a different body. A more dangerous body.”

“But what can I do?” she asked. “If I was outside the city, I’d...I don't know." She thought about it, picturing in her mind what seemed like it would be cathartic, helpful. If she were back in nature, where she felt like she belonged.

"I would claw my hands into the earth until I struck stone," she said. "Or I’d climb a tree until I was breathless and hidden by the leaves. Or I’d plunge into a lake and swim deep down and scream until all the air had left my lungs and forced me back up again." She looked at him again. "What am I supposed to do here—tear the buildings down brick by brick? I dare not dive into the river here, with all the garbage that flows into it. I must do something or I’ll return to Mizora and try to strangle her, and then we’ll all suffer for it.”

Still rubbing her back, Halsin glanced quickly around the chapel. He must have come to the same conclusions she had, seeing only unyielding stone, metal, and carved wood. His gaze fell back on hers while she struggled to pull together some semblance of composure.

“Then use me,” Halsin said. 

She stared at him, taken aback. She straightened slightly, sitting on her knees, and regarded him warily. “What does that mean?”

“I said before that changing your shape does not give you release,” he said. “But action does. Running, climbing, fighting…” He fiddled gently with her earlobe, tracing the curve of her ear up to the sensitive tip, causing her to shiver slightly. “Laying with someone.”

She blew out a slightly frustrated breath, though her cheeks were already warm from his touch. That was his solution? “Halsin. I’m too distracted to be good company for you just now.”

“That is not what I meant. I’m not suggesting this for my own benefit.” He took one of her hands, turning it so that her palm faced outward, parallel with him, and ran his thumb over the edge of one of her nails. “You want to claw something—claw into me.”

He curled her fingers into a fist. “You wish to beat against something, then beat your fists against me.” He pulled her fist to his chest, as if showing her where to land her punches.

“You’re suggesting fighting, not laying,” she said, though she didn’t move her hand from his chest. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

He smiled crookedly. “I can take it. These smooth nails are not so dangerous as the claws of a wildcat or a panther.” He sobered slightly, his smile fading. “I am serious, Ardynn. You want to destroy something and you don’t at the same time. With me, you can do as you please, and you will be safe. You will always be safe with me. You need release—seek it in me. Use me as you see fit.”

She could only stare, her heart racing in her chest. It shouldn’t make sense, but it did. Even the mere suggestion of being with him, of having something to do, of sinking her nails into his skin, had cooled some of the anger in her chest, or at least redirected it. But she felt guilty and embarrassed too. She was thinking about intentionally hurting him, drawing blood or bruising him. It was one thing when she got caught up in the moment and didn’t realize she’d scratched him, but to begin that way…?

She uncurled her fist and pressed her hand flat against his chest, near his heart. She watched her fingers tremble for a moment before she bent them, pressing her nails into the pliable leather of his camp shirt. 

“Any way I see fit?” she asked, meeting his gaze, uncertain. 

“Any way you see fit,” he repeated, his voice already husky.

She clenched her teeth and pressed harder against his chest, pushing him to lie on his back against the cool stone of the chapel. As he settled there, she straddled him and leaned in to kiss him, a deep, searching kiss that he returned with equal passion, until it left her desperate for more.

“Are you sure?” she asked one final time, murmuring against his lips. 

She felt his rumbling chuckle in her entire body. “I am. I am yours, Ardynn. Do as you wish.”

———

In the end, despite her uncertainty before, she had used her nails, and her teeth besides. Halsin had encouraged and coaxed her into something like a focused frenzy, a controlled passion fueled by the energy her anger had given her. When she’d sunk her teeth into the thick muscle between his neck and shoulder, he’d encouraged her with his deep voice and his hands on her thighs. When she’d dug her nails into his bare chest, he hadn’t even flinched, even as she felt a twinge of guilt for even attempting it. As he’d said, he kept himself there to be used, following her direction or her whims, until she, wanting so much more from him, had all but begged him to take her.

He had more than obliged, shifting their bodies so that she was beneath him, the weight of him pressing her into the stone as he rocked into her. He’d nuzzled his lips against the soft skin of her neck and pinched the lobe of her ear between his teeth and dug his fingers into her skin, careful at times not to grip too tightly while also encouraging her through rumbling growls of pleasure or husky whispers to not be afraid to rake her nails against his skin. With him back in control, she lost herself to the pleasure he gave her, finding at last an outlet for all the tangled, knotted-up, thorny emotions that had threatened to overwhelm her just minutes (or hours?) prior.

Now, spent, she lay panting beneath him, gazing half-listlessly at her handiwork. She ran her fingertips gently over the marks she could see in the dim candlelight of the abandoned chapel. Bite marks, some fading, some bruising, wherever her teeth had found purchase on his taut muscles. Red scratch marks, raised welts in lines of four or five, curving, sometimes criss-crossing across his skin. A few rare lines were dotted with the tiniest beads of blood. The worst must be on his back, but she couldn’t see it at the moment. For all his encouragement to use her “claws,” she had held back until he’d taken over. After that, she had gotten perhaps too carried away.

He shifted, lifting his weight off her and making to move away, but she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him back down. “No,” she mumbled. “Lie here for a moment. Against me.”

“I could crush you,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against her temple. Even now, he held most of his weight off her, distributed to his arms and knees.

She pressed her face into his neck. “You won’t crush me. Lie here. I don’t want you to go too far yet.”

She felt his sigh ruffled her hair, but he submitted to her request. He folded his arms beneath her head, leaning his head against his arm, and settled his body against hers, tangling their legs together. He was heavy, at least twice her weight or more in pure height and muscle, but she welcomed the weight of him against her, even if it made breathing just a little bit harder.

She kept her arms wrapped around him, her hands gently seeking out the markings she’d made on his body where her eyes couldn’t see beyond his thick-muscled shoulder. She contemplated the marks silently as he nuzzled his nose against her cheek.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, tracing one raised line on his back. “What I did to you?”

“It is nothing that will not heal, given time,” he said. “But no. Nothing hurts any more than an insect bite would.”

She didn't know whether to believe him or not. “Still…I should heal you…”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, touching his forehead against her temple. “But I think I would like to bear the markings for a day or two anyway.”

She turned her head towards his, nearly bumping noses with him before he lifted his head to give her room. “Why? We’ve more battles ahead of us tomorrow. I want to find where Orin has taken Lae’zel as soon as possible.”

“A few scratches and bruises will not hinder me in battle,” he said, smiling slightly. “My armor covers most of it, but I would show off the rest with pride. Unless, of course, it embarrasses you.”

“No, of course not,” she said, though maybe it did embarrass her, a little. Of all the people in camp, she sometimes felt she was the least interesting as a sexual partner, which made it all the more surprising that Halsin had reciprocated her interest. Then again, Halsin was also awakening plenty of new desires and ideas in her, now that they were together...

The more she thought about it, the more she rather liked the idea that Halsin would show off some of the scratches she'd made. None of her companions would say anything, though that didn’t stop some of them from wearing their amusement plainly on their faces. She could handle that. And if Halsin considered them marks to be proud of, then she guessed she could think of them that way too.

“What of you?” he asked, bending his head against to press a small kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Do you require healing?”

“Erm…” She had a few bruises, to be sure. The stone floor in particular was more unforgiving than hard earth, and Halsin’s grip was sometimes stronger than intended. But she was used to that. There were, however, other…new pains that had left her little more sore than usual, the result of a few pleasures Halsin had granted at her request. 

“I might be sore in the morning,” she said, flushing despite herself. She was sore almost every morning after being with Halsin. She ought to be used to it now. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He chuckled, his laughter rumbling deep in his chest. He didn’t believe her. “Yes, but it is as you said. We still have battles ahead of us. And out of all of us, we need you at top form.”

He shifted his weight off her, settling just at her side, and laid a hand on her waist. As he whispered the words for the healing spell, the blue glow of healing magic illuminated the air between them. She felt the magic settle into her skin and spread through her body, bringing with it the same cooling relief as usual. She was left feeling slightly chilled but no longer sore. She shivered slightly and moved closer to him, wrapping her arms around him and tucking herself into his side.

“Cold?” he asked, gathering her close. “We can get dressed and return to our bedrolls.”

“No.” She held on tighter. “I don’t want to be anywhere where Mizora can leer at me right now. You are warmth enough.”

She could sense his smile even though she couldn’t see it. “Very well. But if you get cold, I can always change into a bear. The fur is warmer.”

She considered for a moment. He had a point. His bear form would radiate twice as much heat, not to mention the warmth of his fur and the fact that she could curl up in the crook of his body and practically hide from the chill of the air. But perhaps another time.

She shook her head. “Not right now,” she said. “I want this. Skin to skin.”

Vulnerable, yet safe. Maybe it was a bad idea. Orin had already taken one of them, and they had only barely appeased her by agreeing to murder Gortash first. But surely the others would keep decent watch, right? And they had a damned devil in their camp, now. 

“Very well,” he said softly. “Skin to skin. Now sleep. I will be here when you wake.”

“Okay,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Thank you, Halsin. For…everything tonight.”

She felt him kiss her forehead before leaning his cheek against her head. “There is no need to thank me, my heart. I am only glad I could give you what you needed.”

“You are everything I need,” she murmured. “And will ever need.”

If he said anything in response to her words she missed it. Exhaustion from the day, from Halsin, dragged her into sleep faster than she expected, and soon she was asleep in Halsin’s arms, safe and warm in her lover’s embrace.

#bg3 #bg3 fic #bg3ficfeb #my fic #oc #ardynn #ardynn harrow #halsin #i love these two #and i love the idea that halsin knows how to handle panic attacks