#bg3 shitpost

[wiselyvillainous]

Ugly cackling while I make memes of Excellence and her companions 🤣

[raphael-balls-inspector]

Hi dear Inspector!!!

I read your bio/pages about you and I wanted to ask which tea is your favorite, if you have one please?

Any tips about it or how to pick tea?

Thank you so much!!

Miraith, Tiefling

Hello, good morning.

Oh, Miraith, what a lovely question! You have no idea how dangerous it is to ask me about tea! I could be trapped in this archive for six hours and emerge having written you an essay.

I don't think I could choose one favorite, exactly. Tea depends terribly on the mood, the weather, the time of day, and whether I am attempting to be productive or merely staring dramatically out of a window.

If I absolutely must choose, though, oolong is probably the one I return to most often. A good oolong has so much character to it, and there are an absurd number of varieties. Floral, creamy, roasted, fruity, mineral, almost buttery depending on how it is processed. It's a very good "sit down and stop thinking for five minutes" tea.

For something gentler, I adore white peony. It's delicate without being completely flavorless, and I find it wonderful in the afternoon. Genmaicha is another favorite, particularly when I want something comforting. The toasted rice gives it that warm, almost nutty quality that makes it feel like drinking something from a little kitchen while it rains outside.

And then there is gyokuro, which is wonderful when I am feeling unnecessarily fancy. Which is often.

I also have a weakness for jasmine pearls. Watching the little pearls unfurl in the pot is half the pleasure. I will not accept arguments otherwise.

Earl Grey, naturally. Sometimes you simply require bergamot and a degree of emotional superiority.

As for darker teas, lapsang souchong is excellent when you want something smoky and almost campfire-like. Pu-erh is wonderful if you're interested in something earthy and deep, although I would recommend trying a few before deciding whether you like it. They can vary wildly.

As for choosing tea, my first piece of advice would be: Do not choose tea based solely on what someone tells you is "the best."

Tea is incredibly personal.

If you enjoy floral flavors, try jasmine, osmanthus, floral oolongs, or some white teas. If you like roasted or nutty flavors, try hojicha, genmaicha, roasted oolong, or darker teas. If you like something bright and fresh, green tea or a lighter white tea might suit you. If you want something rich and earthy, look toward black tea or pu-erh.

And please, please pay attention to water temperature!

This is where I become unbearable.

Green tea does not need boiling water. I am begging you. Please do not take delicate green tea leaves and then essentially throw them into an infernal cauldron.

Something around 70–80°C is usually much kinder to many green teas, although it depends on the particular tea. White tea can tolerate a little more, oolongs vary enormously, and black teas generally enjoy hotter water. If you have a gaiwan, even better, you can experiment with shorter steeps and discover how the flavor changes.

And don't throw away the leaves after one steep!

Some teas, particularly good oolongs, can be steeped several times. Each infusion can bring out something different!

Also: smell your tea before you brew it.

This sounds terribly pretentious, I accept this accusation.

But it's genuinely useful. Dry leaves can tell you quite a lot. Floral? Toasty? Woody? Fruity? Smoky? Fresh? Earthy? Then smell the wet leaves afterward. You'll start noticing differences you might otherwise miss.

And finally, keep a little notebook.

I write down the tea, where it came from, the temperature, steeping time, how many times I infused it, what I ate with it, and whether I liked it.

I may have also given one tea the review: "Tastes like someone politely threatened an orchard."

I stand by it.

And, since you are a Tiefling... I feel obligated to mention some House of Hope-inspired teas.

Not official, obviously. Just things I think would be fun to brew. I have been begging his Lordship to let me make House of Hope teas so we could sell them but so far I have not received an answer beside a "maybe later"....

Infernal Rose — black tea, dried rose petals, vanilla, and a tiny amount of smoked spice. Dramatic. Excessively elegant. Best served in something unnecessarily ornate.

Devil's Bargain — roasted oolong, cacao nibs, cinnamon, and orange peel. Deep, warm, slightly bitter, and much nicer than the name suggests.

Hope's Garden — white tea with jasmine, chamomile, lavender, and a little honey. Very soft. Particularly good late at night.

Hellfire Chai — black tea, ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, clove, and pepper. Excellent when it's cold outside and you require something that feels like it could restart your circulatory system.

Archivist's Blend — Earl Grey, bergamot peel, dried lavender, and black tea. I may be biased.

Raphael's Cup — something absurdly expensive that tastes wonderful and comes in packaging designed to make you feel financially irresponsible.

I have not actually made that last one. Yet.

And Miraith, if you're just beginning to explore tea, don't worry about having a sophisticated palate! Try things! Keep the ones you love. Give away the ones you hate. Brew the same tea differently and see what happens.

There is no correct way to enjoy tea beyond actually enjoying it.

Although if you put honey in a very delicate tea and then tell me you can't taste anything anymore, I may have to take the kettle away from you.

Respectfully.

— Lucien, Raphael's Balls Inspector

P.S. Thank you for calling me "dear Inspector." I am keeping that.

[pencils-and-paperclips]

Gale would enjoy cream soda

Shadowheart would not

[nora-darling]

Okay, look-

The top of your desk is a completely normal place to keep a statue of your goddess/ex-lover in her slutty little outfit.

The fact that the chair is facing it at an angle where you have to look up at it is totally irrelevant.

So what, that there's a mysterious bottle right next to a pile of rags above an open book with a very obvious stain on the pages?

[grayoil]

Evangaleon

[lady-sapphyre]

Happy third birthday to hit video game Baldur’s Gate 3

[thecrookedanimator]

wake up in the middle of the night to this scampering at you at 7 mph

[raphael-balls-inspector]

hi Inspector! hope it doesn't sound too weird or anything but the way you write about Mephistopheles is literally comforting to me so would it be too much of me to ask if you could write something with him? maybe him comforting reader after a bad day? i'm so sorry i have not seen you say if you do requests or not, if not feel free to ignore this!! hope you're having a lovely day!<3

AWW this is genuinely one of the sweetest asks I've ever received, thank you so much!!!!🥹❤️

It doesn't sound weird at all! If anything, I'm really touched that my interpretation of Mephistopheles brings you comfort. That honestly means a lot to hear!!

Okay so it's maybe a bit shorter than expected, but it's after the read more!! I genuinely hope I did my interpretation of Mephistopheles justice!

As always, this is simply my personal take on his character! It may not line up with everyone's interpretation, but it's the version that's made itself at home in my brain so if you like peepaw Mephi, well there you go x'D

I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it brings you a little comfort too!

Pairing: Mephistopheles x reader (can be read as platonic, GN Reader)

(P.S. Don't ever apologise for asking! The worst I can say is that I don't have the time at the moment. I'd much rather people ask than worry they're being a bother. 🫶)

You had not meant to seek refuge in the House of Hope.

Not really.

It had simply happened.

One moment you had been wandering the halls with no real destination in mind, trying to outrun a day that seemed determined to follow you, and the next you had found yourself tucked away in one of the quieter libraries.

The fire burned low in the hearth, bathing the room in amber light. Shelves climbed almost to the ceiling, crowded with volumes whose spines had long since faded beneath centuries of careful handling. The scent of old parchment mingled pleasantly with cedarwood and the lingering fragrance of freshly brewed tea.

It should have been comforting.

Instead, you found yourself staring into your cup, watching the surface grow steadily colder. Your thoughts circled the same worries again and again until they blurred together into something shapeless, a heavy knot sitting stubbornly beneath your ribs.

You didn't hear the door open.

"You've been glaring at that tea for some time now, dearest."

The deep, measured voice drew you from your thoughts without startling you. Looking up, you found Mephistopheles standing in the doorway.

He was an imposing figure by anyone's standards. Tall enough that he seemed almost carved into the archway itself, broad shoulders wrapped in dark robes embroidered so subtly they caught the firelight only when he moved. His dark hair, darker than Raphael's and touched with distinguished silver at the temples, had slipped loose from where it had once been neatly tied, falling past his shoulders in soft waves. Half-moon spectacles rested low upon his nose, and beneath one arm he carried an enormous leather-bound tome that looked as though it weighed as much as you did.

For a long moment, he simply regarded you with quiet observation.

His gaze drifted from your untouched tea to the expression you had so unsuccessfully tried to compose before finally settling back on your face.

"It has been one of those days," he said.

It wasn't phrased as a question.

You let out a tired breath that almost resembled a laugh.

"...Is it that obvious?"

"I have lived for several millennia," he replied as he crossed the room at his usual unhurried pace. "Patterns become rather easy to recognise."

He set the book carefully upon a nearby table before turning his attention fully to you, deliberate, almost impossibly calm, as though the concept of rushing had simply ceased to exist somewhere around the second millennium of his life.

When he reached your chair, he paused.

"May I?"

Only then did you realise he was asking permission to touch you.

You nodded.

His hand came to rest lightly against your shoulder. It was astonishingly warm. Not possessive or insistent, never that with him, nor forcing you to accept the touch. He was reassuring, the broad weight of his palm grounding you in a way you hadn't realized you needed.

"You are holding yourself very tightly," he observed quietly.

You frowned. "Am I?"

"Mmh."

His thumb brushed once across the fabric over your shoulder before becoming still again.

"It is a remarkably common habit among people who have spent the entire day convincing themselves they are coping. You are carrying yourself as though the weight of several kingdoms has been placed upon your back."

"It feels like it."

"I do not doubt that."

There was no immediate attempt to contradict you. No insistence that things would improve. No well-meaning lecture about optimism.

Only acknowledgement, and that was kinder. After another quiet moment, he spoke again.

"Come here."

The words were spoken so naturally that your body obeyed before your mind had quite caught up.

He opened one arm and you stepped forward. The embrace that followed was gentle, more gentle than you had imagined.

Mephistopheles was enormous compared to you.

His arms settled around you with careful deliberation, drawing you against the solid warmth of his chest as though you were something precious rather than fragile. One broad hand came to rest between your shoulder blades, the other lightly against the back of your head.

There was no pressure forcing you closer. Only enough of it to let you know that if you wished to remain there, you could. His robes smelled faintly of old parchment, cedarwood, and black tea. Comfortingly familiar.

Your forehead rested somewhere beneath his collarbone. You became acutely aware of just how much taller he was.

"...There," he murmured. "Better?"

You gave the smallest nod.

"I thought as much."

His thumb traced one slow, absent-minded circle against your back. After a while, he spoke again.

"When one has lived as long as I have, one begins to recognise a peculiar habit shared by nearly everyone."

You looked up slightly.

"They apologise," he continued, "for becoming tired."

A pause.

"They apologise for becoming overwhelmed. They apologise for being human."

The corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest smile.

"I have never understood why."

You felt your eyes sting.

"I just..."

The words caught.

"I feel like I should have handled today better."

"And why is that, dearest?"

"I don't know."

"An honest answer. Good."

He inclined his head thoughtfully.

"You know, there is an unfortunate belief that strength is measured by how much one can endure before breaking."

His hand remained warm against your back.

"I have found the opposite to be true."

You frowned.

"The strongest individuals I have ever known were not those who never stumbled. They were the ones willing to admit when they required rest."

His gaze softened.

"There is no shame in reaching the limits of your strength."

"...Even if it's over something small?"

He looked genuinely puzzled.

"Who informed you it was small?"

You blinked. He continued before you could answer.

"A burden does not become lighter merely because another believes they could carry it."

The words settled somewhere deep inside you.

After a long silence, you let out a breath.

"I think I needed to hear that."

"I suspected as much."

Another small pause.

"I also suspect," he added, "that you have eaten very little today."

"... Perhaps."

"I see."

There wasn't the slightest trace of triumph in his voice, only calm certainty. He had expected exactly that answer from you.

"I believe," he said, smoothing a hand gently over your hair, "that we shall rectify that first."

"And then?"

"Then..."

He looked toward the crackling fireplace.

"...we shall make fresh tea."

His expression grew almost thoughtful.

"You may tell me about your day. You may tell me nothing at all. We might simply sit."

Another faint smile.

"I have always found silence to be considerably more companionable than people give it credit for."

You couldn't help smiling back. It was small and tired, but a genuine smile.

"There it is," he said quietly. "I was wondering where you'd misplaced that sweetest smile of yours, dearest."

You laughed.

This time, it didn't hurt.

He rested his forehead briefly against yours, warm as his hand cradled the side of your face.

"One difficult day," he murmured, "is not the measure of a life."

His other hand found yours, giving it one reassuring squeeze.

"Come, dearest."

The word was soft but never demanding.

"Let us begin with warm tea."