#wylldurge

[wizardelf]

i metagamed by long resting several times in a row to ensure my wyllma moment happens.

something about wyll calling durge "the light" is so.....aauuuguh...

[wisdomcaster]

you put your arms around me and i'm home arms by christina perri

details under the cut

I've been putting off posting this because I'm not entirely happy with it?? But it's as finished as it ever will be so I'm posting it. I imagine that this is very post game and post-Avernus. I think Wyll is doing some minor work for his dad at this time (which is why he's in the duke robes. he looks really pretty in them so I had to draw a version of them, but I don't think he's a duke here.) they all have a couple more adventures to go on before he does that imo.

Phaedra's dress isn't as fancy as one might think and that is intentional. I think she's a very understated dresser, especially at event and things. (I tried to put them into the elegant robe in game and they said "Nope take this off me now, please.) I do think they look really good in this shade of purple though!!

Reference was found on @draw-the-squad-like-this (I had to delete Phae's hand tho because it was causing me issues)

Background is a slightly tweaked version of the Grand Ballroom of the Flagler Museum It's a bit more modern than I imagine the upper city would actually be, but it's pretty and the vibes are correct.

[vllygyal]

Thinking about a Nesrin that gives up her immortality to grow old with Wyll and started crying

[hadescavedish]

finished my gay duke durge run yesterday

[blackjackkent]

Random little Durge moment I've been bouncing around in my head for a bit...

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Wyll pokes his head out of his tent curiously and can't immediately place the sound. Everything else around their current campsite is natural, gentle - the soft babble of a nearby mountain brook, the brush of wind through the trees. Incongruous, then, is this new sound - of a sharp, atonal twanging at irregular intervals.

Rakha is seated at the edge of the cliff where the camp is placed. Her back is to him, but he can see the head and base of a lute sticking out on either sides of her body. Her head is bowed with an air of intense concentration.

Another sharp twang splits the air.

"Is that Alfira's?" Wyll asks gently, moving over to her side and looking out over the mountain vista below.

Rakha grunts noncommittally. She plucks at the lowest string and listens to its resonance, how it echoes back off the stone face opposite them.

"Have you been carrying that all this while?" He lowers himself to the ground next to her, crossing his legs.

Another grunt, a pause, and then, "Yes." Another pause. "It was the only thing I left intact."

He nods slowly and says nothing further, but listens as she slowly plucks out various notes on the instrument. There's no structure to it; she seems to be analyzing the way the notes shift based on where she places her fingers, but it's certainly not melodic in any fashion.

"Do you know how?" she asks him abruptly, after several minutes of this have gone by.

"I did, once," Wyll says with a slight smile. "My father saw to it all the courtly skills were in good showing - dueling, dancing, music. I never did get much of a knack for it, though. And after seven years, I doubt much has stuck around." He tilts his head. "Do you... want to learn?" he asks cautiously.

She shrugs, twangs out another note. "I did not want to kill her, Wyll," she says.

The hairpin turn of the conversation makes him blink. "So you've said."

"No, I--" She pauses, makes a noise of frustration. "All the others, there was something of me. Some... anger, or fear. Even the squirrel in the grove. I was awake, at least."

"But not Alfira."

"Alfira... my body killed her while I slept." Some complicated emotion works across her face. "I find... the more I travel, the more you teach me... the more it troubles me."

He feels a little flicker of warmth despite the brutality of the subject matter. For everything that she struggles with - and there's a lot of it - she listens to him, she internalizes everything he says, rather as he listened to his father and stored away each bit of wisdom as it trickled down to him. There is a trust in that - in both directions.

"And that's why you're playing her lute?" he asks slowly.

Rakha runs her fingers high up on the fretboard, pulls the highest string and listens to it squeak. "It doesn't bring her back," she says to herself.

Not quite an answer, but close enough. "When we get to the city... there are people who can teach you." He smiles slightly again. "Perhaps I'll pick it up again myself."

A long, long pause. She strums her fingers along the lute from top to bottom, playing out a sharply dissonant chord that makes his teeth ache. "Perhaps."

[tieflingtareon]

Resistance Is Futile | Wyll x M!Durge Oneshot

“This is wrong.” Wyll knows it deep within his bones, and it does not need to be said, yet it does all at once. It was wrong, to curl up in the arms of Bhaal’s Chosen. The one who damned the Sword Coast he had sworn to protect.

“Shh…Rest. Your mind is far too active for the hour it is.” All Wyll could see when he closed his eyes was blood and gore, caked upon hands that once held his own so gently in a dance. Even now, they cradle him like he was something precious, and not just another body he could ravage with his blade. It churned his stomach, and he was forced to pull away, sitting up with a shake of his head, falling forward into his hands and digging the heel into his eye like he might be able to squash the memory, the knowledge that he was no longer the man he knew.

“You accepted him. After all that talk of resisting, of being better, you faltered when it matter most.” Wyll grimaced. “I can’t say I haven’t done the same…but this is- this is madness, my love. Pure madness. You have become your Fathers slayer - do you intend to damn the city like you once planned? My home?”

“Never.” He sat up beside him and gently took his hands in his, warm and large, forehead gently knocking against one horn. “This city is our home. I will help you return it to glory, Wyll. I will.”

Wyll closed his eyes, unable to bare the gentle affection, knowing what cruelties laid beneath. What urges would manifest and bite him in time. There had been rebels once. Bhaalspawns who ignored Bhaal’s call. He still believed that perhaps he could still be the man he travelled with. The man he’d fallen for. If he could keep resisting, Bhaal’s Chosen or not…maybe not all was for naught. Maybe he could still have his love.

It was a damningly hopeful thought. One that may very well be the end of him one day. Yet he still held faith in the stories of romance, forbidden or wrought with pain. He wanted this to work. He…he couldn’t afford for this not to.

“Damn it all!” Wyll pulled away abruptly and stood, pacing a few steps before crossing his arms, unable to look at him. He could only stare at the stone beneath his feet, trying not to let his grief overwhelm him. It wasn’t grief for the now, but for the future. The grief he knew he would feel much more potently once all his fears were proven right and his hand was forced to choose between his love and his city. Both held his heart in a vice. Their importance to him was indistinguishable, woven too tightly into the valves of his beating heart. To choose one over the other was to kill a part of himself he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back.

“…I can’t understand why. Why you would return to him. We were so close-“

“You would do anything for your father. To regain his love. Do not hate me for choosing mine.” His love narrowed his eyes at him. “Especially when faced with his wrath. You saw what he did to Orin.”

“We could have found a way. We could have freed you. We’re strongest together - you know this. I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.”

“You are but a mortal man, Wyll. You are not a god, even if you are…more divine of heart than any god I could conjure to mind.” He sighed softly and stood, reaching for the other with gentle hands, coaxing the devil-changed man to face him. The look in Wyll’s eye was more heartbreaking than any tragedy he could write upon the earth with his blade.

He looked so conflicted, yet hopeful. Yearning for the gentle touch to his face, leaning into his hand even as his face screwed up like he was in pain.

“Damn it…I hate this. I want to hate you. This would easier if you were just…another enemy. Another devil I was pointed towards, another foe that needed to be slayed - you’ve put me in a position where I feel like the ground beneath me is breaking. Cracking.” His voice cracked upon the very word. “So rarely do I falter…”

“I’m sorry. I’m still myself, even…even if Father has claimed me. Please try to understand.”

“I can’t. I can’t understand choosing the god of murder over freedom.”

“You chose your fathers city over freedom. It’s not much different. You damned yourself so he could come back to a city unscathed, to his people unharmed. I damned myself so I could live to fix what I broke.”

“And what will happen, when you do unravel all the plans Bhaal gave you? You think he will be happy?”

“I think the city will be safe. I think you will be safe - and that’s enough for me. Whatever the punishment Bhaal bestows upon me once the brain is dead…That will be dealt with when it comes.”

“Gods above…” Wyll shook his head softly, gaze full of sorrow. “I thought I understood my father when he sent me away. Casting out his only son, the one who brought a devil to his door…But if his heart that night hurt half as much as mine does right now - he’s either a heartless man, or far stronger than I ever will be. I cannot banish you from my side, from my arms…from my heart.”

Wyll lowered his head in shame, his eye shining with tears before he closed them and rested his head upon his lovers chest.

“Gods, forgive me…”

Warm arms encircled him and Wyll relaxed despite his mind screaming that that was the wrong choice. After several years upon Mizora’s leash, it was hard to tell anymore where the line in the sand must be drawn, he supposed.

One day, he would be forced to choose. His love or his city. When that day came, he only prayed he was killed first so he would not have to make that choice, or see the ruins which his hearts choice would havoc upon his home.

[jcniper-backup]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: The Dark Urge/Wyll (Baldur's Gate), Wyll (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Wyll (Baldur's Gate), The Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate) Additional Tags: All of the other companions are here too lol, POV Wyll (Baldur's Gate), Wyll Needs a Hug (Baldur's Gate), Sorcerer Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate), Tiefling Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate), The Dark Urge Resists the Urge (Baldur's Gate), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, There is a healthy dose of canon divergence in this fic it is my attempt to give Wyll more content, Warning: The Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate), Canon-Typical Violence, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, ???? to lovers, The Dark Urge is Redeemed (Baldur's Gate), Mentioning that Wyll is a monster hunter a lot more and all that Series: Part 5 of my father is the worst man alive, and i am his favorite daughter Summary:

Wyll stormed back to his tent. The pain of hellfire still a memory on his skin. His heart was pounding. His head felt like it weighed a ton. Noise and light buzzed and whirred just enough to make him feel a tad more wrong than he already did.

He didn’t see or hear Nell approaching, but her voice brought him out of it.

“Why didn’t you just kill her?”