#adventuring and sundries

[philcoulsonismyhero]

14 sessions in, we're only a session or two away from wrapping up our first adventure in my DnD game, so I thought it would be fun to share some of the shenanigans that have been going on.

First, the party, now at level 5, in order of recruitment:

Benjamin Larkwright (he/him), human war wizard 4/fighter 1 (my character) - middle-aged, moustached, ex-soldier, ex-watchman, trained as a human artillery weapon but out of practice and tends to solve his problems with detective work instead, polite, methodical, stubborn, sometimes irritable, and often sarcastic

Bob (has a much longer name that starts with Ingophilius and gets more complicated from there, goes by Bob for others' convenience) (he/him), half-orc berserker barbarian - gets hyped rather than raging, makes friends wherever he goes, accomplished linguist, has your back but don't expect him to have been paying attention

Droozh of the Bright-Tusk Clan (he/him), loxodon Oath of the Ancients paladin - grew up in the Selesnya Conclave and on his first solo trip into the wider world, big fan of trees and other things that grow, not the brightest but trying his best, direct thinker (solves problems with his maul or by tackling people), pretty chill guy when his temper isn't roused

Abigail Hearder (she/her), human conjuration wizard - aged 17, kicked out of wizard school for blowing up a building (took up adventuring to pay back the damages), loves dogs more than life itself (her family breeds them), book smart but not as street smart as she thinks she is, a bit of a gremlin

Gimble Garrick (he/him), gnome life cleric of Arawai - joined the first adventuring party that came along because he was bored of just fixing the bumps and bruises of annoying children in the temple all day, possibly regretting that decision, thinks he's the only sane person here

Alyriia d'Alembert-Seyntinn (she/her), half-elf swashbuckler rogue 3/bard 2 - rich girl from the big city, family black sheep (least terrible of the bunch by all accounts), sent out to the sticks to keep her from causing trouble, Sherlock Holmes with none of the people skills, late addition and still not sure herself how she ended up being considered a part of the team

Droozh, Alyriia and Bob are all literally or culturally the equivalent of in their early 20s, Gimble is 40 and thus still relatively young for a gnome, Abigail is as previously mentioned 17, and Benjamin, 46ish and the only one not completely new to adventuring, frequently feels like the babysitter. In grand DnD party tradition, I'm pretty sure every single member of the party thinks they're the only sensible one. (Some of them are more correct than others.)

Notable NPCs and others:

Marvin Druitt (he/him), firbolg high level rogue legitimate businessman - guildmaster and proprietor of Marvin Druitt's Adventuring and Sundries (not the worst adventurer's guild in the city but also not faced with much competition for the title) and thus technically the party's employer. An extremely slippery customer, up to all sorts of schemes with the end goal of getting his half-elf twink boyfriend out of jail, almost certainly using the guild for money laundering (Benjamin is investigating him for this, but as a hobby since he's not officially a watchman anymore. Marvin knows he is, it's enrichment for both of them), does actually provide real adventuring work and thus technically is in fact helping people, crooked but not actually all that bad

Morvath (he/him), djinn - proprietor of a fantastic casino with a multiplanar gimmick in a tourist town in the mountains, directly responsible for a great many missing people (which our party was hired to investigate by a concerned citizen), Definitely All That Bad. He offers tantalising prizes so people eventually bet their limbs and even years off their own lives, and when the house inevitably wins he siphons off the life energy to sustain himself. Has convinced himself that no one is being coerced into making the bets and thus it would be impinging on their free will to have any sort of safety systems in place so his customers don't end up killing themselves, and we're all going to enjoy murdering him in the face shortly to put an end to the sheer amount of death he's going to continue being responsible for if he isn't stopped

Myrhana Wiggleboots (she/her), gnome master artificer - excitable inventor of the magitech machines that power Morvath's casino and enable him to siphon life energy from his patrons, so happy to find someone interested in her work and willing to fund it that she didn't realise exactly what she had become complicit in, now helping us to put a stop to it thanks to the power of nerd friendship (Abigail) and a stern lecture or two on the subject of Being Aware Of The Consequences Of One's Actions (Benjamin and others)

Flibbertigibbet (he/him), halfling priest of Arawai - head priest at the temple of Arawai in the town, currently cheerfully giving us room and board thanks to Gimble, very old and just a tiny bit eccentric, obsessed with brains, useful man with investigating psychic magic effects that make people forget their missing relatives as long as you don't let him break out the brain screws

Puku (he/him) - Abigail's fey familiar, usually in the shape of a small black dog. Inherited from her grandfather who was also a wizard

Florian (he/him) - Droozh's fey steed, takes the form of a pigmy elephant. Named after his childhood imaginary friend, and the cause of a Great Many out of character 'elephant in the room' jokes, mostly from me I'm afraid to say

Kitty - Bob's perfectly ordinary parakeet that he won in the casino. Was asked about pronouns by Droozh at Bob's urging, neither of them really understood the question

Various other characters include but are not limited to Billiwick Tooms, the gnome woman who hired us to investigate the missing people, her brother the local sheriff whose given name is pronounced Dingus and spelled Diingucce because the DM had had enough of being asked how things were spelled and decided to fuck with us, Adoreen Phan the very annoying (to half the party, the other half find him amusing) casino employee we keep running into and seem to have convinced to unionise the place, Billy the human kid that we met on the train to the town whose wizard uncle had gone missing, and, posthumously, the aforementioned Uncle Vergil the divination wizard who was the last person to try to take down Morvath and died for his trouble, but by following in his footsteps and building on his plans we should hopefully be able to take the bastard down for good.

[alfrsargetlam]

Was trying to update my bf on where I am in Critical Role (Campaign 2 E16: A favor in kind) and made a hilarious typo

[yourbelgianthings]

nuts and bolts, androids and steroids

a sundrysyx fluff fic (2k words) as a surprise gift for @onehandkilling! no tws, i would say it's like pg-13, basically the same stuff the aso season itself has in it

When Norman Takamori first met his prospective crew for the Red Hot, he was not at all impressed. Norm was not a man who was easy to impress. His years with the Amercadian Space Brigade had left him gruff and cold. He stood in front of his ship, which resembled a hot dog far more than he would have liked, surveying the comms officer (an Aguatunesian floating in a large globe of water), the engineer (a human whose body was cyborg from the neck down), the two gunners (a unique all purpose android and a clone), and a businesswoman (a human) who would be working on the ship. At least she would be paying rent, Norm thought.

“All right, from here on out, you are the crew of my ship. Well, except for Ms. Encino, she works for some big company and is giving us money, so make sure she’s happy. I’m Norman Takamori, but call me Skipper. Do what I say when I tell you to do it, and there won’t be any problems.”

The five others looked at each other, unsure of what to do since the skipper had simply turned and left. They helped get the Aguatunesian onto the ship and into their larger water enclosure, then the android with pale skin, the long red ponytail, and one cybernetic eye wearing a retro pink waitress dress and roller skates spoke up.

“Hey y’all, I’m Sundry Sidney, the Swiss Army Wife! Or, that’s what they marketed me as. I can throw grenades, make drinks, and I even have pleasure protocols! I’m one of the gunners, and I’m happy to help out with anything!”

Everyone smiled and clapped. Then, Riva introduced themself, explaining that they were on their gallivant and had psychic communication, so not to get startled by that. The short cyborg with the bald head and Black skin was Gunthrie Miggles-Rashbax, but you could call him Gunnie. Margaret’s red hair was in a bob with bangs and she wore a skirt suit, introducing herself very briefly like she had somewhere better to be, and asked Sidney to bring an iced matcha latte to her office as soon as possible. Everyone stared silently as she retreated down the hallway until they couldn’t hear the click of her heels anymore. The last member of the crew, a large muscled man with a tan and shoulder length medium brown hair, wearing dark sunglasses, stepped forward.

“Well, I don’t know what her deal is,” he exclaimed as he took off his shades and tossed his hair, “but I’m Big Barry Syx, the other gunner with Sidney. Just call me Barry, and know that I’m down to be anybody’s bro!” With introductions complete, Riva swam away and Gunnie left to do some tutoring to earn extra credits towards paying off his body, leaving just Barry and Sid standing together. 

“Seems like it’s time for me to go make Miss Margaret’s drink, then,” said Sidney. She smiled at Barry and continued, “Pleasure meeting you, I think we’re gonna work together just fine.”

“Hey, I got nothing else to do tonight, and it sucks that you’re the only one who gets extra work. Would you mind some company?”

Sid stopped dead in her tracks. Nobody had ever offered to spend time with her as a friend before, let alone while she worked. She blushed, and quite uncharacteristically, nearly whispered, “Why, not at all,” before turning and skating down the hallway so fast Barry had to break into a jog to keep up with her.

Once she had gotten everything set up, Sid showed Barry all the steps of making a perfect iced matcha latte. He was disappointed to find out the drink contained no protein powder, which gave Sidney a good laugh, and she whirled around the kitchen faster than Barry could process, ending up right back in front of him with a chocolate protein shake served in a milkshake glass. He gasped in surprise.

“Oh man, Sid, you didn’t have to do all that extra work for me!”

“Don’t be silly,” she replied, “it’s nothing! Now you enjoy that, I have to go take Miss Margaret her drink,” and she squeezed his hand and skated off. Barry was still adjusting to not being around his other Barry bros all the time, but Sidney was different than anyone else he had met in his time on his own. He didn’t know what to do with this thought yet though, as Barrys were generally more inclined to action than reflection. So, he simply decided to wander around the ship until he finished his drink before going to bed. Over in her room, as she was about to power down for the night, Sundry Sidney also processed how their interaction was unlike any she had ever had before, her new fellow gunner seemed to see more in her than what she was programmed to do. It made her feel strange, but also excited to spend more time together. That night, Barry dreamed about the battalion’s trip to Uncle B.O.B’s Fantanimalland, and Sidney did not dream at all.

As the malton units passed and lengthened into nargons, the crew grew closer and developed an excellent working relationship. Well, everyone except the skipper. That was, he was still mean as ever, but nobody could deny his skill as a pilot. When they needed all hands on deck, even Margaret would put down her phone and close her laptop to help out. They made it out of a lot of risky jobs by the skin of their teeth. The life of a proldier was dangerous and unpredictable, but Barry and Sid still found moments to sneak away together. As good of friends as they all were, they enjoyed spending time with the whole crew, but the others could also tell there was something a little more going on between the gunners, so they would come up with reasons to leave the two of them alone. On one such night, when the movie had finished and Gunnie “needed to fix his calculator”, Margaret “had an important email to send”, and Riva had simply floated away with a wink, they found themselves the only ones left on the couch.

Barry cleared his throat. “Uh, great movie, right?”

“No, Barry, you hate that one and specifically said you didn’t want to watch it,” Sid laughed.

“Oh yeah, I did, didn’t I?” He blushed and awkwardly stood up. “Well, I haven’t done my foam rolling, so I should probably head out. Wouldn’t wanna get a cramp or anything, yknow…” trailing off, he turned and left. Sidney thought his shyness was adorable. In fact, maybe tonight would be perfect for that idea she had had in mind. She clicked on her comlink to the gunner channel.

“Hey Riva, are you still up?”

“Sure am,” came the reply.

“Oh great! Do you have any of that stuff you sell here on the ship?” she asked.

“Pleasure putty?” Riva’s voice instantly perked up.

“Excuse me?!” exclaimed Gunnie, and Margaret just chuckled. Suddenly, Norman Takamori’s voice was on the line, and he was furious.

“How many times do I have to tell you idiots that the gunner channel is only for the gunners to use in combat before you get it through your thick skulls? It’s not your goddamn party line, and don’t even bother trying to explain what’s happening right now because I do NOT want to know!”

“Sure thing, Skipper,” replied Sidney in her sweetest voice possible, “have a good night now!” She giggled to herself as she skated down towards Riva. When Barry heard a knock on his door, he jumped. He didn’t startle easily, but he must have zoned out without realizing it. As he opened the door to see Sid, a big smile spread across his face. He had secretly been hoping she would come.

“Hey, Barry! Skipper’s sure in a bad mood tonight, huh?”

“Oh, what?” Barry glanced at her quizzically. “I was in the shower so I didn’t hear anything, but I’m sure he was yelling about something like always.” Sidney mentally did a huge fist pump. Yes! He hadn't heard!

“You got that right,” she replied, “but that’s not why I’m here.”

Barry gestured for her to come sit on the bed next to him, which she did. “I really like you, Sid,” he told her. “You’re the best gunner partner a Barry could ask for. Well, besides another Barry.”

“I’m glad to hear I’m second best,” Sid teased, but she was clearly proud to be complimented on her work. “You’ve been working plenty hard too, Barry. While we’ve got a few martrons to ourselves, why don’t we” and pausing to pull the tin Riva gave her out of her pocket, “have a little fun?”

Barry’s jaw dropped and he blushed so much he felt like his head might explode. “Uh, hell yeah!” he exclaimed. Sidney leaned in to kiss him and it was all a wonderful blur of sensations, both physical and mental, from there. 

Some time later, they lay on the bed cuddling, Sid’s head resting on Barry’s very muscular chest, and their arms around each other.

“Hey Barry?” she asked.

“Hm?”

“Where are the other Barrys? You never call them or anything, and you seem sad whenever you mention them. You don't have to answer, I don’t want to ruin the mood or anything, but I’ve just noticed and kinda been worried. Barry’s eyes welled with tears Sid could not see from her position, and he took a deep breath.

“Damn, Sid, you are the most caring person I’ve ever met. Who else in the galaxy would have the best sex ever with me and then ask me how I’m doing like that?” Sidney sat up and replied as she gently wiped away Barry’s tears.

“Nobody, I’m the only one of me.”

“I had no idea. How about I tell you about the battalion and then you can tell me whatever you need to, okay?” He got a nod in response. 

“Just one sec though.” Sidney rummaged around in her bag and pulled out some red nail polish, holding it out towards him. “I don’t do well with just sitting and not doing something. Do you care?” Barry hesitated. Since being separated from the battalion, he had done his best to maintain the identical appearance he had always had to them, but he was here now, and nail polish wasn’t permanent. It was like a little gift from Sid. 

He said, “go for it,” and began to tell her about his time with the bros and all their adventures across the galaxy “unfucking the little guy.”

“I still can’t believe what Barry Nyne did to them.” Here he paused a moment before continuing, “It’s just the two of us left, but he betrayed the Barrys, so I don’t know if I can call him my bro anymore. It really sucks when I think about it too much, but honestly, I’ve been okay. Getting to know and work with people that aren’t just another you is different, but it’s not a bad change. This crew is the best!”

Sidney nodded. “Oh Barry, that’s terrible. I’m glad you’ve mostly been happy here, though. All your other clones would want you to still have fun and kick ass, I think.”

“You’re so right, Sid! You’ve got the true bro mindset!” Barry congratulated her.

“Hey now,” she laughed. “Don’t move yet, your nails aren’t dry!”

“Okay, okay!” and Barry settled in to listen to her story.

Sid recounted her daring exploits at the Handy Andi board meeting to escape a fate of destruction, and what she knew about her creator. “It’s just strange being the only one of my kind,” she mused. “I wasn’t built to need friends, but they’ve really been great.”

They both smiled and Sid reached out to take Barry’s hands (both of which were now dry). Without saying anything else, they knew that they were both less alone than before, and had a bro (or maybe something more) at their back all the time, not just when they were in the gunner stations.

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

Rolan: You know, if you ever get tired of adventuring, you could always come work at Sorcerous Sundries.

Durge: I don't think retail is the right career for me. My rancid blood desires nothing more than to reap death on this world. I am a vile soul, broken beyond repair.

Rolan: Sounds like an average Tuesday around here... We do have an annual employee picnic, though.

Durge: Does that help to soothe the unyielding rage within?

Rolan: *Sad sigh.* No.

- - - -

BG3 Incorrect Quotes Masterlist.

[aerynwrites]

Unexpected, But Not Unwelcome

Gale Dekarios x afab!Reader/Tav

A/N: based on this request - god I literally wrote this the second that I got it lol. Gale was the perfect one to write this request for imo and it was such a pleasure!

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: pregnant reader, slight angst, pregnancy, fluff.

The longer you’ve lived in Waterdeep the more you start to understand why the balcony outside the study is Gales' chosen spot in his tower. 

You still remember the slight shock you felt when you first arrived to see the space was exactly like the illusion he showed you all those months ago. 

Now it’s also become your place of solace, much to the wizards delight. 

“Views like this are much better enjoyed with company. And I couldn’t wish for a better half to spend it with.” 

The balcony is swathed in deep orange light, the sun slowly creeping towards the horizon, the bottom just barely kissing the edge of sea way out in the distance. Her fading rays dance along the calm bay waters, the only disturbance to its surface being the few ships leaving or entering port. 

‘What do they carry?’ you wonder. 

Fine silks and clothing? Or perhaps rare spices from across the world. It’s a game you find yourself playing more often than not whenever you sit out here. But now…

Now it’s all you can do to try and focus on the ships, your mind constantly flitting back to the news you were given earlier in the day. 

You’d missed your monthly cycle a few weeks back, and while it wasn’t immediately alarming, that along with other symptoms finally made you decided to seek out a healer. 

Gale had told you of his plans to spend the day at Sorcerers Sundries, looking for a specific tome for research he was working on. So, today was the perfect day to slip away unnoticed. You didn’t want to worry your husband unnecessarily, but now you want nothing more than for him to be home, the news eating away at you. 

You’re pregnant. 

It’s honestly nothing you’ve ever truly thought about. Before the tadpoles, you’d been alone, just living day to day in Baldur’s Gate. Then of course the whole tadpole incident happened and then…you met Gale and fell in love and started to build a life with him here, in Waterdeep. 

You’re honestly surprised the topic never came up. But now, with it staring you in the face…a sense of uncertainty settles deep in your belly. 

Tara noticed immediately of course, aware of your unusual quietness as you retreated to the balcony as soon as you got home. You’d found yourself spilling the news to the intelligent cat as soon as she asked, her deep eyes softening ever so slightly as she jumped in your lap and curled up. 

You couldn’t help but sense a wave of excitement coming from her, though. A sense that somewhat calmed you despite the nerves running wild in your mind. 

That was a few hours ago, Tara hasn’t moved from her spot, lounging peacefully as you stroked her fur and watch the ships glide across the water. 

Only the very distant sound of the tower door opening and closing, and Gales faint greeting finally pulls you from your thoughts, that anxiety creeping back in full force as you tense. 

Tara sits up as well, stretching and letting out an enviable yawn. You wish you could be that relaxed. 

“Relax, dear,” Tara says gently, nuzzling your hand before turning to jump from your lap. “I feel you have nothing to be worried about.” 

She turned and pads towards the inside of the tower just as Gale appears in the archway, stopping to offer her a welcoming scratch before she disappears.

He sends you a warm smile as he rights himself, approaching and taking a seat next to you on the padded bench, arm wrapping around your waist instinctively as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“How was your day, my love?” He asks, nose nuzzling your cheek. 

You smile, realizing it doesn’t quite reach your eyes past the anxiety roiling in your chest. “It was good,” you tell him, not completely lying but not offering the full truth either. “How was your adventure to Sorcerer’s Sundries?” 

At the mention of the bookstore Gale’s eyes light up as he tells you about what he found. Slowly, as he talks about the new information he found regarding his research, you both maneuver into a more comfortable position. Gale moves to lay across the length of the padded bench, leaning against the armrest as you settle between his legs, back resting against his chest. 

His arms wrap loosely around your middle, hands resting over your stomach, completely unaware of the life that’s now growing there. 

His words fade into the background as your mind starts to wander again, your hands moving to rest atop his own, your fingers slipping to toy with the simple gold band around his ring finger.

You don’t truly have many worries about the news. You know that Gale will weather anything with you but…you don’t want this to be a storm, or anything negative. What if Gale doesn’t want children? What if he pulls away from you when you tell him the news or is just as scared as you feel?

Soft lips against your neck pull you from your thoughts, familiar fingers slipping between your own to give them a squeeze. 

“I know my research ramblings can at times be boresome. However, you seem to be lost to me more than usual this evening.” His words are gentle with just a touch of amusement as rests his head against yours. “What’s on your mind?”

You don’t respond right away, your nerves at an all time high and making your already tumultuous stomach even more uneasy. You squeeze his hand in yours.

“I went to see a healer today.”

Gale’s arms tighten around you, and you can feel the way he sits up straighter, your words concerning him. 

“A healer? I didn’t even notice - are you sick?” He asks, worry clear in his voice. “I cannot believe I was so preoccupied I failed to take note of-“

You tug on the sleeve of his robes, holding him tighter to you. “I’m not sick. At least not…” You trail off, taking your lip between your teeth.

Gale urges you on with a gentle press of his lips to your shoulder, and that action alone seems to calm the raging sea of anxiety within you. 

“I’m with child, Gale.” 

The silence that follows your revelation feels oppressive. The only sounds meeting your ears being the lapping of waves against the shore and the distant call of gulls in the air. 

Emotion clogs your throat as you clutch his hand. “Please…say something.”

You sit up then, turning to face the man behind you, but before you can fully do so, two strong arms wrap around you and bring you to your feet. Your surroundings turn into a blur around you as Gale spins you through the air, boisterous laughter falling from his lips until he brings you to a stop, capturing you in a breathtaking kiss. 

His lips are warm and his arms secure as he holds you to him, as if afraid this would all fade away if he were to let you go. 

Heat floods your cheeks when he pulls away, elation adorning his features as he looks at you, eyes glowing with an utter joy you’ve never quite seen on him before. He cradles your face in his hands, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks. 

“I’m going to be a father? We’re going to have a child?” He asks, whispering the words in unbelieving reverence. 

The smile that splits your lips is almost painful, any and all anxiety dissipating from you as you take in his reaction. 

“Yes they…The healer said I would start showing soon, and if we want…Towards the end of the pregnancy they should be able to tell us the gender,” you tell him, hands grasping at the fabric of his robe. 

Gale smiles wider, hands falling down to cradle your stomach and the new life that sits there. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he says gently. “They will be loved either way, and no doubt a powerful wielder of the weave if I have anything to say about it.”

You can’t stop the chuckle that slips past your lips, and the surprising happy tears that fall down your cheeks. Gale notices the streaks immediately, smile faltering ever so slightly as he reaches back up to wipe the tears away.

“Why the tears? This is a joyous occasion, we should be celebrating!” 

You shake your head, reaching up to place your hand atop his own as you turn to press a kiss to his palm. “They aren’t tears of grief…I was worried. Worried about telling you. I didn’t…we’ve never talked about children.”

Your husband smiles gently, eyes reassuring as he leans in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I can admit that this news was unexpected, but it’s…it is not unwelcome,” he tells you, eyes bright once more. “I’ve never given much thought to children because of everything that had consumed my mind in the past and then you appeared in my life and took over the rest of my thoughts,” he laughs. “But this…” He presses his hands to your belly again. “This is more than I could have ever asked for. More than any power I’ve ever dreamed of having. I find myself filled with indescribable joy at the thought of creating a life with you - a family.”

You press your lips to his as soon as the words leave his lips, pulling him impossibly closer until you break away to nuzzle into the space between his head and shoulder, excitement and happiness threatening to burst from your chest. 

“I love you, Gale Dekarios.” You say, smiling as he pulls you tighter against him. “I can’t wait to start a family with you.”

You move to speak, but the presence of a familiar winged feline interrupts you as Tara rushes onto the balcony, wiggling happily. 

“Oh my!” She exclaims, weaving between yours and Gale’s legs before jumping effortlessly up to perch on his shoulder as you both separate. “This is most exciting! Another Dekarios, can you believe it?” She asks, turning to Gale. “Hopefully this one won’t light himself on fire like you did all those years ago.”

You watch in amusement as Gale flushes a light shade of pink, flicking Tara’s ear playfully. “I was just starting to learn to master the weave! And I was eight, you can hardly blame me.”

You chuckle at their antics and reach up to card your hands through his hair at the nape of his neck, drawing his attention back to you.

“Well, they will have the best teacher. There’s no telling what they will accomplish with you as their guide.”

Gale smiles, leaning down to kiss you one last time before embracing you once more. 

“We’ll guide them together.”

You hum in agreement, basking in the golden rays of the setting sun, the snapping of sails echoing across the water as you whisper against his skin. 

“Together.”

Tags:

@dark-and-kawaii

[cheerysmores]

My wife once told me she would never play Baldur's Gate 3 because 'it's that slut game.' One year later she finally caved and did her very first playthrough.

May I present: Mrs. Cheery's chaotic gremlin adventure to Baldur's Gate.

Act 1

Our hero is the drow fighter, Lady Coolio. To this day we do not know whether Lady is her name or her title. She has a big sword, big tits and one goal: get to The Baldur's Gate with no distractions.

Escaped the 'Meat Bus' (Nautaloid). "Right how close am I to Baldur's gate? Like three hours?"

Sold her camp clothes by accident and was very sad that all she had to run around in was a grey hobo sack. (No mods. Sorry wife)

Asked if Withers was Solas's Dad.

Lady Coolio calls Astarion rat boy. In Wifey's words “he told me ‘when I was a little lad Cazador made me eat rats.’”

To be fair she isn't great with names so Halsin = Hoisin Sauce, Lae'zel = onion lady, Volo = Volvo, Cazador = Calzone (sometimes)

In camp: Gale "I'd like to show you something rather magical". Lady Coolio: "I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR MAGIC PENIS"

“There are so many dead bodies everywhere this entire place has got to stink” (just act 1 generally)

Act 2

Ran into the shadow cursed lands very under levelled and Last Light inn instantly got sacked. Bad news as she was romancing Karlach and now can’t get her second upgrade. Lady Coolio firmly blames Isobel for "triggering like three opportunity attacks when she could have... not done that."

Died to the shadow curse a LOT. Her: “Why is everyone dying????” Me: “Remember the moon lantern?” Her: “The what?” Me: “… that thing with the swearing pixie in it” Her: “ I still have to use that????” Me: “ yes, because Isobel is dead” Her: "WHY IS SHE STILL CAUSING PROBLEMS."

Hates the Gauntlet of Shar. Asked Shadowheart, “Is Shar the only goddess with an Olympic qualifier to join her religion?”

And now a series of comments on the Dead 3's chosen: “so the bad guys are evil undead Santa, Lady Gaga and the ugliest man I’ve ever seen?”)” “Is Gale… horny for that crown??” “Maybe Myrkul would be more threatening if he wasn’t standing in an giant toilet and not moving”

On discovering the Emperor) “wait my fairy god mother is a SQUID??? oh :( ”

She did however become half illithid but hated that she ended up with varicose veins on her boobs.

Gale and Astarion then graduated to “those weak pudding men” because they kept getting stuck halfway across the map by missing jumps. Act 3

Said “Brexit means Brexit” every time she met someone who was complaining about the refugees.

Went to see Raphael at Sharess's Caress. Didn’t sign his contract “ I trust neither Lord Farquad nor squid man but I’m not selling my soul to someone who has such bad vibes.”

At Gortash's coronation. "I thought he was popular? Like seven people turned up to watch it. Is it because he's really ugly and smells like Lynx (Axe) body spray?"

She wanted to eat Orin's outfit because it looks like delicious bacon.

Walking around the city: "so where do I go??" "Anywhere you like." "I hate this."

She would not stop stealing things. I think she murdered the entire battalion of flaming fist in the lower city because "a lady's gotta eat." She also killed everyone in sorcerer’s sundries including Rolan.

Had the prototypical stress aneurysm while doing the iron throne but somehow managed to get ALL the hostages out.

Lae’zel was kidnapped by Orin for 9 in game days . When I asked about this she said “FINDING CLOWN MEAT IS MORE IMPORTANT.”

“Why does every door here lead to the sewer????? And why are there so many live mines in the sewer??”

(in the basement of the elfsong) “soo because the Emperor has a shitty basement I’m supposed to be best friend with him now? This soup recipe does not make me trust you squid man”

Halsin “nature used all its powers when crafting you” Wife “well it also crafted bacon lady (Orin) so swings and roundabouts”

Astarion stayed a spawn and she convinced Gale not to use the crown. “No one is becoming ultimate bitch on my watch”

Despite her distrust of the Emperor she still allied with him in the final fight. Because, and I quote, "Lady Coolio's goal is to stop the Absolute. The Emperor has the same goal. I don't know when I became everyone's therapist and in charge of them making better choices but I'm putting my foot down at replacing dehydrated onion queen with baldy prince king over here. The Gith's religion is not my problem."

In her canon Lady Coolio and the Emperor high fived when they won.

85 hours later and Lady Coolio is the hero of Baldur's Gate. Please enjoy this picture of our heroine.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Rolan x Tav

plot: Blessed Hearts Day was a special holiday in Baldur's Gate. Celebrating love, intimacy, and unity. For Rolan it was just another Thursday....

rating: G [just a cute little thing for Valentine's Day]

pairing: Rolan x gn!reader/Tav

---------------------------💜----------------------------------

When Rolan first heard the name Lorroakan, he thought he was a great man. A god, even, in the ways of magic and was truly in awe that someone like him would take an interest to be his teacher. Now Rolan realized he was just a fraud, and worse yet a hoarder.

After the battle with the Elder Brain, he set off with the staff to rebuild Sorcerous Sundries to its former glory. Trade and commerce of equal importance in the rebuilding Baldur’s Gate as well as the structures. That taken care of, Rolan set about making sense of his former master’s personal inventory. However, between his stock in the tower and the vault, it was a slow process. Lorroakan seemed to be a glutton for all things. Magic. Power. Punishment; or at least dishing it out.

He had spent weeks combing through what was on offer to sift out the wheat from the chaff. Which was what he was doing when he heard Cal & Lia come in before they even made it through the foyer.

“I’m telling you! He was totally flirting with me! A fine woman like me can sense these things in a man. Sense their intentions.”

“More like desperation.” Cal quipped. “It was so obvious he just didn’t want to be alone for the holiday. Hardly a match made in heaven sister.”

Lia barked out a harsh, sarcastic laugh at her brother. “You’re just jealous that I’ll have an invitation out, and you won’t. The only invite you’ll be getting come morrow is an invitation to pay your bill from Sharess Caress.”

Cal blushed at his sister’s comment. His skin turning almost magenta in the act. “Th-! That’s not--! Rolan! What are you doing tomorrow then??”

“Same as I have been for the past few months, trying to make sense of this mess called a library.” He sensed a shift in the air, or was perhaps just caught off by their silence, and turned to his siblings with a curious look. “What?”

“You really haven’t planned anything?” Cal asked in all sincerity.

“It’s Blessed Hearts Day, you idiot.” Lia just told him, forgoing sincerity or letting him get there on his own.

Rolan’s eyes widened. He had completely forgotten the date on the calendar. “I…of course not!” He lied. “It’s just that Tav and I have no need for such superficial, frivolous holidays.”

“Are you sure? Did you ask them?” Lia asked. Stepping a little closer and peering past his side when he turned around to avoid an answer. “Look, I’ll be the first to admit Tav is a cool customer when it comes to things. But even heroic adventures like a little romance now & then.”

“And how would you know?” Rolan bit at her.

“Look Rolan, you need to plan something.” Cal told him. “Even if you’re right and they things this is all ridiculous, what’s the harm? Worse the two of you have a good laugh. But if you’re wrong….” The male tieflings both gulped at the implication. “Better safe than sorry, is all I’m saying.”

His siblings continued to jeer & pester him for a while before Rolan blew up at them and requested to be left alone. Suddenly the wizard felt panicked. He couldn’t be caught out a fool tomorrow for forgetting the holiday, and it was nearly too late to plan anything properly.

Racking his usually clever brain that was coming up empty, Rolan remembered that in his sifting he had found a few magical pendants dusting up some trunks. Most were useless, but there were a few worth keeping or selling downstairs. Acting quickly Rolan went to get one that he thought would be suitable, wrapped it, and then waited for tomorrow to come with a sigh of relief that he had narrowly escaped danger once again. Who said he couldn’t be an adventurer as well?

“Oh Rolan! It’s stunning!” Tav cooed the next day when Rolan presented it to them. He smiled, pleased that he had pulled this off, and listened to Tav gush over his gift.

However, as they continued to praise him, Rolan suddenly felt sick to his stomach. “It’s nothing. Truly.” He felt awful now. Making them believe that he had been thoughtful and loving when in reality he had been neglectful & petty. “This is just something I found in the archive.” He told them honestly. “In truth I forgot all about this silly holiday, because it never mattered to me before. I never had someone to share it with. No Heart of my own. But…” Rolan reached out and took Tav’s hand in his, “I realize I was being self-centered. Thinking only of my own opinion as usual and not about you. I’m sorry.”

Tav of course accepted his apology and told him it wasn’t that big of a deal. Rolan just shook his head. “No. It is. You deserve someone who thinks of you. Someone that cherishes you, and doesn’t try to cheat his way out of it. Someone thoughtful.” The tiefling shifted to kneel down in front of Tav. “I promise I will try to be more considerate in the future. Think on the ‘we’ and not just ‘me’.” It would be hard. So much of Rolan’s life had been looking out for himself, because if he didn’t then no one would. But Rolan realized that it wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about them. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you something truly worthy of your value. But I’ll make every effort to make it up to you, and not repeat the same mistake next year.”

The adventurer chuckled and leaned forward to wrap their arms around Rolan’s neck. He accepted it and was at last truly relieved as he let out a sigh.

This was a stupid, frivolous holiday. But perhaps a little frivolity was worth the effort from time to time.

[kleine-joost]

Would You Still Love Me If I Was A Worm?

Joost Klein x Fem!Reader

a/n: um hi! this is my first joost fic, pls be kind lol

It’s the middle of the night where she is. Joost thought to himself. Why is she calling?

There was a flash of panic that ran through him, perhaps something seriously wrong, something’s happened; something that he could somehow help with countries away in a cold hotel room. He answered the call with a held breath.

“Schatje, what’s going on?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady through the worry.

He could hear your laugh–albeit muffled–on the other end of the phone. He breathed a sigh of relief that at least you were alright.

He called out your name a couple times, increasingly louder, until you properly answered him.

“Baby!” He could hear the smile in your voice, and the five espresso martinis you downed over dinner with your friends. 

“Are you okay?” The sound of your friends laughing in the background made him smile; as much as he missed you, he was glad you were still being social and not just holed up in your apartment for the whole time he was away.

“Yeah! We all just went out for dinner at that Italian restaurant Martijn had his birthday-” you hiccuped. “-I got that pasta again-still so good!”

Joost grinned, telling you he was glad. He remembered that pasta, and the night, you’d practically gone crazy for this sundried tomato-y, yet creamy sauce and made almost everyone at the long table down the middle of the restaurant try a bite. 

“I called for a reason…” You stated, and Joost hummed in response. “We were talking about this at dinner, like that tweet ‘would you still love me if i was a worm?’, so I wanna know!”

He let out a laugh, a warm laugh, an I-miss-you-and-all-the-random-things-you-think-of laugh. “Even if you were a worm, I would love you.”

“Really?” You answered with a certain twinkle in your voice, a squeak of just how touched you were.

“Of course! I’d even build you one of those worm farms and give you all my food, you’d love it,” he chuckled as he replied. “What about me? Would you love me if I was a worm?”

“We could be cute little worm buddies!” You giggled. “And we could go on little worm adventures!”

“What?” Joost crowed. 

“You know, like we could hang out with other worms and eat old apples and stuff!”

“I think you need to go to bed, Schatje,” he said in a firm tone. “And drink some water!”

“Okay…” you answered him, drawing out the ‘aye’ sound. “Can I call you when I wake up?”

“I might be on stage but I’ll message you before then.”

“Okay, love you, worm.”

“Love you, worm.” He hung up the phone with a smile.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Colored Seams (Astarion x GN! Reader)

Synopsis: Cazador is dead and the Spawn were released to the Underdark. You and Astarion could not be happier in the days that follow in spite of the looming Netherbrain Threat. You decide to do both of your laundry when a tragedy occurs- you accidentally destroyed his blanket.

CW: Dead Dove, Panic attack symptoms, fluffy, suggestive content, no specific pronouns mentioned or character traits

Author Note: Nobody’s Fool and Floozy are going to be updated tomorrow :)

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated- thank you so much for reading 💜 pic is mine

Cazador is dead- well he’s been dead for a solid week now, but, with the nature of this adventure, that even feels like months ago.

Astarion sent the spawn to the Underdark, he remarked his grave, and his spirit seems lighter. He has a lot more pep in his step, jokes more easily, and he has been very, very into PDA. Lae’zel has even gone out of her way to remark on how affectionate he has been with you in public.

Astarion’s confidence in himself is still a work in progress, but it makes your heart sing to know that he is slowly beginning to heal and you promised, in spite of the lack of sun your future holds, that you will be by his side to support him every step of the way.

He’s been exceptionally physically affectionate- you are still sore from the last several days of him ‘indulging’ in his newfound freedom. The sheets are a mess, your clothes are a mess, his clothes are a mess, and you are not about to let either one of you go out in obviously sex stained clothing.

You had decided to wash yours and Astarion’s things while he begrudgingly helped Gale retrieve old tomes from Sorcerer Sundries- Rolan’s recent instatement has allowed for Gale to read just about every tomb in the massive magic shop.

Ever since everyone found out Astarion could use spider climb, they have been asking him for his help in various tasks- he charges everyone (minus you, of course).

Gale had actually dragged Astarion along because he is technically looking for a book on your behalf for Astarion. He doesn’t know, but you and Gale have already begun the search for a Ring of Sunwalking.

Astarion loves the sun so much and you want to be able to give it to him- you all do. You could not be more proud of him and you find you enjoy acts of services and gift giving when it comes to him. He has had so little for so long and no one was taking care of him or making him feel special. You are very thankful that you get to be the one who provides him with these experiences.

For now, you don’t have a gift so you are going to surprise him with clean clothes!

He usually does the laundry because you hate doing it (something he learned and just kinda picked up on). You told him he didn’t need to and you feel bad for being a nuisance, but he would just roll his eyes, kiss you, and saunter off in the direction of the wash tub or wait until you are asleep so you can’t fret about it.

Astarion is actually quite adorable in his laundry routine- he even has a bag specifically for laundry soaps and scents. The man is right- he really did miss his calling as a perfumer.

You started with both your clothes. You used herbs for scent, soap for cleanliness, and Halsin helped to dry them with Wind. You then moved onto your bed sheets.

However, you realize you made a horrific mistake after it’s far, far too late.

Astarion’s comfort blanket, his first and only item while under Cazador, was torn apart. It had gotten twisted inside the sheets and it already hadn’t been strong enough to begin with. You didn’t even know you threw it in with the rest! You would never do that on purpose! You know it has to be washed gently and carefully.

“Tav?”

You are crying, entirely unaware of the fact that Halsin is widely concerned as you stare in horror at the murder scene before you.

“I destroyed his blanket!” Your voice is strained and your eyes must look as crazy as you feel because Halsin is looking very concerned for you.

“I am sure he will under-“

You are hyperventilating- there is no rhyme or reason and it doesn’t seem to matter what Halsin says- your mind is spiraling a mile a minute into oblivion.

He is going to dump you- Gods he may even leave and that thought terrifies you more than anything else.

You feel your lungs collapse in your chest and you can’t breathe.

You just wanted to do something nice for him.

You rush back to your bed after a brief pit stop at your shared room (you were forced, Gale was tired of waking up to you and Astarion being ‘adults’)- and you have pulled out every piece of yarn you can find. The majority of the blanket is intact, but there are chunks that have been unraveled.

The yarn is a faded gray color and all you have is your favorite color of yarn and a passionate hatred for mending things. It’s thankfully the same consistency and thickness, but Withers only knows how much time and patience you have.

Back to the room you go.

It takes you a few moments to study the pattern, but you immediately begin your work. Your fingers are pricked and sore, unsteady and clumsy. You have never been the best sewer, knitter, etc. so you can only hope that it can make up for even the smallest bit of destruction.

You finish right as you hear his voice ring through the main room- he is heckling Gale about something and you feel like you may very well vomit.

You had moved your things to the corner, just in case, but you still aren’t prepared to face him. Your tears begin to fall again.

You destroyed his blanket.

You are shaking and there is a lump forming in your throat as you try to stop your tears, ready to face probably one of the worst moments on this journey thus far.

He walks into your shared room- all smiles, but his mood quickly changes when he notices all of your things are packed away and your cheeks are tear stained. He looks sick with worry and now you feel even worse.

“My love?” Astarion’s frantic voice makes your stomach turn, “my love- what did I do wrong? What is it? How can I fix this?”

He is already at your side- Astarion’s eyes are filled with unshed tears and he is going to reach for you, but you just hold out the blanket between you.

The silence in the room is deafening and when he takes it- you clasp your shaking hands together and stare at your feet.

Astarion certainly must hate you- there is no way he can forgive you for this.

“I-I was just trying to do our laundry,” you whisper, “and I didn’t realize your blanket was rolled up inside our sheets and it… it fell apart.

“I tried to fix it the best I could, but I- I already know this is unforgivable and I am so unbelievably sorry, Astarion, and I know we are definitely over after this, but please don’t leave. I don’t want you to get hurt or turned into a mindflayer and if it’s that painful, I will just leave and-“

You and your rambling mouth are engulfed in a massive hug that stuns you to your core and you feel cool lips press a gentle kiss to your temple.

You fall apart- all the fear and anxiety from the last few hours has finally hit you. You are struggling to contain yourself and self-regulation isn’t happening. Every abandonment wound you have ever had has been ripped open and left to bleed everywhere inside the room.

“I’m so sorry,” you are still a mess, “I am so so sorry, Astarion.”

“My Dear,” he pulls back, tilting your chin so you are looking at him, “it is okay. I forgive you.”

You blink a few times with your lower lip still trembling. Astarion’s smile is sad as he wipes away your tears and kisses the space around the corners of your mouth before placing one on the tip of your nose. He smiles brightly when your lips finally curve upward a bit.

“At the beginning of this journey, I think I would have been exceptionally mad,” he admits, “but, now? Well, my Love,” he smiles at the blanket in his hand, “I was considering getting rid of it- it’s a reminder of my past in a lot of ways I don’t wish to remember.

“It’s perfect now- it feels like it belongs to me again and not the person Cazador bullied me into being,” his eyes glow with happiness, “I also know you despise this kind of activity and doing laundry- I greatly appreciate you doing both for me this evening, my Dear.”

Your smile cracks open your face and your tears are now filled with relief. You hug him tightly and he holds you back- equally as relieved that it wasn’t a big deal.

And it’s not- Astarion genuinely isn’t all that upset about it. Sure it’s not ideal, but you know what no one has ever done for him before? Fix something of his they broke- or at the very least attempted to. He finds himself grinning like a moron at your clumsy stitching and he adores that your favorite color is brightening up the blanket much like you have brightened up his entire world.

Nor has anyone done his laundry! You did a really good job too.

“You are very good at laundry, my dear,” he muses, “maybe I need to have you teach me some time.”

He can hear you roll your eyes as you put away your items again. Astarion began making the bed- you in all of your panic had completely forgotten to do.

“Oh please- we both know it’s a miracle I didn’t turn everything pink again by accident!”

You had made the mistake of grabbing a red bottle thinking it was laundry soap (at the beginning of the journey, mind you) and your stuff looked ridiculous because the bottle had actually been dyed. Your hands looked like you had just come back from brutalizing someone. Astarion had been the one to help you reverse the horrid mistake.

“That is a positive,” he laughs, coming up behind you and admiring the way you smile in the mirror while he wraps his arms around you, “I am glad I won’t be in some blotchy reddish, pink attire.”

“We would be matching ALL THE TIME though.”

“That, my Love, did not make you dying my laundry pink anymore appealing.”

You throw your head back with laughter- your makeup has created lines down your neck with your tears and you still haven’t had a chance to bathe nor has Astarion.

Astarion plays with the hem of your pants and kisses along your neck.

“You know, practice does make perfect,” he murmurs against your thrumming pulse, “and cleaning another would certainly be good laundry practice.”

You hum in agreement, “that is a good point and I could certainly use the practice.”

“I would be more than happy to demonstrate- I have been told I am an excellent teacher.”

Your grin is wide and your eyes are blown wide with lust- it makes him incredibly satisfied to see you react to him in the mirror and knowing that only he can make you feel this way.

You grab his hand, pulling him towards the washroom.

“We best get started then. I am an eager pupil, after all.”

Astarion’s grin threatens to split open his face and he allows you to pull him along- throwing the blanket onto the bed so that you can mend yourselves together in a different kind of way.

[dekariosclan]

Hello my friend! 👋🏻😁🥰

(I have been writing my novel, and now I guess I'm making it everyone's problem 🤣😅 I hope this ask isn't too boring and niche)

So there's that line in the epilogue, I'm not sure what ending it is, where Gale talks about having a go at writing a book about some of the gang's adventures

I am pretty sure I didn't hallucinate this but also can't quite remember the exact details

I have been trying to write my novel myself, and just got to wondering - what kind of writer do you think Gale would be, as he worked on this project?

Imagine Gale, happily married to his beloved Tav, trying to write this book on the side of whatever his profession is - professorship, or adventuring, or whatever else

Would he be meticulous and organised and disciplined? Would he be a chaotic, creative whirlwind of energy? Would he plan everything to the nth detail, or just go with the flow and wing it?

Would he be harsh on himself and perfectionistic, do you think? Or would he be joyful and confident in his abilities?

Basically, give me your writer Gale HCs, oh wonderful Gale Expert 🙏🏻 and I can chew on them like a haribo to give myself comfort when I cannot write 🤣

I love you and thank you 🫂🫂🫂

If it helps you write your novel, you can make your problems my problems anytime!! I already know your finished book is going to be amazing & I’m as excited as Gale thinking about a first edition from Sorcerous Sundries 👀 💜

Now, you are referring to this dialogue (which you did not hallucinate lol):

So, to your ask—

Would he be meticulous and organised and disciplined? yes

Would he be a chaotic, creative whirlwind of energy? yes

Would he plan everything to the nth detail, or just go with the flow and wing it? yes

Would he be harsh on himself and perfectionistic, do you think? yes

Or would he be joyful and confident in his abilities? yes

In short: I believe Gale would be all of those things. Constantly. At different times, or sometimes all at the same time, or sometimes every other week, or sometimes not at all.

M’dear, you are a creative. I am a creative. Gale is a creative. And it doesn’t matter if you’re a writer or a designer or a wizard, being a creative is

✨HARD✨

and frustrating and wonderful and amazing. And also, at times, just straight up torture.

And not even the talented and loquacious Gale Dekarios can escape that truth.

So, I think what Gale would do is exactly what we all do when we are creating: he’d use his

to get inspired, and then begin the messy, METICULOUS, imperfect, nitpicky, spontaneous process of creation.

And anytime he had a frustrating or unproductive day—which, again, we all do—he’d put down the quill pen. And then he’d go spend some quality time smooching with his beloved Tav, eat whatever the Waterdhavian equivalent of Haribo junk food is, firmly tell any lingering self-doubts or frustrations to

and plan to give writing another go on the morrow.

[writeshite]

Nothing Do Us Part

Summary:

The bastard smiled at you before picking the lock and forgoing any caution. “You shouldn’t be here,” You argue weakly. Astarion huffed, the cell door now wide open; you had yet to reach out in any manner, “Neither should you,” he counterargued, “you’re filthy, bloody and thin as a rake.” He took the first step and grabbed at your hand, staring disappointedly at the cuts and bruises lining your skin. “I’m taking you home to Hells with the Harpers and whoever else thinks they can take you from me.”

Pairings:

Astarion x Male!Reader

Tags:

Long-Haired Astarion | Bhaalspawn Reader | Ascended Astarion |

Words: 1828

Author's Note:

Guess who's not dead lmfao (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧ I found out there's a Bhaalspawn ending where they turn themselves in, and I was like, Ascended Astarion would not be happy about that.

The spawn came at first light, walking into Crimson Draughts with a curt smile; the curly mop of white that Araj had once hopped to brush her cheek whilst her life danced on the edge was now long curled trusses of hair reaching past his shoulders to his mid-back. “I need you to find someone.” His words went in one ear and out the other as Araj examined him; he was different from when she’d first set eyes on him and his intriguing companion in Moonrise.

“I’m surprised to see you alive, spawn,” she remarks. “I’d thought you dead in Moonrise.”

“Oh, hardly,” he laughs, “but I’m not here to discuss past adventures. As I said, I need you to find someone.”

“I heard you the first time, and I’m not a bloodhound,” she corrected.

“Hence my request, an expert of the sanguine arts, I believe is what you called yourself,” he fished a vial from his pockets, “I will reimburse you in as much gold and whatever equipment you require, as long as you find who I’m looking for and place an unerasable tether on said person. Understood?”

“Whose blood is it?” 

“Hardly any of your concern, is it? Now, will you take the job, or shall I pursue Sorcerers Sundries to find someone more willing to take my commission?” 

Araj huffed, “My, my, aren't we touchy? I’ll take your commission.”

The blood was intriguing. It radiated malice and murderous intent—as odd of observation as that was—the red would bloom darker colours before shifting back to red, and the odour was equally as odd, smelling too much like blood, a sharp, strong iron that piqued her interest. A godling’s blood? An Aasimar, perhaps? Though Araj wasn’t certain if such creatures bled, regardless, she had no doubt the spawn had brought her the blood of someone divine; whether said person was of the holy or unholy persuasion, she remained uncertain.

The Upper City was abuzz when Astarion returned; artisans, sages, pole-carters, and all manner of people traversed the streets of the Upper City. Astarion weaved through the crowd to his home in Manorborn, Ancunín Castle—his haven of estates he’d parted from a few patriar families—he’d spent quite some time hunting down artificers to add to his horde of spawn; he'd set them to work and rebuilt the castle from the grounds up to better suit his needs.

“Welcome home, Master Astarion,” Harette greeted him, a small bow accompanying her words; she took Astarion’s coat and folded it away as she caught him up on the morning’s events, “The artificers finished installing the sun-sift glass over the courtyards and atriums, and have begun casting warding glyphs per your instructions. The dungeons have been refurbished for the Rillyn’s children's stay, and you’ve a new bundle of invitations from other patriar families arrive this morning.” She finishes her morning catch-up as they reach his study.

“Thank you, Harette,” Astarion sat at his desk, dismissing her; he sifted through the invitations on his desk—Belt, Hullhollyn, Tillerturn—letters to their parties, brunches, and whatever else Astarion read through. He replies to them, declining their invitations with kind apologies and half-felt promises to join the next festivity; far more pressing matters needed Astarion’s attention. The Fist and Harpers had done a better job than expected covering their tracks whenever they moved you, but Astarion had come close a few times before, hence the need for the Drow, much to his displeasure. He may have been impervious to sunlight now, but the harpers had enlisted the help of Lathandernites and Selûnites, and Astarion wasn’t going to chance his resistance to sunlight, much less holy light. Astarion had been greatly against you turning yourself in; the stubborn persistence he’d usually find adorable became annoying, “If you’re worried about rampaging, you shouldn’t. I can keep you in line; I’ve done it before.”

“I wasn’t Bhaal’s Chosen then, just his progeny,” you’d corrected him, “I barely managed to hold myself back from harming you in the Shadow-Cursed Lands; I can’t—”

“I’m not some runaway spawn anymore; I’m a Vampire Ascendant.” Astarion had corrected bitterly, but despite his reassurances, he hadn’t been able to deter you from the decision, but it didn’t deter him. Some coin in the right purse and spawn or two in the right place, and he could visit you whenever he pleased, “You should leave.” You’d clung to him regardless of the venom in your words, desperate for some semblance of comfort; your initial prison had been some small nook under Wyrm's Rock Fortress, illuminated by torch and what bioluminescent fungi managed to break ground.

“I told you, pet,” he’d dug his nails in your back, later carving his name along your spine “lovers forever.” He absentmindedly traced the gauntlet you’d torn from Gortash’s body and had modified for Astarion, “I’m not sure if I should be honoured or revolted in some manner,” he’d joked then, yet the gauntlet still held its powerful magic and had been a constant presence on Astarion.

“I don’t remember much; I think I tore this from some patriar’s arm or stole it from a wizard before giving it to Gortash, I don’t know. What I do know is that I love you more than anything.”

“I’m meant to be a fearful Vampire,” he’d huffed, softening for a moment, “you make it quite hard to do so, pet.” Even as Bhaal’s murderous lunacy consumed your mind, a minuscule part of rationality remained, just enough to leave Astarion unharmed during his visits; the same could not be said about the Harpers tasked with guarding you. Astarion’s last visit was met with an empty prison and no Harpers in sight. Clever bastards had a headstart; he was almost offended by how well they predicted him following after them, but not surprised as Jaheira and Minsc had involved themselves in your transfer elsewhere before their expertise and skill were requested outside Baldur’s Gate.

The Drow asks for quite a hefty sum and a new plethora of equipment to complete her work, but she does manage, creating a tether as he’d requested; Astarion pays her for her service and prays he never needs it again. The tether leads to Myth Drannor, in the Dalelands, south of the River Tesh and some distance from Shadowdale; Astarion sneaks himself under the guise of a Harper, replacing the one he’d fed on some time prior, while he may have found where you were he now needed to find where specifically in Myth Drannor you were.

Everything was bloody. The floors of your cell were smeared in blood and dirt; the effigy you’d built yielded no response from your father. Nothing did. Pleading, crying, screaming, and tearing at your meat suit did nothing but elicit silence from the Lord of Murder. Your breaths were rugged and short, coming in quick succession as you fought to keep yourself in control of your person; Bhaal’s silence drove your mind to wander, to sing for blood; you shook your head and screamed, whacking the piled rats and punching the nearest wall. You repeated the action until you felt less like clawing at your meat suit.

You were quick to notice the pale elf approaching your cell, and you shook your head as your eyes widened when you recognised Astarion. The bastard smiled at you before picking the lock and forgoing any caution. “You shouldn’t be here,” You argue weakly.

Astarion huffed, the cell door now wide open; you had yet to reach out in any manner, “Neither should you,” he counterargued, “you’re filthy, bloody and thin as a rake.” He took the first step and grabbed at your hand, staring disappointedly at the cuts and bruises lining your skin. “I’m taking you home to Hells with the Harpers and whoever else thinks they can take you from me.” 

“How did you find me?” You stared at him desperately, holding his hand for dear life. 

“That drow we met at Moonrise has her uses,” he responds, tugging at your arm, “we can catch up when we’re far from here.” 

You followed without resistance, shuffling along the dark narrow corridors, it was luck that you didn’t bump into anyone on your way out, or the journey back to Baldurs Gate. It’s another miracle Astarion sneaks you through to the Upper City without spilling any blood. He led you to a large set of manors lumped under one estate by the looks of the courtyard, a handful of people moved about tending to said courtyard—sweeping, trimming the hedges, polishing the statuettes, and cleaning the fountains.

“Nice home,” you commented.

“Thank you, pet,” the elf is cheerfully proud of his home. The servants stop in their work when they spot Astarion, and all bow, returning to their work respectively once the elf walks past them. The interior is as lavish as the exterior—a richly coloured rug drew a path along the floor; at each side, paintings and columns alternated along the walls as chandeliers lined the ceiling above. More servants are also busy at work here; they bow the same as the ones outside and only continue their work once Astarion has passed them. 

The servants give you uncertain glances, confusion and fear in their expressions. “Ignore them pet; they should know better,” Astarion hissed, and their gazes darted away.

“Are they spawn?” you inquire.

“Most,” he shrugged in response, leading you through the halls to a room devoid of anyone else close by. His room, no doubt. “Some outsiders from the Outer City looking for a new life.” He led you to a tub and ran it with water and just about every perfume and soap he had at his disposal and all but begs you to step into the tub. It takes five cases of andanthe and shampoo to clean your hair thoroughly and two pitchers of a strong-scented liquid wash soap to wash out the dirt from the skin. Astarion picks up the skin and food between your teeth and shoves a whole stick of tooth powder down your throat.

“Is this necessary?” you cough at the strong, minty taste as the tooth powder turns to foam in reaction with saliva.

“If you want my cock and tongue down your throat,” Astarion scrubbed your second set of canines, “then yes.”

The water is dirty brownish-red when you step out of the tub; it’s strange to be without grime after so long, you look at yourself in the mirror. Despite everything, it was still you. 

Astarion draped a fluffy towel over your shoulders, “Tomorrow, we’ll get a tailor and cobbler in here for you.”

“You want to doll me up?” you snort. 

Astarion rolled his eyes, “You need to blend in,” he lightly chastised, “and I have an appearance standard to adhere to.” He huffed, drawing a chuckle from you. “After the tailor and cobbler, we’ll take care of your hair.”

“Hmm,” you nod as he dried off your body. “Whatever you say, starlight.”

End Note:

This started off as a Drabble but then we ended up here with another AU 🤪💀. The way I had to go look at a map of Baldurs Gate and was reminded how shit I am at reading maps lmfao 😭 I have read the Forgotten Realms wiki on so much for this fic. Stay Hydrated.

[percki]

on my knees

tags: 18+, mature content, MDNI, Gale x reader, f!Tav, 2nd person pronouns, act 3, semi-public sex, porn w/o plot, lap dance, explicit consent, bondage, restraints, dom/sub, switch Gale, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), lap sex, hand jobs, overstimulation, orgasm denial, praise kink

ao3 link

“Urgh.” Rolan stands up, wiping a smear of Lorroakan’s blood off the sleeve of his robes. “Your aasimar friend is… violent.”

“I’m so sorry for the mess, Rolan. We can clean everything up –” You glance around the upper level of the tower, at the holy fire, congealed mud, pasty mixture of water and ash, and a fair amount of blood. At the wizard’s broken body, his face swollen with bruises, his mouth agape, sprawled at the foot of his throne of books. “– Um, but it might take a while.”

Rolan waves one long-nailed hand in your direction, his discolored face grateful – if not a bit exasperated. “Don’t worry about it, my friend. You have already done so much for me – consider my debt forgiven, and all will be well.” You smile at that, watching the tiefling wizard grunt with exertion as he hauls Lorroakan’s body towards the portal. “And, erm – help yourself to any treasures you come across, of course. I’ll be… downstairs…” He pushes the corpse through the shimmering portal, and sends you one last earnest, sharp-toothed smile over his shoulder. “...Burying a body.”

With that, Rolan pushes up the sleeves of his robes (sorcerer’s robes, trimmed in silver, unbefitting for a wizard, but they suit him well nonetheless) and steps through the portal, no doubt bracing himself to break the news to his new employees. ‘Hey, so remember those adventurers that just came in? They killed Lorroakan, violently, and I’m your boss now. Surprise!’ You’re sure the staff at Sorcerous Sundries have endured worse surprises; working for Lorroakan sounds akin to an eternity of torture in the Hells.

Aylin sheathes her sword and crosses over to you, removing her helmet. Her ash-blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and her gold-streaked face glistens with blood and sweat. “I shall be at your camp, if you have need of me,” she declares, and inclines her head in gratitude. “You fought well – as you have before. I remain thankful for your assistance.” Less wordy than usual – Lorroakan’s death must be weighing on her. You don’t blame her.

“Thank you, Dame Aylin,” you say, and bow in respect. She smiles at that, silver eyes gleaming.

“Ooh, wait!” Karlach runs up to you, her arms full of wine bottles – no doubt pilfered from Lorroakan’s hidden stash. The woman has a nose for alcohol – she could find a bottle of Baldur’s Grape blindfolded, disoriented, in the middle of a rainstorm. Shadowheart is close behind, a new cloak slung over her shoulders and a fair amount of gold filling her pockets. “We’ll probably go back to camp, too – Fringe and I have to try all this wine.”

“To make sure it isn’t poisoned,” Shadowheart adds, green eyes twinkling with humor. “You can handle yourselves without us, can’t you?”

You grin. “Save a bottle of Mermaid Whiskey for me.”

“Blech. You can have it all.” Karlach sticks out her split tongue, her smile wide. “See ya!” She bolts through the portal head-first: dangerous, with the amount of alcohol in her arms and the fiery infernal engine in her chest. You hear a distant crash, and wince.

Shadowheart follows close behind, calling, “Save the Tyche Pink!”

You hear the rush of wings and look over – Aylin is gone, too, a flash of silver in the clear blue sky. You watch her fly, the wind buffeting her white wings – deva-like, altogether unnatural, inhuman, beautiful in an untouchable, deadly, frightening way – as she soars. The sunlight seems to collect around her, like a remnant of her celestial mother’s power lingers, still, even after the heat and rage of battle is done.

“And then there were two.”

Gale’s voice snaps you out of your reverie. You look up, meeting his eyes. Dark brown, deep, gentle, shining with a light all too familiar. He’s standing by the throne of books, his right hand resting on a copy of Folktales of Faerún: The Angelic Aasimar. 

You kneel over the ashes of the water myrmidon, sifting through the remains for treasure. Nothing. “I suppose Rolan will take a while…” You look around the tower once more, keen eyes picking out chests, display cases, bookshelves – anything that could hide a nice new set of robes for Gale, or a dagger for Astarion, or perhaps some armor for Wyll… “Will you cast Feather Fall? I want to look on the lower levels…” You trail off, reading something in Gale’s eyes. His fingers flex on the spine of the book, his shoulders thrown back, his lilac robes fitting his form well. Is he… posing? You smile and straighten, dusting ash off your sleeves, and move to his side, twining your left arm with his right, leaning comfortably against his side. “The Annals are in the vaults,” you say, knowing his primary objective here, halfheartedly attempting to lift his spirits. Thoughts of the Crown are dangerous – you have seen how easily the lure of power can corrupt, a thousand times (with Kagha in the Emerald Grove, with Minthara at the goblin camp, with Ketheric and Gortash and now Lorroakan). But despite your reservations, you know his ambition fuels him, that it drives his fire, that thoughts of greatness and respect do raise his spirits. “We could go down ourselves…”

Gale turns into you, resting his forehead on your shoulder, his beard scratching at your neck. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, and sighs deeply, inhaling your scent – blood and smoke and sweat, and the faintest hints of his cologne lingering on your skin. “I… Not yet,” he says vaguely, and kisses your neck again, deeper this time. Your breath hitches as he trails long, searing kisses up your neck, along the line of your jaw, leading up to your lips.

“Gale…” You whisper, voice low. “I –” He nips at your bottom lip, smiling against your chin, and you can feel your face heat up. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says devilishly, oak eyes sparkling, looking up at you through thick, dark lashes. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and you can feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. “I can’t believe…” He blinks, as if waking from a dream, and cradles your jaw with his hand, straightening to his full height.

You kiss him, this time, tasting blood on his lips, and you stop, examining his face carefully. A bruise is forming at the bridge of his nose, blood tracing a path down the apex of his lips to his chin. You frown, brow creasing in worry. “You’re hurt.”

“Hm?” Gale touches his face gingerly, delicate, careful fingers prodding the quickly-purpling skin. “Oh. Yes. That. It’s quite alright –”

“It’s not alright,” you reply. “Let me heal you.” You take his shoulders in your hands and guide him into a seated position on Lorroakan’s throne, his back reclined against a collection of Ramazith’s annotated tomes. You kneel before him, positioning yourself between his legs, and summon a simple healing incantation, your hand hovering over his nose, the blue glow of the spell reflected in his eyes. “Te curo,” you murmur, and watch as his skin knits itself together, blood drying, swelling fading, the bruise vanishing beneath your fingers. “Better?”

“Better,” he admits, and looks at you with intent in his eyes, his gaze dark and focused on your features. “My love,” he starts, then hesitates. His face turns a delicious shade of pink.

“Yes?” You lean forward, hanging onto his words. He adjusts his legs, his thighs bracketing your shoulders, and you feel the slightest thrill at your compromising position, you in your armor and him in his robes, you kneeling before him like a supplicant at an altar.

“Rolan may not return for some time,” Gale says. “We could…” He stops again, biting his lip.

You guess his meaning immediately – your thoughts are remarkably in-tune. You can’t deny that you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wished for… Well. For Gale. Your peaceful nights since arriving in the Lower City have been few and far between, interrupted as they are: by vampires, by nightmares, by Orin’s ministrations. It’s been some time since you and Gale had time to yourselves.

And now, it seems, you have all the time in the world.

“Do you want to?” You question, and his eyes darken, his pupils expanding infinitesimally. You lean forward, cupping his cock with your hand, and smile to feel him already half-hard beneath your touch.

“I – yes,” he breathes, and raises his hand to cast Mage Hand, the incantation on his lips, when you catch him by the wrist, holding him still.

“No magic,” you say breathlessly, and straighten back up to your full height, smiling down at him. “As mortals do, remember?”

Gale watches you intently as you undo the first few buckles of your armor, leather slipping between your fingers. He sits up, reaching out his hands to help –

And you push him back.

“Don’t move,” you warn him, and plant one hand securely on his chest, holding him in place, as you draw a piece of silken fabric out of your pack. You hold it up for him to see, and upon realizing your intention, his eyes widen, pupils expanding impossibly wide. “Do you want this?” You ask, and he confirms with a nod of his head. You narrow your eyes and lean in, your face centimeters away from his, your breath ghosting on his lips. “Say it, please, love.”

He swallows thickly, eyes locked on yours, and says, his voice a rumble in his chest, “I want you to tie me up.”

You smile, and reward him with a bruising, biting kiss. “Good boy,” you murmur, and relish the way his face reddens, his jaw going slightly slack at the praise. “Lean forward for me?” He acquiesces, already holding his hands behind his back, and you climb up into his lap to twine the silk around his wrists, your touch featherlight and gentle. You test the knot, and smile. Not too tight – but he certainly won’t get any ideas about spellcasting. “Does that feel okay?”

“Yes,” he says into your shoulder, his voice muffled by the layers of your armor. You stand back up and step completely out of your clothes, metal buckles and buttons clinking as your many layers fall to the floor, and then you stand before Gale in your undergarments, your skin rising with goosebumps from the cool air, his eyes roving a path up and down your figure.

You feel a little warm from the intensity of his gaze, but you steel your nerves and continue. You reach out with your senses, using the knowledge of the Weave that Gale taught you of so long ago, and you can feel a soft tinkling at the edge of your perception, the distant sound of music, and you pull it towards you. In one of the pleasure dens far below, a slow, sensual number starts up, and you filter the sound through the available space, filling the tower with music.

Gale’s lips part as he realizes your plan. “Love,” he starts, “I haven’t –”

You feel a twinge of self-doubt, standing there near-nude before a man who is completely clothed. You have no experience with this whatsoever – apart from what you have read and seen – and you’re not sure that Gale loves you enough to forgive you if you make a total ass of yourself. “This is okay, right?” You rush to ask, holding your hands out for his before realizing that he’s still tied. You tuck them behind your back, straightening your posture. “Um – I know this is probably unusual, but, you know, in the Quarta Sune –”

Gale grins, his dimples making a rare appearance, and the sight of it pulls at your heartstrings. “You are perfect,” he promises, lifting his dark eyes up to your face. “This is perfect. Please, keep going.”

The slight rasp of his voice goes straight to your core, and you step forward before you’re entirely conscious of your movements, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He leans into you with a groan, and you can feel his shoulders move, his hands resisting the bindings, and you pull back. “No touching,” you say softly, “right? This is about you.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his expression adorably resentful, and you laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Later,” you promise, and with that, you stand up, and turn away from him, facing the windows, the setting sun illuminating your skin. The music restarts, strings amping up, and you sway your hips to the tune, letting instinct take over. One, two, three, you breathe, feeling the rhythm run through you, and as the music crescendos, you drop down onto Gale’s lap, your ass just brushing over his thighs, hoping your undulating body looks sensual rather than spasmodic, and your efforts are rewarded with a delicious, blinding groan from behind you. You turn back around to face him – one, two, three – and lean in close, your scent intoxicating, his body warming your skin, and bracket his legs with your knees, one hand carding through his hair and the other slowly unbuttoning his robes, your knuckles barely brushing the velvet-soft hair on his chest. You slide your hands down the planes of his torso, and then, just as he’s leaning forward, again, anticipating your lips on his –

You step back again, turning, lifting your hands over your head and letting your hair down, smiling to yourself as you peek over your shoulder at his exasperated face. One, two, three. You let your ass ghost over his lap again, closer this time, holding there for a few moments longer than he considers tolerable, and just as his patience goes and his hips buck, you return to your starting position, looking down at him chidingly.

“Please,” he whispers, and you raise your brows, your hands going to the clasp of your bra. He watches, rapt, as you slide the fabric off your breasts and let it fall to the ground atop your discarded armor, your nipples peaking in the cool air. You repeat the motion with your panties, and you’re sure Gale catches sight of the soaked fabric as you toss it aside: his face turns a flattering shade of crimson, his arms straining against his silken ropes.

“How can I deny you?” You say, and with smooth, uninterrupted movements, you slide onto his lap, rocking your hips back and forth, tantalizingly slow, atop him. His robes slip open completely, and you can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his undergarments, barely brushing against the skin of your thighs. Your hands roam along the skin of his chest, thumbs swirling careful circles in the dips of his collarbone and shoulders, your palms warm against his skin. “You’re doing so well,” you praise him, and lean forward to kiss along the line of his clavicle, then slowly up his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, tasting his sandalwood cologne, his soapy shaving cream, the sweat and salt lingering there, your tongue pulsing against his jaw. “So good for me,” you continue, running your hands through his hair, “you’re perfect, Gale.”

And then, surprising him, you slide off his lap and drop to your knees, slotting your body perfectly in between his legs, and in one swift motion, you free his aching cock from his undergarments and lean forward once more, fitting your lips around the head.

“O-oh,” he moans, straining to keep still as you take him deeper, your hands tracing patterns on the skin of his thighs, reaching up to his hips, your nails scratching lightly, and then, as you adjust yourself and push him back so as to get more leverage, you wrap one hand around his shaft and devote the other one to palm gently at his balls, still a touch too gentle. “Mmm – more,” he sighs, and you obey, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock and then fitting it back in your mouth, deep enough to brush the back of your throat, pre-cum salty on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, looking up at him through lowered lashes, and his mouth falls open, releasing the most pleasurable moans and groans, sighs and mewls slipping between his lips, chanted noises that may be words – you catch the sound of your name, and please, and yes, in the chorus of sounds that escape his chest, rising and falling in octave with every swipe of your tongue and bob of your head. “P-please,” he says again, “please, let me –”

You guess his meaning, and reach behind him; the movement sending his cock to the very back of your throat, and his back arches in pleasure; and pull the strings of his bindings, untying his hands. The moment he’s free, he takes your head in his hands, cradling your jaw, and lets his fingers twine in the strands of your hair as you suck with renewed eagerness, sliding back nearly completely only to take him in fully again, the feel of his cock in your mouth dizzying, intoxicating, sending white-hot shivers through your body –

You glance down, and through the haze of pleasure, through the shadows of sunset, through the sweat and slick on your body, you see a flash of blue cupping your cunt, and you can suddenly feel the gentle, not-quite-there brush of the Mage Hand’s fingers against your clit. You war between pleasure and indignation for a moment – and indignation wins. You pull back, Gale’s weeping cock inches away from your mouth but still suspended in midair, and he huffs, putting his hands over his eyes, his pleasure cut short just on the path to climax. “Why did you –”

“No magic,” you repeat, and you can feel the Mage Hand dissolve. Gale peeks out from through his fingers, caught, and not the least bit ashamed. “Do I need to tie you up again? Completely, this time?”

“I –” His cock twitches, beads of precum leaking from the tip, stunning the both of you into silence.

You let a devilish grin slide across your face. “Oh. You want me to tie you up, love? Top to tip, completely trussed up for me?” You pull away from him and reach in your pack for more ribbon. “Red or purple, my sweet?”

Gale manages an arrogant smile, his face still flushed red. “Purple, of course.”

“Good choice,” you grin, and stand, running the ribbons through your hands reverently. “This will only take a minute,” you promise. “Why don’t you take those bothersome clothes off before I get started?”

He does, and you let your eyes run over his figure appreciatively for a minute before going to work. Hands on the ‘arms’ of the throne, the ribbon secured around a stack of encyclopedias. His legs against the respective ‘legs’ of the throne, straining slightly against his bonds. You stand before him, and he angles his hips up slightly, his eyes pleading.

“So cooperative,” you murmur, running your hands gently up his thighs. “So patient. So good.” You lift your hand to your mouth and spit on your fingers, holding eye contact, and he breathes shakily as you wrap your hand around his cock, leaning forward, mouthing kisses along his neck and collarbone. You start slowly, tantalizingly, pumping your hand along his length with a careful, measured speed that makes Gale’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Please – more,” he moans, his lips chasing yours. “Faster.”

You acquiesce, moving quicker, twisting your wrist the way you know that he likes. His breaths come faster, too, a mindless stream of yes and please and more coupled with your name falling from his mouth. You kiss him with bruising intensity, feeling his cock twitch in your fingers, his body straining against his bonds.

He comes with a muffled yell, his eyes rolling completely back in his head, and you kiss him fiercely as his come paints your stomach and thighs where you sit atop him. “Please – gods – please, untie me, let me –”

You smile against his lips and loosen the ribbons, yelping when his arms encircle you with surprising strength, lifting you up by your thighs and laying you out on the tile floor of the tower, the ground cold on your skin, your head canted back as Gale trails kisses down your thighs. “Ah – Gale,” you sigh as his fingers whisper up the inside of your legs, your skin rising with goosebumps. “I can’t –” You try to lift your head, to see where he is and what he’s doing, but your neck won’t cooperate. “What –”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Gale murmurs into your thigh, his hand lifting your leg to his lips, his beard tickling your skin pleasantly. “There’s only so long I can go without magic, my love. I thought –” Here, his tongue slides up to your cunt, tracing around your lips gently, and you moan, your boneless body arching in pleasure. “I thought you might enjoy feeling how I felt. Constrained. At my mercy.” His tongue winds a circle around your clit, and your breaths come faster, your thighs shaking madly. “Do you?”

“Do I – ah – what?”

“Enjoy it,” Gale says into your cunt, and the vibration makes you shudder.

“I – yes, I – please, I want to touch you, I want to –”

“Mmm,” Gale hums, his tongue working careful, restrained circles around your clit, dipping down to taste your slick. “Not yet.”

It’s been less than two minutes, and you’re already shaking, riding high, your eyes unfocused, as Gale takes you apart with his tongue. The painted constellations of the ceiling dance in and out of focus, and your moans echo around the circular tower, a mix of yes and please and Gale falling from your mouth, a reminder of the way you coaxed Gale’s orgasm from him with delicate fingers not five minutes before. “Gale, I – oh, gods, I can’t – please, I want to see you, I –”

The spell breaks, and you lift your head to see Gale’s face completely buried in your cunt, his sweaty hair spread out on your thighs, his eyes closed in ecstasy, and the image is enough to send you over the edge, a scream in your throat, your legs shaking wildly as you come, Gale’s tongue still working at you gently, until the sensation is too much and you kick him softly, signaling get off me, because your vocal cords aren’t working at the moment.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and crawls up to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, salty-sweet and heady. “But we should probably go before Rolan comes back. I suspect we won’t have an opportunity to take advantage of his hospitality again.”

“Gale…” You wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, your eyes fluttering shut. “You might have to Dimension Door us out of here. I don’t think my legs will move.”

“I’ll carry you,” he smiles, and helping you stand, he laces his robes back up and aids you in buckling your armor. “Now come. There’s a bath at the Elfsong that’s calling my name.”

You sigh softly, leaning your head into his shoulder, and watch dreamily as he conjures the portal. “Wait – what about the Annals?”

“Oh.” Gale looks down at the lower levels of the tower. “I suppose we’ll have to come back tomorrow.” He looks almost downcast, but then the expression fades, and he’s just Gale again, smiling at you. “Let’s go.”

[chimchiri]

Poll Adventure: Rarijack Dinner

Index | [prev] - Part 06 - [next] Special thanks to @babydarkstar for putting out the lovely writing! <3

Previous Poll:

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A tall, willowy woman sits crouched on her knees, tending to a fruiting garden with her back to AJ. Her long pink hair is tied up in a thoughtless knot, though the green ribbon holding it together makes it elegant. A basket sits beside her, half-full with newly harvested veggies, flowers, mushrooms, and greens. As she works, the tune she hums floats across the yard, accompanied by birdsong that chirps along, and the occasional chatter from a chipmunk joining in.

As usual, Fluttershy is surrounded by a sundry of critters. Today there are butterflies flitting around her shoulders, beetles dancing at her knees, a wild doe that rests beside her with its long legs tucked under its body, a tortoise that munches on the kale from her basket, and a roundup of squirrels chattering away as they help her find ripe cherry tomatoes. And of course, Angel—the mischievous bunny that can get away with nearly anything, because he’s Fluttershy’s darling boy. For now, he sits directly behind her, scratching idly at his neck with his hind leg. Bodyguard duty.

A tiny, bright blue flash approaches Flutters and hovers in the air beside her, a delicate flower in tow. Flutters looks over to the proffered gift, removes a glove and holds out her hand out to let the hummingbird drop the flower into her palm. She places it in her hair before letting the bird land on her finger.

“Thank you, Hummingway,” she chimes, bringing the microscopic bird up to nuzzle at her cheek with a soft laugh.

For a moment, AJ can only watch in awe. Fluttershy’s uncanny ability to commune with nature never gets old. A grin breaks out on her face. She’s glad she decided to stop here first; she can feel her stress melting away.

“Fluttershy,” AJ calls from the pathway leading to Fluttershy’s front door, and the woman in the garden yelps, shoulders tensing in a defensive pose. Applejack cringes as Flutters turns to face her, eyes wide.

“Oh—goodness,” she says, a hand to her chest, “Applejack, you startled me.”

“Sorry—sorry,” AJ says with a sheepish smile, stepping over to grab the basket and offering Flutters a hand.

Fluttershy stands, brushing the grass and dirt from her pants and tucking her gloves into a pocket before bending down to scoop Angel up into her arms, bidding farewell to the other critters retreating from their garden duties—the ones that didn’t flee when Applejack broke their peaceful moment.

“Well, it’s good to see you, AJ,” Flutters says in that soft voice of hers, reaching a hand out for the basket in AJ’s hand. But the farmer gives a little shake of her head, insisting she carry it as they step out of the garden patch and over to the cobblestone pathway.

“Um, you really don’t have to carry it for me…but thank you,” she says, stroking at one of Angel’s fuzzy ears, to busy her anxious hands, “Come in, I was going to make tea.”

So AJ follows Fluttershy into her charming little bungalow, locked in a staring contest with Angel, who looks at her over Fluttershy’s shoulder like he would maim AJ if he had sharper teeth. Setting the harvest basket on a bench by the door, AJ watches the timid woman put a kettle on to boil and then putter about the open floor plan of the downstairs as she fusses with putting her veggies in the sink and tidying whatever she deems out of place. As they wait for the water to boil, they make idle small talk—the weather’s been nice, Twilight (yes, Twilight) is planning a surprise party for Pinkie Pie, how are the horses?

Once Fluttershy pours tea into cups on a tray and leads them to the den, she takes a timid sip before looking to AJ. “It’s always nice to see you, Applejack. Did you need me to help with something? Is Winona doing okay?” A look of panic flashes across her face and her eyes go wide. “She didn’t get into the horse feed again, did she? Oh dear…I told her only to eat her own food….”

Her brows pull up in concern as she meets AJ’s gaze, who shakes her head with a chuckle. “No, Winona’s alright—she loves the new food”—(“Oh, thank goodness…”)—“I’m actually…I’m here because I had a favor to ask.”

Applejack rubs the back of her neck. Shit, she’s nervous. Thinking about consulting her friends is one thing, but actually doing it is something else entirely.

“Oh?”

AJ grabs her tiny teacup from the tray and blows on the tea, unable to look at Fluttershy. “Uh, yeah—I, uh. I’m goin’ on a date. And I need some advice.”

“A date!” exclaims Flutters, louder than her usual delicate tone as she flashes a grin, her soft blue eyes glittering. “That’s wonderful.”

AJ can feel her ears turning ten shades of pink. “Heh, thanks. I’m stuck on a few things but I think you can help me out.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[dutifullylazybread]

CYOA - The Warp And Weft of Our Fates - A BG3 Choose Your Own Adventure - Part #1

And we're off! Here is part one of the community Choose Your Own Adventure!! :D

You swerved around a merchant’s stall, only just managing to not fall ass-over-teakettle into the array of fruits and vegetables laid out for the curious passerby. With a quick pivot of your right foot, you were moving along with the thronging crowd, easily lost amongst the moving arms and legs.

Gods, every part of you hurt. From the soles of your feet to the bridge of your nose, your entire body ached. You smelled like the dust and toil of the road. Your clothes were covered in a fine layer of grime; sweat glued your garb to your frame and your hair, if it didn’t stick out at odd angles, then it clung to the sides of your face.

Your time with the Harpers had unlocked many secrets of the Sword Coast to you—some of that cherished knowledge took the form of shortcuts and hidden passages, which you used to shave off a half day’s worth of travel.

You had passed through the Basilisk Gate just before dawn and kept trudging towards Sorceress Sundries. The shop didn’t open for another few hours, but with any luck, one of the employees would recognize you and let you inside. From there, it was as simple as activating the portal to Ramazith’s Tower and walking through it—you’d be in Rolan’s study in a matter of seconds.

And, if luck wasn’t in your favor, you could make the trek to the upper city and knock on the tower’s front door. Or you could jimmy the locks on one of the shop’s locked windows…

…though that idea was risky at best and rancid at worst. The very brick and mortar of the place thrummed with enchantment... which didn’t bode well for anyone who took it upon themselves to use a less than orthodox means of entry into the shop.

“Extra! Extra! Read all about it!” a young newsie called from a street corner.

You kept walking—if there was time later on, you’d come back and buy a paper.

At least, that had been the plan before the newsie drew in a breath and belted out, “Master of Ramazith’s Tower tries to break into Baldur’s Mouth headquarters!”

You lurched to a halt. The person behind you slammed into your back, letting loose a sharp string of profanities.

You said something akin to an apology as you changed course—only to find that you were caught up in a new throng of people who were also pushing towards the newsie.

“That’ll be two gold pieces!”

There had to have only been fifteen people on this stretch of road before, but you swear you fought through a crush of forty. Someone’s elbow collided with your chin while a stranger’s boot came down on your toes. You cursed, but no one heard you, let alone noticed.

You were too deep in the current of moving bodies to disengage without harming someone in the process. So, you shoved your way forward until you reached the street corner.

“Silfy!” The child recognized you and grinned.

“It’s you!” she exclaimed in delight. “Oh—just a second. That’ll be two gold pieces.” She passed one person a newspaper and stowed their coins in the pouch at her belt. “I’d give you a paper for free but…”

“Don’t get in trouble on my account." You paid her, and she held out a copy of the paper.

As you drew the paper toward you, Silfy gripped its edge for a moment longer, waiting for you to look at her again. “Please help Mr. Rolan,” she said, the set of her jaw hard, as if she were fighting back the tremble in her words.

She let go, and you were pushed to the fringes of the crowd.

“Oy! What’s the paper say?” Two brightly robed people approached you, with outstretched hands. “Give that here.”

“Oh, for—just read over my shoulder,” you snapped.

They were briefly taken aback, but they fell into place on your left and your right, peering down at the front page with you.

You’d barely read the first headline when the fellow on your left clicked his tongue. “Poor sod,” he said.

The person on your right hummed in agreement.

“Master of Ramazith’s Tower Claims that Baldur’s Mouth Gazette Threatens City’s Safety”

What?

You tried to focus, but with the chaos that churned around you, you only managed to pick out a few phrases from the article.

…In a heated discussion with editor-in-chief Ettvard Needle, he demanded access to the Baldur’s Mouth’s basement…

…The young wizard made several unsubstantiated claims that the paper’s rise in popularity is due to magical forces…

…Instead of acknowledging, our staff’s desire to raise the quality of our work with every new edition, he resorted to cheap accusations instead…

…He repeatedly, and incorrectly, asserted that the “magic at work” not only threatened the city, but the very Weave itself…

…The sheer talent of our journalists could level a city? What a compliment!…

…After Needle politely drew attention to the rumors that surrounded Ramazith’s Tower, the wizard of limited experience grew incensed…

…The Master of Ramazith’s Tower was escorted from the premises…

…We at the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette hope that we can reconcile our relationship with the archwizard in due time…

“Shit,” you muttered. This wasn’t good. Not one bit.

“Have you finished reading that?” an elderly woman asked. “The poor child has run out of copies, and I’d rather not walk around town if I can help it.”

Silfy had stopped hawking the paper, and the crowd had begun to disperse, some folk leaving in a huff of disappointment.

“If you’re willing to share with these two,” you said, gesturing to the people at your shoulders, “you’re welcome to it.”

You switched places with the woman and handed her the paper, though it took everything in you not to rip it to shreds.

“I don’t know, mate,” you heard someone say, “Something about this doesn’t feel right. Don’t archwizards have better things to do than go tormenting people at the local paper?”

“You have to admit—it is odd that the Mouth is selling so many copies nowadays too.”

“True, but isn’t it strange that Sorceress Sundries has been closed since? I hear the shop’s automatons aren’t letting anyone near the place."

"My sister says that they’re guarding the tower too! Isn’t that suspicious? What if he’s hiding something?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You could spend all day defending Rolan. Happily.

But if Rolan claimed that there was dangerous magic at play, then that took precedent.

The question now remained--if the shop and tower were being guarded, how did you get past its defenses?

[mumms-the-word]

Daydreams

Characters: Rolan x fem!Tav (Fawn) Summary: Rolan's apprenticeship isn't everything he thought it would be. On yet another dreary day of retail, he lets his mind wander to the frustrating adventurer he met at the grove and left behind in the shadow-cursed lands, a beautiful woman named Fawn. A/N: A gift for the AMAZING @orangekittyenergy for her birthday!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY friendo!!! Also this is a companion piece, a continuing of this fic about Rolan in Last Light Inn <3

Rolan could taste blood again, coppery and bitter and sharp. It no longer alarmed him. In truth, the taste of blood had become something of a daily occurrence, for one reason if not another. Just another perk of the job, he thought, his mood dark.

He rolled his tongue around the inside of his mouth, searching for the source of the blood. Two tender spots lined the inside of his right cheek where his teeth had broken through the soft tissue—old wounds, about two days old, from when his master had struck him with the side of his staff for answering out of turn. The spots were sore, but they weren’t bleeding. He kept searching until he felt a sharp but fleeting pain along the side of his tongue. He managed to hide his wince.

He must have bitten down on his tongue, but he couldn’t remember when. Was it when Master Lorroakan had sent one of the books flying toward his head this morning, or more recently when a customer had wasted half an hour of his time complaining about the shop’s herb selection (as though Bonecloak’s Apothecary were not literally across the plaza) and he’d literally chewed on his tongue to avoid yelling that at them? Perhaps it didn’t matter.

He sighed softly through his nose and eyed the potions stocked underneath the counter. They had a few healing potions, and a quick swig from one of them would surely heal his bruised and bleeding tongue…but then he’d have to pay for it.

Or would he? It wasn’t as though Master Lorroakan minded the shop at all. The bastard never came down from the top floor of Ramazith’s Tower, let alone venture outside of the Upper City, even with his magical portals that linked Ramazith’s Tower with Sorcerous Sundries. No, it was Rolan’s job to man the shop, keep track of the stock and proceeds, and listen to customers and adventurers alike complain about everything. 

Some glorious apprenticeship this was turning out to be.

He again contemplated the potions but decided against it. He might be the one manning the sales counter, but Master Lorroakan kept an animated armor or two around to keep order, not to mention magical images of himself to test cocky adventurers who thought they could con their way into a reward for the Nightsong. One of them would surely tattle. If Master Lorroakan chose to care, it would mean another “surprise test.”

Rolan wouldn’t be surprised if the surprise test was another myrmidon attack.

He swallowed down the saliva and blood that had mixed on his tongue and tried to forget about the pains in his mouth. And face. And body. He rolled his shoulders to try and ease some of the stiffness there and shifted his weight on his aching feet. Just another few hours and he could close up the shop and return to Ramazith’s Tower. Perhaps his master would be in a better mood today. Perhaps he would finally let Rolan learn a new spell or two. Perhaps…

Perhaps he was just fooling himself. 

Since arriving at Baldur’s Gate, he had learned almost no new magic or magical theory, and what little he had gleaned was from books he had attempted to read when Lorroakan wasn’t looking. Instead what he had learned was how to quickly memorize the shifting pricing and stock for Sorcerous Sundries, how to listen to a complaining customer’s every third word to get through the ordeal of listening to them with less of a headache, and that Lorroakan’s Nightsong venture attracted a very particular brand of increasingly stupid imbeciles—sorry, adventurers. There was one outside right now, still shouting at one of the animated armors about the injustice of not getting to personally see Lorroakan.

Get in line. The bitter thought practically crackled inside Rolan’s mind. He rolled his eyes, mostly to himself.

He had half a mind to cast silence over the adventurer, over this entire shop really, and dull the chaotic, neverending combination of spellcasting, customer chatter, and general chaos. The shop was never quiet, what with all the magical items humming or crackling or occasionally catching fire, or the elemental summons they conjured every morning swirling with water or creaking with the full weight of their molten rock forms, or the clanking of the animated armors. There was always something happening inside the shop, something colorful or dangerous. Sometimes it was amusing. These days most of it was just annoying.

He remembered when he thought all the lightly controlled chaos was thrilling. His first day at the shop and at Ramazith’s Tower, finally in a place that would appreciate his talents. Finally somewhere with color and light, unlike those dark and twisted shadow-cursed lands they’d just escaped. But that excitement had quickly faded.

It was hard to maintain a sense of excitement and wonder when his training involved his master lashing out with violence for every wrong answer given to every nonsensical, impossible question. He wanted to be angry—he was angry—but the anger tangled up in his mind until he was never entirely sure if he was upset at Lorroakan for not making sense, or at himself for failing to understand and learn.

These days, very little made sense. 

He sighed. What he wouldn’t give to have Cal and Lia here. Just to chat over the counter, if nothing else. But more than that, just to see them again. Ever since Lorroakan had refused to let Cal and Lia join them at Ramazith’s Tower, they’d been off finding work around the city and taking rooms at various inns and taverns. Last he heard, they were trying to find rooms at the Blushing Mermaid, just a few streets away. So close, and yet so far. 

He hadn’t seen them in a few days. Either they were busy, or he was. They left notes, and he sent notes back, but he hadn’t seen them physically in a while. He missed them.

But at least they were safe. There had been a moment when he thought they were gone for good. Gone forever. He still had nightmares about it, if he let himself linger on the memories too long.

He folded his arms loosely over his chest, letting his mind wander back to that time, only a few short weeks ago. Most of the early days in the shadow-cursed lands were a haze. A drunken dream he stumbled out of only at the last minute when the shadows attacked him outside the docks of Reithwin. It should have ended with his death.

But then she appeared. 

Fawn.

Gods, he was furious when he saw her. Why her of all bloody people in Faerûn? 

He smiled a little to himself now, remembering. He’d snapped at her and griped and sulked, and she had just let his words glance off her like flimsy darts against an adamantine shield. Completely unfazed. 

He still remembered the look of concern and worry she wore before he’d yelled at her.

Even in that darkness, half-illuminated by his torchlight and the moonlit magic that protected her from the shadows, she had been…lovely. Distractingly so. Even with her eyebrows drawn with concern and the down-turned corners of her mouth, the softness of her lips and hair had distracted him almost entirely. And that distraction had made him angry. How dare she meddle in his affairs again? 

But he’d be dead without her. Days of introspection had finally let him admit that to himself. And more than that, Cal and Lia would be dead without her. It was only because of her that they had survived Moonrise and made it out alive. 

He shook his head to himself. What an annoying, infuriating, maddeningly baffling woman Fawn was.

He wondered what she was doing now.

Probably wrapped up in some chaotic adventure, no doubt. Chaos and danger seemed to follow her every step wherever she went. Or perhaps she intentionally sought it out. That seemed just as likely.

Maybe one day he could walk into chaos at her side.

He blinked, the thought taking him a little off guard. At her side? He uncrossed his arms and rubbed at his temples. Maybe the stress of retail work was getting to him. It was much more likely he’d never see her again, so what was the point of even thinking about her?

But…he glanced around the shop. All the customers were either busy studying the wares or milling about. No one looked ready to approach the counter just yet, which gave him time to…well. Daydream.

Just for a moment.

He bent and rested his forearms against the counter, allowing his back a brief rest as he let his mind wander back to her. The beautiful Fawn. These were daydreams, right? So anything could happen there.

In his mind’s eye, he pictured her walking into the shop with a crooked smirk on her plump lips, her green eyes glittering with untold mischief. She’d approach the counter and stop, setting a hand on her hip, and tilt her head to one side, her soft brown bangs brushing against her forehead.

You up for an adventure? she might say. Or perhaps, Long time, no see. Or maybe, I thought I might find you here.

He would fondly roll his eyes and respond with something clever. It took you long enough. 

And she would laugh. A bright, sparkling laugh that would buoy his dampened spirits, or a sweet, quiet giggle meant only for his ears that would make his calloused heart flutter.

Perhaps he’d get lost in staring. Perhaps he would find himself tracing the line of her nose or the shape of her ears, find his gaze trailing down the scar on her right cheek. Perhaps their eyes would meet, infernal gold with wilderness green, and he’d find in her gaze answers to questions, about her, about the two of them, that he had asked himself a dozen times since they parted in Reithwin. Or perhaps his gaze would linger on her lips, his favorite distraction, and he’d think, not for the first time, not even for the hundredth time, about what it must be like to kiss such lips. To take her mouth with his own and consume her. To pull her body against his and fit himself against her curves and lines, like a puzzle piece locking into place, two parts of one whole. 

He straightened up suddenly, hands pressed against the counter, and shifted his weight. He ought to know better than to entertain such thoughts in the middle of a busy work day.

He tapped his nails against the counter, mostly to get out some of the pent-up energy that had been building up inside him. Click-ck-ck-ck. Click-ck-ck-ck. Click-ck-ck-ck. Another noise to add to the din of the shop.

It was a stupid thought anyway, and he was a fool for playing the lovesick idiot in his dreams. Even if she walked through those doors—and she wouldn’t, he was quite sure—there would be no leaving with her. Not with Master Lorroakan holding his leash.

Oh, he could leave whenever he wanted, sure. But that would mean leaving behind the most lucrative apprenticeship he could possibly secure as a refugee of Elturel, not to mention leaving behind all the treasures of Ramazith’s Tower, be that arcane artifacts or tomes rich with knowledge. His place was here—his purpose was to stay here and make a name for himself, to provide for his family, to become the greatest wizard he could possibly be. He had the natural talent. He wanted to hone it into something awe-inspiring. Something that had value so great it would be impossible to ignore or dismiss.

If that meant dealing with Lorroakan and his insanity…so be it. He could endure it. The violence. The impossible questions. The dull inanity of retail work. He could. For Cal. For Lia.

And…in a way, for Fawn. To prove to her that he was as good as his word. That he was a wizard worth knowing, but more than that, to prove to her that he could learn from his mistakes and improve his craft. Perhaps, eventually, to prove that he was a man worthy of her attention.

He took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in his cheek, on his tongue, in his back, his feet, and rolled his shoulders. Better get back to work, then. 

Back to mindless, repetitive, neverending work.

He was just turning away to check the organization of the trinkets and potion bottles beneath the counter when he heard an all-too-familiar masculine voice at the front entrance.

“Look around you. Indulge your curiosity! Sorcerous Sundries is the finest purveyor of magical miscellany for miles around.”

Rolan turned his head a little too quickly, scarcely daring to believe it. Gale, that pretentious wizard from Waterdeep? But if Gale were here, then surely—

His eyes fell on her immediately, watching her laugh at something Gale said, or perhaps something the tiefling, Karlach, said. He felt himself go a little slack-jawed with surprise. He wasn’t imagining this, right? That was actually her—Fawn was actually walking into the shop with her companions in tow.

Whatever he had imagined in his daydreams and fantasies, the sight of her there in the real world was far superior. Even his best imaginings couldn’t quite capture the way her hair, tied up and back, swung gently with each step and brushed against her shoulders, or the way she moved with grace and confidence. With her staff secured on her back and her easy smile, she looked perfectly at home among the crackling magic baubles and spell summons as she carefully stepped around a wandering illusion of a crab and looked around the space.

Suddenly the shop felt alight with color and wonder again, with her occupying a space in the room. Was he only imagining a fizzling new magical energy in the room now that she had arrived, or was that simply something that always happened when she entered a room? 

Gods, she was beautiful.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak just yet, but it didn’t take her long to notice him. The delight that lit up her features was enough to sustain him the rest of the tenday. “Rolan?”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Fawn! What are you doing here?”

She laughed and jogged over to him. “Well it is called Sorcerous Sundries, isn’t it?” she said with a wink. “I figured I should check it out. What are you doing here?”

“This is my apprenticeship,” he said, shrugging.

“This?” As she reached the counter, she stopped short, her smile fading. “Rolan…”

“It…has not been what I expected,” he admitted, unconsciously lifting a hand to his face. He caught himself before he could touch one of the bruises and clenched his fist, pressing it down onto the surface of the counter. “Master Lo—”

But she didn’t let him finish. She leaned over the counter and cradled his cheek gently in her hand. The touch of her warm skin made all other thoughts fall completely away. There was that look of concern again, the down-turned corners of her mouth, and he felt himself faltering under such a look now where before it had only angered him. 

What had he done to earn such compassion from her? After all the times he’d yelled and snapped at her, tried to drive her back or insult her—he may have let his imagination get the better of him, to let himself fantasize that perhaps she would regard him as a friend, or (perhaps foolishly) a would-be lover, but he never actually expected…

“What happened, Rolan?” she asked, her thumb brushing featherlight against his cheek.

Gods, he would give anything to banish that concerned look away and see her smile instead. If this weren’t the middle of his work day, if there weren’t animated armors and Lorroakan illusions watching him at every hour, he’d abandon this counter now and follow her anywhere. But that simply wasn’t an option, and he didn’t feel worthy of it just yet.

Still…

He reached up and took her hand, gently pulling it away from his face. Normally he would let it go, try to push her away, but today…for now…he could take a small risk.

He kept hold of her hand as he lowered their hands to rest on the counter. “Nothing for you to worry about,” he said quietly. 

He felt his chest tighten as she shifted her hold on him, turning her hand so that she could hold his more comfortably. She didn’t look convinced, but she seemed willing to let the matter rest, at least for now. More than that, she seemed willing to linger.

He offered her a slightly crooked smile and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Enough about me,” he said. “I want to hear what you’ve been up to. Tell me everything, and leave nothing out. It’s not every day the savior of the world comes walking into our humble shop.”

She rolled her eyes at his teasing, but settled against the counter, still holding his hand, and began to chat. He smiled to himself as he listened to her recount the latest adventures since they’d last seen one another, content to listen to her voice. The whole time, she never let go of him and she didn’t seem to mind when he began to rub absent-minded circles into her skin with his thumb.

It all felt so natural and easy. Comfortable. Normal. Unlike so much else these days. There was chaos, there was bitterness, there was frustration…and there was Fawn, who felt like a breath of fresh air and the crackling of new energy all in one.

Funny how things change.

If he weren’t physically holding her hand, he might have convinced himself she was just an illusion, something his bored and tired mind had conjured just to get him through another monotonous day. But no, she was here. She was here, and she didn’t look any the worse for wear, and she made the entire room glow with her mere presence.

And she was beautiful.

Maybe one day he would actually tell her that. Out loud, outside of his daydreams.

But not today. He bit his tongue gently on the un-injured side and contented himself with simply listening and holding her hand. Ten minutes ago, he was certain he’d never see her again. Now, it was enough to know she was in the same city as him, adventuring and getting into trouble mere blocks from where he manned this dismal little counter. 

The world looked a little brighter now that she had walked into his shop. He could work with that.

[deconstructthesoup]

Some various and sundry Aguefort headcanons:

-After Jace gets fired (read: bodied and arrested), everyone kind of has the realization that, oh, hey, not teaching your sorcery students how to use their powers because "sorcery's innate so there's nothing I can teach" is actually hella dangerous and produces sorcerers who can easily lose control over their incredibly volatile powers (there's a reason that there has not been a single Wild Magic sorcerer who's made it to graduation since Jace became the sorcery teacher), and they end up hiring a teacher whose ethos is "you must learn to make yourself the master of your magic, or it will become the master of you." Xir name is Mothwood Khalazza, xe's a drow Aberrant Mind sorcerer, and xe quickly gains a reputation as the most interesting teacher at Aguefort. Mothwood smokes with Eugenia on weekends.

-Since warlocks, sorcerers, and clerics know what their subclass is right from level 1, they are allowed to apply for an MCAT right from the get-go---like, you could enter Aguefort as a level 1 cleric and immediately sign up for fighter classes, that sort of thing. With every other class, you can only apply for an MCAT once you've got your subclass under your belt.

-The debate team is a collection of Eloquence bards, Mastermind rogues, Enchantment wizards, and Knowledge clerics who are encouraged to use their arguments as verbal components of spells, resulting in a debate that is filled with elegantly-delivered spellcraft. Whichever team manages to drop the other team to 0 HP wins the debate.

-Jumping up on that---and inspired by some worldbuilding in my home game, suggested by one of my players---for senior year both at Aguefort and at the several adventuring colleges out there, you have to write a thesis and defend it to your teachers, while you are also engaged in combat with them. The fight ends when one of you is dropped, or when an argument or rebuttal is delivered (followed by a spell or a strike, of course) that the other person can't come up with a response to.

-Druid students and ranger students aren't taught in a classroom, but are instead given lessons entirely in the Far Haven Woods. While druid lessons are way more focused on becoming one with nature, learning how to respect it, and essentially befriending nature in order to work with it, ranger lessons are about surviving in spite of nature, about roughing it in the most dangerous parts of the untouched world, about harnessing beasts to your will. (This is mostly based on my interpretation of the difference between druids and rangers, since it's... very tricky to actually put into words. A new edition's out and rangers still need a serious class update, swear to god.)

-There are actually four bard teachers at Aguefort---Lucilla obviously teaches songwriting and music composition and Terpsichore teaches dance, but there's also a bard teacher who specializes in speech and debate (who heads up the debate team and mock trial, of course), and a bard teacher who specializes in storytelling and gathering knowledge. The speech and debate teacher is, in fact, an actual archfey who used to oversee contracts made between mortals and his kind, met Principal Aguefort, hit it off with him, and decided that teaching sounded way more exciting than endless Feywild bureaucracy. (The storytelling teacher's a human, and they've got a whole goth-academic thing going on.)

-While the theater kids are all very much respected and treasured, it is an unspoken secret that the techies have their own secret society, and every night the actors are performing, the techies not only have to keep the show running, but they have to defeat monsters that are trapped in the auditorium and seek to destroy the beautiful energy that is brought to life during live stage performances. It's universally agreed that being a techie is twice as hard as being an actor, and you have to jump through a lot of hoops before you can become accepted as one of them. (Yes, I did read the Backstagers comics in middle school, what of it?)