#gale has such a good heart and a kind soul

[galedekarios]

Gale + Reaction to the protag offering to become an Illithid to control the stones

"An easy proposition for the Emperor to make - 'become a mind flayer' - it has no soul to sacrifice. If it did, perhaps it would understand the weight of what it's asking of us. And why we might seek an alternative."

[dekariosclan]

A Tav who, from the first moment they meet Gale, knows they could never be his equal. A Tav who is painfully aware that they are lacking in intelligence, but not wise enough to know how to improve it. A Tav who isn’t handsome, beautiful, or attractive. A Tav who doesn’t love their own body, the sound of their own voice, or the face that looks back at them from the mirror. A Tav who is kind and gentle with others, but not with themselves.

A Tav who cannot understand why Gale fell in love with them, much less why he was so eager to wed them. A Tav who now constantly asks themselves: How did they get so lucky as to be loved by this man?

They watch Gale with affection as he pours over tomes in their home in Waterdeep, night after night, breezing through ancient writings that they themselves know they would never be able to comprehend or follow. They love to listen to him talk, and nod with genuine interest as he tells them everything he’s discovered; not completely understanding, but only asking questions on the rare occasions when they truly cannot grasp what he’s trying to convey. They wonder if their stretches of silence secretly annoy Gale, or if their occasional questions do, but he never seems to be anything other than elated as they listen to him. How did they get so lucky as to be loved by this man?

At his request, they often join him at Blackstaff Academy for lunch. They watch as his colleagues engage him in scholarly discussions that they cannot participate in. They see the glances he gets from his more attractive colleagues, interest that goes beyond professional courtesy; yet he still breaks away as quickly as he can to whisk Tav off to the solitude of his office, sit down next to them, kiss them, ask them about their day. How did they get so lucky as to be loved by this man?

They greet him warmly when he arrives back home every evening. On the nights that Gale cooks, they love to watch him prepare meals, his hands as graceful and deft as when he’s casting spells. On the nights that they cook, they always feel a slight pang of anxiety, wondering if the simple meal they’ve prepared is good enough, but Gale showers them with compliments and cleans his plate every time. The stories Gale shares from the Academy over dinner are as interesting as they are amusing, making Tav laugh almost as much as the bad puns he sprinkles into the conversation like seasoning. They try their best to match his wit when they tell him about the events from their day, but they always feel that the stories they share are much less amusing or interesting than his, even though Gale listens with rapt attention to every word. How did they get so lucky as to be loved by this man?

One evening, as the sun dips slowly into the sea from their view on the balcony, Gale suddenly stops speaking. Tav looks up in surprise, as he’d been regaling them with discoveries from an ancient text he’d finished reading.

“Is everything alright, love?” They ask, their heart suddenly pounding as they see Gale staring at them intensely. He responds with a soft apology, and says that it just occurred to him that he has a question he needs to ask them. Most urgently.

The pounding of their heart now fades to a hollow echo, as they’re sure they know what he will ask: Why would a man of his talent and understanding continue to stay with someone as mediocre, unimpressive, and plain as they are?

…but instead, he takes both their hands in his, holding them gently but firmly, and gazes lovingly into their eyes. “I spend my days caught up in academic discussions, decisions and debates. I do enjoy it of course, for the most part, but…to come home to you, to be able to talk without being judged or spoken over, to have your calm attention, the balm of your quiet intellect and understanding…you are an oasis for my soul.” He smiles and lifts their hands to his lips, kissing them reverently. “I’ve read so many books, learned from the brightest scholars, and yet, I still cannot understand…how did I get so lucky as to be loved by you?”

[sorcerous-caress]

could u possibly do how companions would treat tav's kid? like in a situation where a tav had a child/younger sibling or smth. fluffy fluff all around

You know how sometimes fate aligns so that your past deeds follow you into the future? This request gave me a flashback to my old writing blog.

Companions reacting to Tav's younger sibling/child

[ bg3, fluff, several characters ]

[ Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Karlach, Laezel, Shadowheart, Minthara ]

Astarion

What on earth is that little gremlin following you around? Just make sure that no one feeds it after midnight.

To say he's not a fan is a huge underestimation, he signed up for a camp full of hot available single adults and not a daycare. How are you expecting him to be his usual self when a pg13 warning keeps chasing you around.

Whatever, he will just ignore the goblin-like thing. He can do that, how hard can it be?

Well...actually now that some time has passed, he has to admit that the little menace is really funny at times. Especially that one time he stole Gale's books to build a book throne in the mud, Astarion swears he could still hear Gale's heart shattering into a million pieces, what a fond memory.

What? Pfff, no, he isn't getting attached. He just...well was doing some trick with a coin to make it disappear, and the kid happened to be nearby, Astarion definitely wasn't trying to impress them.

Now the thing about picking locks is that it's better to teach them young. Think of all the small places, nooks, and crannies they could fit into, bringing them some loot and actually be useful.

And since he's already bothering to do it, might as well teach them how to wield a bow. Properly wield a bow, not like how Wyll does it no, it requires elegance only an elf is capable of and Astarion is the most expert here to train them.

Did you see that? They're actually getting better. He genuinely is impressed, so much that he doesn't register the smile of pride adorning his face, the excitement in his voice as he boasts about the kid's accomplishment and how they're clearly superior than the other crotch goblins.

Gale

Ah, children, truly the future of mankind. Humanity's hope and the ones who will carry the torch after us.

He is almost giddy at the idea of having an impressionable youth to teach, to steer and to spoil rotten like he was spoiled.

Will show off magic tricks nonchalantly, he definitely has a hidden agenda in trying to make the kid a wizard. After all who is better than him, an arch wizard, to teach a new curious soul about all the wonders of the weave? No magic is too advanced, everything is possible with imagination.

If anything, kids have the best imagination, better than adults do. Which is the argument he uses when you ask him why your little one can shoot invisible fireballs now.

He would love to read to them, he has all kinds of stories about heros, past legends and fables that will guarantee them a safe and sound mind. A healthy mindest to nurture then into a good kind hearted adult.

Even when his books end up the subject of the kid's abuse kind of a lot- Gale is nothing but forgiving. Cut the kid some slack, if anything, Gale is happy they are safe and sound.

Would make special meals for the kid during dinner time a lot, bunny shaped carrot cuts or soup with a sparkly finish. He can even teach them some basic recipes, cooking is a very important life skill afterall.

Wyll

He is very experienced with kids. Feels a bit concerned for the fact they're at camp all alone and volunteers to stay behind and watch them. And no, unlike the previous two, he doesn't try to indoctrinate them into elf supremacy culture nor tactically manipulate them into being a wizard.

He just lets them be a kid, plays ball with them. Shows them how to play fetch with Scratch. Overall a very cool and laid back older brother.

He definitely takes great inspiration from his own dad and how he raised him, offers the same advice and wisdom his own father shared with him.

Shows the kid that life is so much more than it seems, nothing is truly evil and nothing is truly good. Both can be found in each other. He treats the kid with respect and doesn't pull the older than you card unless necessary.

He wants them to establish their own being, their own character and carve their own path in life.

Definitely does whatever he can to keep Mizora away from the child. That devil cannot be trusted, and even while he knows the kid is smart, he doesn't want to leave it up to fate whether Mizora tricks them into a pact or not.

Halsin

The kid adores him and all of his animal forms. Halsin indulges them a lot and changes into whatever wildshape they deem the coolest that day to play with them.

When he looks at them, he sees a seed for the future. It requires care and nurturing to grow properly, and he is willing to make this world a better place for them.

Shows them how important nature is, how we should take care of the world just like it takes care of us. How we should respect the plants and the animals, how every meal is a gift and should be treasured.

He has a very fatherly vibe to him. It comes naturally, and he doesn't even have to try. Whenever the kid feels overwhelmed or scared, it's Halsin they run up and hide behind.

Also, when they get in trouble too because they know Halsin will take their side.

And he knows the kid is using him sometimes, but he lets it slide. Takes the kid on walks a lot, helps them make friends with the nearby cat that sometimes frequents the camp.

There is a potted plant they're both growing, a small shared project between the two of them. Halsin adores the look of happiness the kid has whenever the plant sprouts a new leaf and grows taller.

They don't have to know that it was Halsin's powers keeping it alive throughout the frequent changing of their camp and consistent travelling.

Karlach

Little soldier is what she calls them.

Picks them up a lot after her engine gets fixed, let's them ride on her shoulder and hang on to her horns sometimes. Even indulges them and pretends she is a robot that they're controlling.

Sorry Astarion, she can't stop hugging you. She's a simple robot, and the overlord kid on her shoulders demanded it.

While Wyll is the cool yet dependable older sibling, Karlach is the even cooler one who's very chaotic and would help the kid in their pranks and cause trouble a lot.

Ah, what the hell kid, sure you can pick up her great flaming axe and swing it around. Actually she will use a nearby table as a shield and you should definitely try throwing it at her.

It's not that she means to be a bad influence, it's just that she is extremely indulgent. That it circles back to being a bad influence without meaning to.

They want to only eat sweets for dinner and all day? Hell yeah little soldier she wants the same. They want to do it for the rest of eternity and never eat vegetables again? Sign her the fuck up because she is ride or die.

Oh yeah, your kid/sibling can swear now, thanks to her, you're welcome.

Jaheira

Is the one feeding them the vegetables, after telling Karlach off and putting her in the timeout corner.

It's not enough that she has a gaggle of children back home, but you had to bring another one with you to the camp? Oh cub, you and your own little cub are going to be the death of her.

If Halsin thinks he can hide them behind his bear form he better think twice, Jaheira isn't below putting the both of them in line if she has to.

She demands respect, and the kid definitely ends up giving it to her, begrudgingly or not. They understand she is the true form of authority in this camp and that they better do what she says and finish their chores.

They definitely see her as a grandma. She is secretly touched if they call her that but acts unaffected. She just doesn't want to let the kid down. She has to be strict because medicine never tastes sweet.

They remind her of her own kids backhome sometimes, she does get homesick a lot more with them around.

Shadowheart

No, she isn't emo. No, she isn't goth either. What is this kid talking about? They better know that worship of lady Shar is very sacred and not a passing phase she will grow out of.

You know how kids are overly curious and always ask these intrusive questions? Shadowheart is a magnet for that.

They just go up to her ,unannounced, and tell her about the recent camp news. She sips on her wine and gives the kid a glass of grape juice while they gossip.

Yes, she is a half elf. No, she is still as capable as an elf.

Wait, what did Astarion say about her? Really? Well, kid, thanks for being a snitch now. If you'd excuse her, she has urgent business to take care of.

She sees them and wonder if this is how her childhood was supposed to be like, if this is what she was missing out on all her life. Sometimes she can't help the burning envy at the back of her throat as she watches them be showered with love and care for simply existing.

But she doesn't let the bitterness get to her, not with how the kid looks at her in awe and admiration. She vows to be at least a decent example and not disappoint them.

Laezel

If left unattended, she will start a boot camp. Come one kid, get down, and give her 40 push-ups now.

What? She is just looking out for them. How else are they supposed to join the battlefield if they have no upper body strength?

Yes, the battlefield, why do you ask? Of course, she wants them in the front lines eventually. War is the perfect environment to raise a child, to make them strong and fast. You were very smart for bringing them here with you, she has to admit.

Bah, she scoofs at Karlach and Astarion's ways. It is a danger hazard at best. The kid needs to start with training equipment and not actual weapons. Her companions' lack of braincells does surprise her sometimes.

Well...she also does mention the fact that for them to graduate, they have to actually murder someone from the camp. You know, like how she murdered half her classmates when she was still in training.

She actually...does a good job at training them safely, she evaluates their weakness and strengths and gives them advice based on it on how to improve. She looks out for their well-being and shows them the most efficient way to end a fight.

But she's only joking? Right? Right???

Uh....did anyone see Gale??

Minthara

To put it in the nicest way possible, they are terrfied of her.

She thinks it's good because any sane person should be afraid of her. Frankly, she'd be concerned for a possibility of brain damage if they weren't.

They avoid her, and she barely pats an eye over it.

Although she was always the first to act whenever they were in danger, completely beheading the enemy with her sword before they could touch a hair on the kid. Still she doesn't care for the fact the child is drenched in blood and just saw someone get murdered.

She thinks they should get over it. The sooner, the better. Life is full of murder and blood, you'd be only dooming them if you don't let them see things for how they really are.

Drow culture for raising their children is very brutal, most of them die young and even the ones who do make it alive, don't live as long as the surface elves do.

Each drow carries deep scars from childhood, both on body and mind. Minthara wasn't the exception.

She tolerates your young out of respect for you. She tolerates what she deems as disobedience and disrespect from them.

You're not sure if they'll ever stop fearing her, but you also know that you can trust her to be there for them. To not hesitate a second in saving their flesh no matter what the cost is.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 17

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I have a house now. One more month until move in.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You leave the queen, stepping into the gales that whip around the outer flap of her tent. You reach to keep your cap from flying into the violent winds, the soldiers with their chins down as they lean against the force. Before you can gain your bearings, a shadow appears and calls your name, battling the weather to be heard. 

“Eh, where is your cloak, silly mouse? You will blow away with the leaves,” Bryce approaches, latching onto your arm as the bluster swirls around you, nearly taking you off your feet. 

“I am fine, sir, I only need find a blanket,” you stumble against him as another willful gust pushes you around.  

“That isn’t what I asked. What has happened to it? You’ve lost it?” 

“The queen was cold, sir,” you answer and cling to him, shivering as the tempest swirls around you. 

“The queen... greedy...” his voice trails off as her sneers towards the tent. 

“Sir,” you touch his arm gently to calm him, “she needs it more than I. She is expecting the king’s child.” 

He looks at you and juts out his jaw, “aye, s’pose you’re right, even if you’re too kind for yer own good.” 

He turns you and grips you tightly, shielding you as best he can against the wind. Your progress is slow and stunted by the sudden ebbs and flows. He grunts as you stagger and steadies you, at times almost lifting you off your feet. 

“Sir Bryce,” a deep voice slices through the whistle of the winds, “a storm approaches.” 

The king nears, his sword gripped by the pommel as he leans it against hit shoulder. His golden eyes flick towards you, as if he had not seen you in the shadow of your escort. He raises his chin and returns his attention to the soldier. He angles his blade to the ground and the tip buries in the dirt. 

“Aye, it surely does,” Bryce agrees, “I’ve seen a worst tempest in my years.” 

“Sir,” Geralt holds out his hands and a glisten appears on his sleeve. You lean in without a thought, curious, then feel a cold speck on your nose. You look up and see the white flakes drifting down. “It will not remain so peaceful. It comes from the north and will deepen by morning.” 

“Shall we wake the camp?” Bryce asks and you sway with the wind. Once more, the king’s attention strays to you, he frowns. 

“Not as yet. Let the horses rest a little longer. They will be able to handle a dusting,” he affirms. “but I will harry the men to prepare for our departure.” 

“As will I. I’ll be certain the carts are covered and weighted.” 

“Sir, ever wise,” King Geralt praises and scowls at you. He shakes his head and huffs, “why does the maid wear no cloak? She will not survive in this, summer soul, she is.” 

“Aye, yes, I was only just telling her as much. Seems her heart is too big for her thin hide,” Bryce tuts, “we were only off to find her a blanket before she sleeps.” 

“Blanket, eh,” the king lets go of his blade, letting it stand in the ground. He unbuckles his collar and sweeps his cloak from around his shoulder, “I have my hunting cloak and I don’t mind the snow so much.” 

Before you can react, the king lays his heavy cloak over your shoulders. It is longer than your height requires and it smells of sweat and iron. You lower your head at the warmth clinging to the lined wool. 

“Your highness, many thanks, but I might find a blanket--” 

“Do not defy your king,” Bryce rebukes, “mouse, you would do well to accept his grace. You will certainly need it if these winds do not pass.” 

“Apologies,” you utter, “sir, your highness, you are both generous.” 

King Geralt grumbles and nods, looking once more to the sky as he grabs his sword. 

“The Ridge, Vulture’s Peak... it isn’t far. The castle will do, eh?” 

“Not far at all, your highness,” Bryce agrees. “It would do you well to let your wife rest. Many congratulations, my king.” 

“Congratulations? For what? Smelling a storm?” the king furrows his brow. 

“Oi, I think I’ve said too much,” Bryce glances at you. 

“Say more,” the king commands. The soldier sighs and sheepishly shows his teeth.  

“Please, maid, would ya...” He mutters. 

“Your highness, the queen said she is with child,” you swallow, “I only just came from her tent. I believed you were aware. I did not mean to gossip.” 

“Child,” his eyes sink and close. He hums and heaves a deep breath, “yes, she would need to be still a time.” 

“Your highness, again, you have my apologies--” 

“No matter,” the king waves his hand. “Take the maid, I shall see to my wife.” 

The king resumes his path onward, sword in hand. He hardly shares in Jazlene’s cheer for the news. Perhaps it is only the threat of the storm that has him unhappy.  

You bring your hands to the dark fur along the collar of the cloak and draw it snug. You chatter and Bryce clucks. He nudges you and you walk forward in step. 

“So the snows have come,” Bryce declares, “along with the heir. I sense many storms brewing, mouse. Best keep our eyes on the horizon.” 

⚔️

You don’t sleep for long, if at all. Only the shallow dregs of your anticipation. You watch the snow fall from beneath the canopy and as the horses are roused and fed before dawn, a carpet coats the ground. 

You peer down at the powder. You wonder what it feels like. Cold and wet, Bryce says, but don’t dirty your soles, you’ll be soaked. He remains, as ever, cynical. 

“Be off soon,” he says as he brings Daisy around, a thick coat over her back and haunches. 

“To Vulture’s Peak?” You ask. 

“Aye, so we will,” he pets Daisy’s snout as she sniffs him. “though our host may not be so fond to have us.” 

“Host? It is not the king’s castle?” 

“Ha, no, no,” Bryce laughs heartily, “a king can’t live on a desolate bluff. By fealty, a lord must break bread and offer a roof to his king. It might be his company which has him facing a cold welcome.” 

“Oh,” you frown. 

“Ah, even this old coot won’t deny us in the coming storm. He has sense of these better than any,” Bryce shrugs. “Don’t worry your head. You stay in your cart and Daisy will do the rest. She’s a fine climber--” 

“Out of my way!” The curdling snarl interrupts the soldier and you both look to see the source. “Move, by gods, I am the queen, be away from me.” 

You get to your knees, leaning on the edge of the wagon to see out from under the canopy. A scatter of bodies split apart as Queen Jazlene struts through, the fur cloak rippling from her shoulders and the hood set back on her head as her curls spill out. She sneers at the snow beneath her slippers. 

“Ah, I did hear there was a cart around here—ugh, out,” she points as she marches up to the cart, “by royal right, I am seizing this cart.” 

“Eh,” Bryce moves closer, “your highness, the king--” 

“I cannot sit a horse, sir,” she rests her gloved hand over her stomach. “Or would you murder the future prince with your selfishness. All for a--” she pauses and glowers over at you, rolling her eyes. “A maid?” 

You rise and snatch up the cloak you’d used as a blanket. You keep bent under the low canopy and climb out with the cushion under your arm. 

“Sir, the queen is right, she should have the cart, I will sit with the luggage.” 

He huffs and sends a grimace to the sky, unable to direct his malice towards its source, “if she must...” 

“I must!” The queen snaps and yanks the pillow from your hands, “I will need this, certainly.” 

You stand aside, staring at the pillow dolefully, and buckle the top of your cloak. The queen pauses as she faces you. She looks you up and down. 

“Where did you find this then?” She touches the collar of the cloak. 

“It is my spare cloak,” Bryce insists before you can answer, “what else do you require, your highness? Shall we bring a lamb to sacrifice?” 

“Hm, is that how you northerners worship?” She sneers, missing his irony. 

He blinks dully and says nothing. 

“Well, secure the horse, I will need to be drawn.” 

“It is my horse,” Bryce insists, “you may bridle your own.” 

“You dare deny me?” She snarls at him as the soldiers with her stand on either side of the cart. 

“You may take it up with your husband. This is my steed, she carried me to war and she will carry me henceforth,” he snips. 

Bryce and Jazlene glare at each other. You look between them nervously. You don’t know who King Geralt might choose in this battle should he be called. 

“Fine, fetch the stinky thing,” Jazlene demands of one of the soldiers, “and blankets, another pillow, perhaps something to eat.” 

The cast of the sky shifts with the first light of the sun and Bryce grabs both horses and leads them aside. He whistles for you to follow. You come to him as Chestnut and Daisy cluelessly puff into the cold air. 

“You will ride. I will not have that... queen seizing my horse,” he sniffs, “I will show you how once I’ve saddled the mare.” 

“Oh, yes, sir.” You look up at the horses back. It seems very high. 

“You will want to be aback anyhow,” he shrugs, “you’ll not want to miss the mountain. It is very beautiful, especially in the snow.” 

⚔️

The party continues onward, treacherously. As the snow falls, the train diverts away from the flats and onto the narrow paths speckled with broken trunks and towering trees. The smell of pine tickles your nose as you ascend, bit by bit. 

It takes some time to grow used to the motion of the horse. Daisy’s hooves are certain and she does not slip on even the most precarious spots. Bryce rides behind you, booming about each nook and cranny, pointing out the white rabbits and the wilted fauna. His enthusiasm is unexpected but endearing. 

You ride until the moon replaces the sun and dismount along the side of the great cliff. There is no room here to pitch a tent and only a few fires burn along the ridge. Your hips ache as the soldier grunts about his back. 

“I should see to the queen,” you suggest as you rub your hands together. 

“She must have many fawning over her,” Bryce spits out a wad of leaves and squashes it under his feet. 

“I am her maid--” 

“And we are on a long road. She might go without you minding her temper,” he snarls. 

You frown, “I am not upset. She needs the cart more than me.” 

“It isn’t that which sees me chagrined,” he growls. “It’s those deeds you will not admit of that traitor’s daughter which make me prickle.” 

You’re quiet. You look away, your eyes wandering up into the sky, watching the snow swirl down, following it down to the ground far below. The heaps are immaculate in the moonlight and the trim of white along the ridge gleams. 

“I am a maid.” 

“I know little of your summer people but if that is how they treat those who serve them, perhaps this alliance was not so wise,” he grumbles as he steps up beside you, “perhaps it would’ve been better to submit such cruel nobles.” 

“Sir,” you say, shocked and peer over at his profile. His beard has grown to meet his cloak, his hair coiling down to his shoulders. 

“I serve my king, as I ever will, but I will not bend the knees to a snake,” he hisses and crosses his arms. 

“We are united, aren’t we? Summer and Winter,” you reach to touch his thick hide mitt. 

“Aye, yes, I do not seek another battle,” he exhales. “I am only wary of those who may.” 

You squint. Your mind returns to Lord Dustan and what he said to his daughter. The heir is their prize, an affirmation of the bounty earned by their betrayal, but also a chain to that very act. To the man they forsook their name for. A man they speak as kindly on as they had their former allies. 

“Might I walk?” You draw your hand from his. “My legs are sore.” 

“Not too far. And keep your eyes open,” he girds, “and your hands in your cloak. You needn’t frostbite.” 

You nod and he turns to you. He pulls up the hood of your cloak and pats your shoulder. 

“Tarry too long and I’ll look for you,” he warns. 

“Sir,” you shift slowly and step past him. 

You trod higher up the incline as you marvel over the edge. Bodies huddles together beneath cloaks and blankets, nestling for warmth against the wall of the cliff. You carry on and stop near a luggage cart, close to the drop. You hold out your hand, letting snow gather in your palm. It is cold, bitterly and painfully cold, but so beautiful. You bring it closer and watch it slowly melt as your hand numbs. 

“Do you remember...” the king’s voice drawls over you as his soft steps approach. “What I told you of this place?” 

You look at him. He is lit by the moonlight, his golden eyes like stars, and his jaw is bristly with thickening stubble. You bow your head, “your highness, are the bears already asleep in their caves?” 

He chuckles, “you do recall,” he praises, “not yet, though they do not come this high.” 

“And the wolves? Are they near?” 

“They are always prowling,” he says, shifting closer, his arm pressing to yours. He bends slightly to peer straight down, “the elk will be in the forests.” He points to the snowcapped tips of the distant trees, “here, the vultures have their nests. Their eggs,” he curves his hands to show the size, “I made a writ, years ago. It is forbidden to eat the eggs. I always found it quite tragic to desecrate the majestic creatures before they can even be borne. Before they can fly even.” 

“Vultures? I’ve never seen one? They are... birds?” 

“Yes, birds,” he confirms.  

He is silent as he considers his kingdom below. His breath is gritty as it rises and falls. He has much to think on. A child, a wife, and his homecoming delayed by a storm. 

“One thing has changed here, in these lands of winter,” he says lowly and you feel a ripple in your cloak. He presses his hand firmly to your back, sliding it along your side to grasp your hip. He moves to stand behind you and brings you close. He wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your crown, “I said before, there is no summer here,” he holds you, pulling his cloak around you, concealing you within it as he drapes himself around you, “summer is here. With me. Warm and gentle.” 

You go rigid as he holds you, your heart beating at the unexpected embrace, at the unseemly contact between you. He hums as he stands with you in the shadows of the cart, so brazenly covert. Anyone might happen upon you and yet they all hide away from the storm. 

“Your highness,” you stammer and quiver against him. 

“Treasure,” he purrs, “my treasure. The one good thing I’ve brought home...” 

You can’t breathe or think. Is he drunk? Confused? What does he mean? 

“I--” he begins but the kick of a rock quiets him, the stone bouncing off the cart’s wheel. 

A shadow stalks down the precipice towards you and the king detaches, uncovering you from his cloak. He faces the figure as the tramp up the incline. You hear the king shudder as he tickles your back. 

“There’s the mouse,” Bryce says as he comes into the moonlight, his brow and jaw set, though he doesn’t look at you. He looks at the king, almost defiant. “You shouldn't be out so long in the cold. Exposed,” he grits, “come, I’ve sparked us a fire.” 

King Geralt clears his throat, “thank you, sir.” 

“My king,” Bryce says as he beckons to you, “I will keep the maid safe. As you bid.” 

[istoleyoursk1n]

How would the companions react to a Tiefling!Tav who, after the first meeting with everyone's favorite cambion, reveals that Raphael is their father?

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

How would they react to a Tiefling!Tav who’s actually the child of Raphael

(Note that their kind of written in a way where in this is how I think they might initially react to such a confession. If you want one where the Tav don't associate themselves at all with Raphael or even despises their father then do tell me cause they’d have an entirely different reaction.)

.

.

: ̗̀➛ ASTARION

“Let’s get this straight, Shadowheart’s a Sharran, Gale is a ticking time bomb, Wyll has ties with a literal devil, and by the gods- you're a damn child of one! Are there any other secrets I should know about in this bloody party?!”

Genuinely shocked at first but perhaps he should have seen it coming knowing that everyone in their weirdo batch always seems to be hiding some dark secret.

Would have probably assumed that you must have the same demonic abilities as your father! Why exhaust everyone when you exist? Can't you just ‘mAgiC’ the enemies away?

No, it doesn't work like that? Well shit.

Truth be told, he isn't actually bothered by it. As long as you are on his side and you aren't planning on burning him to a crisp then why should he care that your father’s Raphael?

Just as long as you aren't as obnoxiously theatrical as the damn bastard. His patience is always being tested each time that damn devil talks in rhymes.

Perhaps he may even ask for your assistance rather than Raphael’s in regards to his scars as he’d trust you over that man any day.

He doesn't even have to make some sketchy deal with you. You’re just a kind enough soul to offer your aid despite how darkened your heart may or may not be.

Though truly, he would never judge you for being affiliated with such a man. Whether you want to associate yourself with your father or not is entirely up to you, he’d support you either way.

: ̗̀➛ GALE

“You?! The child of Raphael?! Why, I never thought such a histrionic fiend would even consider having an offspring. No offense to you, of course. Besides, I’m certain you’re better than that conniving devil if I do say so myself.”

Utterly baffled.

He knew that Tiefling’s had ancestral origins leading all the way to devils but he never thought that it was inherently possible for a tiefling in this day and age to be a child of one!

Good luck because this man now has hundreds of different questions, half of which you probably don't know the answer too either.

Though he will be a tad bit skeptical of you for a while, especially if he doesn't know you all too well. Being associated with the devil is a big deal and who knows what type of cunning scheme you may be plotting.

Soon enough, his own growing curiosity will overtake his skepticism. He’d rather understand and learn more about you then completely shun you away.

“How did you come to be?” or “What are the various powers you have inherited?” are some of the many questions he’d be throwing at you. Note that some anatomical questions may grow a tad bit awkward if you don't tell him.

He’d grow far more enamored by you the more he gets to learn about you and devil culture as darkening as such knowledge could be. Suddenly he has one person who could tell him all about the hells!

He’d have a newfound understanding of devils and people of your kind, his heart no longer caring any form of judgment towards you as long as you prove to be kind at heart.

: ̗̀➛ WYLL

“By balduran’s bones, you’re a devil?! One of them?! I should have seen this sooner. All this time I’ve been traveling with one of their children?! And to think I’ve let my blade go unsheathed around you.”

Unfortunately, the most distrustful one amongst the party the moment he finds out.

He's already having such a hard time with Mizora on his shoulder, what more if another devil joins the damn party? But to be fair, he’s been proven wrong time and time again.

Even so, you can tell that he's been avoiding you. Keeping his distance as he tries to process such information.

He doesn't even know how he can bring himself to trust you after what he's been through. He doesn't want to find himself being used as nothing more than a devil’s dog once more.

But after what happened to Karlach and soon enough his own transformation, he slowly begins to open himself up again. Albeit he is still quite wary.

It’ll start with him first asking others about you, trying to get a gist of whether or not you seem like a trustworthy person before finally confronting you with both a proper conversation and surprisingly an apology.

The world seems to be changing around him and if either of you is ever going to overcome this whole tadpole mess together then he should be able to place his past mindset aside in favor of forging stronger bonds.

Besides, who better than to help him overcome his own mild dysphoria with his new-found devil traits than a half-devil themselves?

: ̗̀➛ KARLACH

“He’s your dad?! Fucking hell, out of all the damned people that could have been your pops it just had to be that bloody bastard. Please tell me if you’re not like that pompous motherfucker? I like you too much to hate you.”

She’s surprised and confused. It's honestly just a mess for her.

She wants to distrust you for being the child of a devil seeing as she's been tormented by them for such a long time but at the same time- you’re a friend.

She can't just cast aside everything you two built up together despite knowing this information.

Yet still, it's hard for her. Every time she sees you, she’ll think about those dreadful moments she’s spent in Avernus, fighting in the front lines of the blood wars against her will.

But she needs to be the bigger person. She can't immediately associate you with those heartless fiends who forced her to do terrible things. If anything she wants to believe you aren't like that at all.

She’ll give you a chance despite her reluctance, doing her damn best to not shun you despite how your mere presence does trigger some things for her.

Regardless, she moves on from her weariness soon enough in favor of treating you like an actual friend. A friend whom she wishes to make happy memories with.

Perhaps both of you are just misunderstood in your own ways, and if that's the case then she’d be more than willing to support you and cheer you on whenever the hell she can.

: ̗̀➛ SHADOWHEART

“And just when I thought this ‘unique’ little group of ours couldn't get more interesting. The child of a devil? I can't help but wonder what more you could be hiding. After all, apparently, this entire camp is known for locking away such sensitive little secrets.”

Startled but intrigued.

It seems that everyone in this damnable group has some sort of hidden secret. Though, she wouldn't have expected this.

You can tell she's weary around you now but she hardly brings it up. Why would she when the very words she speaks could be used against her?

She's already having a hard time trusting people, what more if the person she was slowly beginning to trust was in fact the child of a devil?

It's like starting all the way back at square one again, except at least you both know some information about each other.

She’d be trying to balance out the both good and bad about you in her head. Thinking of that one time you saved her but also the fact that you may just be doing that to manipulate her later on.

Her mind is utterly in shambles right now but perhaps remaining distant and reserved won't get you both anywhere. Even she can understand that she’d rather see you as an asset than a disturbance.

I’d like to believe that in the end, she does eventually move past her distrust against you. Especially after everything you've done for her. She welcomes your demonic origins with a smile and even teases you about it a little by asking to make a deal or two.

: ̗̀➛ LAE’ZEL

“Chk. I will not be so foolish again to ever give an ounce of my time to your kind. You should have fled whilst you had the chance less you truly wish for my blade to dig right into your flesh.”

She just flat-out doesn't trust you. She even says it to your face.

She hardly even knew much about Tiefling's but knowing that you're a child of a devil? Now she just has more of a reason to not put her faith in you.

Probably even suggested eradicating you before you turned your back on everyone.

From what knowledge she has gathered, she sees devils as condescending, evil, manipulative, and cunning in both words and actions. She could only assume that such traits would pass on to their offspring.

It would take a lot for her to ever trust you again after that, if she even trusted you to begin with. She hasn't slept easy since.

Perhaps she even went to Karlach for assistance as to how one could possibly kill a child of a devil but surprisingly enough, Karlach wasn't on board with it.

If you can prove yourself once again to be worthy of her respect and trust, then she’ll finally begin to treat you with reverence.

Being more than what devils were made out to be and rising up as a far more honorable warrior than most would be just enough to finally get her back on your good side.

: ̗̀➛ HALSIN

“That was quite the surprise. The child of Raphael himself in our midst and yet you appear to be no more than another one of the tiefling refugees. I truly hope that you aren't as sinister as most devils tend to be. I’d hate to see such a vibrant flower wilt from its own corruption.”

He’d be just as startled as the rest but he’s lived too long to start judging people by their origins.

He hasn't quite met someone, particularly of your kind (being that of a devil’s child.) but perhaps he has encountered people similar to such.

His weariness would hardly last seeing as he’d rather understand you as a person before immediately jumping to conclusions.

Besides, he doubts he’d be foolish enough to be led on by a devil, especially with the amount of experience he has. He’ll put his morality above his skepticism but know that once you show the few signs of true betrayal then he will act accordingly.

Nevertheless, he's actually the one who's trying to get others to understand you, even vouching for you at times when others are against you.

Who you are related to by blood should not define who you truly are as a person, devil or not. It's simply up to you to decide whether or not you want to be associated with such a diabolical lineage.

Regardless, he’d do his best not the judge you. He’ll see you as just another Tiefling more so than the child of a literal devil.

If the looming reminder of being the child of such a devil ever haunts you or disturbs you too badly, he’d always be there to be a shoulder to lean on. You’ll always be accepted by him.

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

[brewstersbru]

I want to get more used to writing low stakes lil blurbs so please enjoy this, also posted on ao3 under my pseud brewstersbru :) hopefully being able to post it here will bring the perfectionism anxiety down lol

***

Astarion is perhaps the one of the most interesting, irritating, but somehow undoubtedly kind people Halsin has ever observed. Though he’d flay anyone who had the audacity to tell him it.

The duties of an Arch-Druid are many, and often arduous in nature, but nonetheless rewarding. And it all boils down to watching, observing, noticing little idiosyncrasies in the people he leads. The people who trust him with their lives and wellbeing. Halsin has become well-accustomed to watching, as any good leader must and it is no surprise that the skill has followed him to where he is now, camping with a menagerie of illithid-infected souls, searching for a cure.

Though, with this aforementioned observational skill, Halsin has gotten the distinct impression that many of them seek quite a bit more than a simple cure. Absolution, freedom, a clearer path forward. It is so often in the words they don’t say, rather than those they choose to reveal. For example, Gale never talks of an ‘after’, a concept all of the others seem so enamored with, save Astarion, of course. He simply hums and offers a small melancholy smile when conversation turns to the topic of everyone’s plans after they find a cure. It wasn’t difficult to figure him out, not when Halsin had been paying attention. Gale is convinced that dying is the only way to atone for his sins. To be forgiven.

Halsin’s heart aches at the thought; poor child, it is not a sin to wish to be loved. But he digresses.

Astarion, curiosity that he is, had immediately captured Halsin’s attention when he’d joined camp. On the surface he seemed shallow, and ill-tempered, but Halsin has not gotten this far in life by making quick judgements on a person’s first actions after he’s met them. Sure enough, he’d caught a glimpse of the real Astarion not even two days later.

It had been a long day, brimming with long, arduous battles after which they had all come out exhausted and bloodied. Wyll, with his lion’s heart, had fought especially ferociously. Perhaps too much so. His robe was torn horribly across the front and he’d had to be propped up as they trudged back to camp, unfortunately neither Halsin nor Shadowheart had maintained enough energy to heal anyone.

Astarion had almost immediately wedged himself under Wyll’s arm, curling an arm around his waist while also berating him as they walked. “What in the hells were you thinking jumping out like that! You’re weak, leave the feats of strength to Karlach you dolt!” And on and on. The words were cutting, and not entirely fair, but still, his hands remained gentle against his friends skin and he walked slowly so as not to jostle his injuries.

Shadowheart- exhausted herself, likely with a beast of a headache after all of the concentration spells she’d been slinging- had told Astarion to shut it, only hearing the words and not the worry behind them. He had obliged- another kindness-as his eyes darted around the scrunched pain painted over her expression and his own expression set in resolve. Still, he performed a pout, and everyone took it for what it was- or rather, what he’d wanted them to take it for: Astarion being his usual surly self.

Halsin took it for what it truly was, a man doing his best to aid his friends and keep their spirits high after such a grueling encounter. He’d thought they needed someone to direct their exhausted irritation at, lest they start picking themselves apart instead (something Halsin had noticed, but was unaware Astarion knew of) and offered himself like it was as natural as breathing.

The kindnesses didn’t stop there, either. When they made it to camp he’d taken Wyll to his bedroll as the others collapsed onto their own. Rummaged through the camp supplies until he found a potion of greater healing, then did not feed it to Wyll until he was half asleep and delirious.

“Mmh… Dad?” Wyll had murmured, eyes squinted closed as he moved his head around. Astarion had simply hummed and continued feeding him the potion.

For the rest of the night he prepped ingredients with practiced efficiency and left them next to the communal cooking pot for when the rest of the party woke for breakfast. Halsin had needed to trance for a few hours, loathe as he was to turn away from the scene, and when he returned Wyll’s robe had been mended, folded and placed aside his head. Astarion was nowhere to be seen. Halsin hoped he’d found his way to his own tent for a short trance.

Elves do not need to sleep, this much is true, but even a short trance would have done wonders to refresh and replenish his energy. Astarion had to know that.

Halsin is still unsure what the other elf had done for the rest of that night, but he’d emerged from his tent with just as much practiced, haughty vigor as he’d always had halfway through breakfast the next morning.

“Astarion! Good morning! Thank you for aiding me in our trek back yesterday.” Wyll had smiled at him, something warm and molten in his eyes. Astarion simply huffed and waved it off, “Well, dear, someone needed to lecture you about the dangers of heroism. None of these dimwits were going to do it.” Wyll smiled and the others gave halfhearted protests from where they’d been digging into the breakfast Gale had prepared from the ingredients Astarion had left out for him. There was a sparkle in his eye as he caught sight of them eating it, something almost like pride, if Halsin had to name it.

The others had been dumbfounded, asking around the campfire about who had done it. When no one came forward they’d simply shrugged and taken it to mean that the culprit was too humble to take credit. Besides, who were they to question a miracle such as this. No one asked the vampire if he’d done the deed, why would he have? He doesn’t eat food anymore and he doesn’t even really like them.

It’s exactly what he wants them to think. Halsin has to give him points for his dedication to maintaining pretense. Wyll doesn’t mention his robe, but his eyes dart from hand to hand trying to scrutinize any bandages or pricks that might indicate a late-night sewing session. It’s a smart move on his part but Astarion, it seems, is a masterful tailor. His fingers are unbandaged and unbloodied.

Everything carefully thought out and executed. Every kindness meticulously planned and hidden. He truly is an enigma. He would rather his friends believe him selfish and cruel, than see him for the gentle, caring man he truly is.

The kindnesses continue, always carefully implemented so as to erase any and all suspicion that Astarion may have had any part in it. He continues to be outwardly difficult and mean so as to cover his tracks. Halsin can do little but watch, as he always has, that is, until Astarion’s little kindnesses eventually and inevitably extend to him, too.

He is not so easily fooled, has seen past the performance that the other man puts on for some reason that he is still trying to parse.

It’s a quiet evening, the battles of the day had been hard, but nothing they were ill-equipped to handle. The shadow curse has been getting to Halsin, though. Seeing his greatest failure in all of it’s unbearable misery has been weighing on him. And he knows his struggle is not invisible to his fellow party members. They seem unsure what to do about it, though, seeing as he is a centuries old former Arch-Druid with life experience they could hardly fathom. He enjoys his time at camp but cannot say with certainty that he is truly close to anyone there. Though he wishes to be, he is afraid they’ve placed him on somewhat of a pedestal after his actions in the grove, forgetting that he is fallible and full of emotion, same as them.

He very nearly misses it, when it happens, too caught up in his thoughts to hear the slight shuffling near the entrance to his tent. Thankfully, he doesn’t, and emerges with a small smile.

Astarion freezes at the sound of his emergence, crouched over something small and wooden at his feet. Then, almost as if possessed, his shoulders relax and he looks up with a devilish grin. “Halsin! My dear, I was just looking for you. Some wretched little thing of a child has gifted me with perhaps the ugliest wooden duck I’ve ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes on. And these things are in no way ‘beautiful’ on a good day. I cannot have something so… distasteful loitering around my tent. You mentioned you liked ducks so I thought it would be of better use here. Otherwise I’m throwing it in the river.” It’s a lot of words, more than the vampire generally tends to use in casual conversation, as much as he pretends he’s an insufferable chatterbox. That’s the second clue Halsin gets that perhaps there’s more to this than Astarion is telling him. The first being the way he froze, as if he hadn’t been expecting Halsin to be there. “Looking for you”, right…

Astarion stands and nods at the duck on the ground. It’s small, a little misshapen, but it’s got hearts carved where it’s eyes should be and for some reason Halsin finds that hopelessly endearing. He kneels and cradles the thing gently in his cupped palms.

When he looks up Astarion is grinning at him, still in that sneering performative way he likes to, but in his eyes that shine of pride makes itself known. Halsin likes the duck, it’s obvious. And Astarion is proud of himself, but he’ll never tell. He’ll never let anyone else be.

The third clue is dripping sluggishly down Astarion’s finger, stark and red against his deathly pale skin. Halsin remembers the first time he’d whittled. His hands had looked much of the same. He smiles.

“Thank you, Astarion. This is very good. Would you like some salve for your hand?”

Astarion’s eyes widen, only fractionally, but noticeable if you’d been looking in his eyes. And Halsin had been. Still, his expression shutters and he pastes another smirk on before turning his nose up at the duck.

“Thank the Gods, that ugly thing is your problem now. And I’ve no idea what you mean dear, my hand is perfectly serviceable.” He rushes away with a perfunctory wave, likely to rob Halsin of the opportunity to call him out on his bullshit. Halsin only smiles and cradles the duck. He’d bloodied his hands for this, for him. The surge of affection that washes through him is entirely involuntary but wholly welcome.

Astarion wakes from his trance the next morning to a gift settled gently at the entrance of his tent. It’s a wooden cat, masterfully carved from a dark oak and undeniably beautiful. Perfectly fitting the vampire’s tastes and sensibilities.

A note lies beside it in what he recognizes to be Halsin’s messy scrawl.

Thank you, Astarion, again for the duck. It thrills and delights me to know that you care. It did make me feel better, you know, and I still have that salve if you need. All you have to do is ask. I thought I’d return the favor, seeing as you do so much for the camp but refuse to let anyone see it, or thank you.

I see you. I thank you.

Yours,

Halsin

[messiahzzz]

You’re one of the most annoying people on this site. And that really says A LOT because WOW! Shut the Fuck up about Gale wanting to be a father or not. He never says that he doesn’t want to be one. You projecting things onto him doesn’t make it Canon.

on a serious note: i’m certainly not the one that continuously brings up this topic unprompted. i personally really don’t understand the entire controversy around the topic or why fandom feels the need to rehash this conversation almost weekly. i truly believe that there’s nothing more of value to learn from it, to address, or add to it… yet fandom won’t let it rest.

to once again clarify: what i mean by “gale wanting to be a father isn’t canon” is that there is no evidence/neither hints anywhere in any of the dialogue that support the contrary. characters like h*lsin, w*ll and la*’zel have entire adoption subplots. all of them mention their children explicitly during the epilogue:

narrator: *your soul warms thinking of lily aurora ravengard, your adopted daughter. a treasure of a girl, found at the entrance of the open hand temple - one grey eye, one brown.* w*ll: ah, the girl could melt the staunchest heart. she might even have brought a smile to old withers' face! w*ll: but tonight is for us - and lily's only four months of age, besides. i promise, the temple will keep her in good care.

player: and our little hatchling? is he safe? la*'zel: of course. i have complete trust in our newest allies. xan is in fine hands tonight. la*'zel: what a wonder he is. he will be a fine warrior, if he chooses. or a poet, or an explorer, or a scholar.

h*lsin: being away from it... i cannot help but worry how they will fare in our absence. player: we'll be back before they know it. h*lsin: i hope so. the children shall miss their bedtime tale tonight - though perhaps i can glean a few new stories from our friends here, to make up for it.

even shad*wh*art has a line where she briefly mentions that children might be a possibility for her in the future.

shad*wh*art: and i get to see my parents almost every day - i need to make every moment with them count, after so much was stolen from us. but they're doing well, [...] shad*wh*art: who knows? perhaps they'll have grandchildren before long.

gale in comparison? he has none of that. he remains childfree during the entirety of the game + epilogue. in fact, his line in the epilogue that addresses the topic of grandkids is this one:

tara: this is why mrs. dekarios and i will be waiting an eternity more for grandchildren. nodecontext: self-pitying gale: psst! shoo, tara. nodecontext: shooing away tara like one would a naughty cat.

i already wrote a post about this entire discourse here [x] but to repeat myself once more: all of the dialogue that vaguely addresses the topic of children in any way in regards to gale are these snippets

player: gale… how would you feel about having another person in our relationship? gale: what, like a child? i’m not quite sure i’d consider myself father material, plus our current lifestyle isn’t exactly what i’d call settled…

gale, upon spotting oliver during their game of hide and seek: ah, i have you! just a shame i don’t want you.

gale treating the children the group comes across with respect isn’t an indicator either. this is a courtesy gale extends to everyone he meets. he’s a character that approves of a protagonist who systematically commits good deeds. whether it’s sparing animals, helping without compensation in mind, or aiding children. wanting children to be cared for… and you know… for them not to die is common etiquette that every adult should extend to a child in need. those are not “dad goals!!!” it’s quite literally just basic human decency. gale is genuinely kind and caring to everyone he meets, there is no reason why this also wouldn’t apply to children.

i often see fandom mention his encounter with mol at last light and how excited he is to talk to her. which i think greatly misinterprets the context of the scenario since he didn’t have much of a reaction to mol before either — gale is ecstatic about lanceboard. again evident by his reaction to the party finding the life-sized board during the wyrmway trials, and how he immediately offers to give tav pointers. explaining different approaches to them in enthusiastic detail if they allow him to. the man just really likes lanceboard… as well as being the smartest person in the room.

gale: ah, lanceboard! why, this might just be the highlight of our misadventures to date.

gale: lanceboard happens to be a game with which i have more than a passing familiarity. might i offer a suggestion? nodecontext: gale's a badass lanceboard player, anticipating showing off

if you want to headcanon your tav and gale raising a big family together that is more than fine and no one is stopping you. whatever you want to happen to these two after the storyline of the game is up to your respective fantasies. no one is policing you on what you should do with your own character. go wild and create whatever fan content you wish, no justification required.

yet once again, as there is no mention in canon anywhere — neither in the main game nor the epilogue — that this is something gale would ever want (whether that may mean immediately or somewhere down the line) gale wanting to be a father remains a headcanon. while gale being childfree is explicitly shown in the game, in strict comparison to other companions that either have children by the end of the game or voice the desire to (eventually) have them.

my personal preferences are of no relevance here whatsoever. i care about accurate and correct characterization and will point out inconsistencies/false information no matter the topic. i, for one, want to appreciate these characters in the way they're written, not how i ideally want them to be.

[thedgeoftheuniverse]

THE END OF ALL THINGS | gale dekarios

pairing: gale x gn!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: talk of insecurities with self, allusions to suicide/death (mystra when i fucking catch you), gale has no self confidence, not proof read i'm so sorry, i cannot stop slightly rewriting scenes from the companion's perspectives

Tomorrow, an inevitable fate will whisk him away from this plane of existence. But tonight? Tonight, the sky is alive and illuminated by a creation of his own making; if he is bound to sacrifice himself for a goddess that does not care for his life, then perhaps he is afforded selfishness in his final hours of existence.

It is not an unusual occurrence for Gale's words to seemingly run loose, escaping his mouth long before his brain—however knowledgeable it may be—has the chance to understand what he is saying. A small slip of the tongue, a misspoken sentence, an accidental admission of a thought that should have perhaps been voiced in a more private setting. He has always seemed to hold a special reverence for the sound of his voice; he knows how to string together a collection of sounds and syllables in his everyday speech that is akin to poetry, and his cadence cannot be ignored, not even intentionally. Even still, he falls victim to his prose far more than he would wish.

Especially around you.

He cannot seem to pinpoint the cause past you. There is no mistaking that his worst slip-ups—the kind that make heat spread across his cheeks and embarrassment sit on his chest—happen around you. He is unsure if it is the way the sunlight illuminates your eyes, transforming your already perfectly colored irises into an expanse of stars so vast that he could never hope to conjure a replica. He has contemplated the possibility of your laugh being the culprit; it is infectious, it is contagious, and it is a sound so melodious and rapturing that it could put a Harpy's song to shame. But no—he's sure that cannot be it. Nor could it be the gentleness of your voice during your conversations when it is late at night, when the camp—save for him and you—is asleep. It could not be the relentless selflessness and kindness that you have shown to strangers again and again and again.

It well and truly could not be the way you accepted him—his condition—and all of the impracticalities of his companionship without even a moment of question. It could not be that the relentless love you have shown to strangers, you shared with him tenfold; that despite the wretched monster, the menace he knows himself to be, you were kind—kind in a way that he fears he will never again find. It surely cannot be for any reason that could be mistaken for him being hopelessly in love with you; there is nothing that may be interpreted as his soul being eternally devoted to yours because his soul does not have an eternity—nor even a single lifetime—left. Perhaps it will only have tonight and the stars in the sky.

He knows he is selfish for entertaining these thoughts; however, he is unable to keep them from the front of his mind. He cannot keep you from the front of his mind. He knows that he is no good. He’s known it for longer than he can remember; he knows he is undeserving of your kindness, and it would be pure evil to ask for more from you.

But it would only be for tonight.

Tomorrow, an inevitable fate will whisk him away from this plane of existence. But tonight? Tonight, the sky is alive and illuminated by a creation of his own making; if he is bound to sacrifice himself for a goddess that does not care for his life, then perhaps he is afforded selfishness in his final hours of existence.

This is what he tells himself as he awaits your company with sweating palms and a racing heart. Perhaps the conjuration of himself was not the most romantic way to request your company for the evening, but he needed time—the stars were not going to hang themselves after all, and this had to be perfect. He has swallowed down his devotion to you for so long that he fears that one more moment will begin to choke him. Words will no longer do justice for you. It has to be perfect. He has to be perfect. He stands on the cusp of oblivion, moments away from taking his final steps, and he is desperate. Desperate to have you—the object of his desire and subject of his yearning—in his arms for the rest of his hours; desperate to live past tomorrow; desperate for a way out of his cruel fate; desperate to touch you, to hold you; desperate to be someone worth remembering; desperate for death; desperate for life; desperate to unwrap every layer of himself—to show you what little he has to offer; desperate for you to choose to stay in spite of that, even if only through tomorrow.

He is not sure hanging stars will provide him with much clarity on his conflicting desperations, but he does know that you will love them, and this is all that matters.

“Am I talking to the real Gale or mirror Gale now?” You question with a playfulness hidden behind your voice. Your eyes are glued to the sky. His are glued to your face, the way the moonlight dances across your cheekbones and illuminates your eyes. They cannot help but betray the depth of his affections.

He ignores your question, “Come—sit with me.” He lacks the mental clarity to reciprocate your lightheartedness. His heart seems to be the owner of his voice tonight (she is heavy, and he is running out of time). You join him on the grass, trying to ignore the anxiety balling up in your gut. He begins: “I love this time of night.” His heart hammers in his chest, and he is gripped with the fear that he has misread your previous interactions—that perhaps you were merely treating him with the same kindness you had shown every unfortunate soul that had thus crossed your path. Perhaps that moment of magic shared between you and the wish of a kiss, the lingering touches, stolen glances, and evenings shared while the camp rested were misread attempts at friendship rather than intimacy. Perhaps what he thought to be a deeply intimate connection shared through not only your souls but the Weave itself was simply nothing—a fairytale conjured by the emotionally starved recesses of his brain, which echoed through the hollowness of his ribcage, a desperate piece of him holding onto the illusion that he was enough.

Nevertheless, he has to do this—if he is to die tomorrow, it cannot be without you knowing how special you truly are.

He meets your gaze once more, though you are still enraptured by the picturesque scene before your eyes: “There’s an almost reverent silence that accompanies the peak of darkness, when you’d believe the dawn will never break.” He hopes you cannot see the slight tremble in his hands as he speaks, “The cradle of eternity… the timelessness of lovers.” Your gaze finally meets his, and Gale can only pray that he would be shown the mercy of a believable facade of confidence. He is terrified, more so than he has ever been, but he does not want you to know this. He wants to be seen as a man who is hopelessly devoted to you, not because of desperation in the face of an imminent demise, but rather because this is how it has been since the moment he laid eyes on you, how it was always destined to be, and he dreads the thought of his fear leading you to believe anything less than that he would renounce every one of the Gods and Goddesses and declare them as false idols in favor of merely worshiping the ground beneath your feet.

The softness in your eyes allows him to relax, and the slight raise of your eyebrows invites him to push this conversation further: “The most beautiful of fantasies.” His eyes part from you to look upon his creation.

“Did you do all of this?” Tears begin to well up in your eyes. Has anyone ever performed such a gesture for you?

A small wave of confidence surges through his veins. “I did.” He dares another glance into your eyes, and he believes them to be far more intricate than his conjuration in the sky. “The curse still lingers, of course—just veiled and at an arm’s length for now. Not a trick I can repeat often, but tonight is… different.” Your face crumples, and Gale’s fear returns tenfold. He knows you are no fool—that you know exactly why he chose tonight for such a spectacle; that you are no less aware than him of what tomorrow will bring. Perhaps even more than him. The sadness that radiates from your body is palpable, nearly creating an almost physical barrier between your two bodies and leaving a rotten smell in the air. “Tonight may be my las—”

Your voice, normally so sweet, is laced with a combination of rage and despair, and something else that Gale was simply unable to identify: “Don’t say that. We’ve discussed this time and time again, Gale. There has to be another way.” Your words come out rushed—panicked as though he would disappear before you could finish speaking.

“You know there isn't.”

“There has to be. I do not want to lose you. I cannot lose you, Gale; I do not want to leave you.” The sincerity in your eyes feels akin to his chest being ripped open, his heart exposed to the coolness of the night, and torn from him. “Have you no sympathy for those left to stand in your ashes?”

But this has to be done. (Doesn't it? Doesn't he burn with the desire for forgiveness? for a purpose greater than himself? Is this not the only way he will find it?)

“Do not be so foolish. I have no desire to leave you—you must know how special you are to me.” He does not miss how your body flinches at the words that he cannot prevent from leaving his mouth. Instead, he turns his head far enough to shield his eyes from the hurt he has inflicted. "But this is the only option. I cannot idly stand by and watch you or anyone else die, knowing I possess the ability to put an end to this. You must understand: I am doing this because I love you. I cannot bear the risk of living knowing it came at the expense of your life.”

He did not entirely realize the magnitude of his verbal slip, perhaps his most damnable yet, until he met your eyes once again. "You—you what?” In an instant, your gaze softens. The rage once dividing your bodies fades into an entirely new sensation, one that Gale still remains unable to identify. Gale, however, feels nearly sick to his stomach. This was not how he intended this evening to go.

“I…” And for the first time since you met his acquaintance, Gale is at a loss for words.

“Please don't go. I would risk death a thousand times over if it always meant one more night with you.” Tears are freely falling from your eyes. You are desperate. You can feel him slipping away from you. “Don't go. We can find another way.”

“I don't know what else there is to do.”

“Nor do I, but I know this is not the answer.”

“If you knew the end was near, would you not want to ensure it had meaning? I am… terrified. I will not claim otherwise. My face could scarcely conceal it, even if my words sought to deny it.” He pauses for a moment and inhales a shaking breath before continuing: “There is no point in running from the inevitable. Better to meet it—on my own terms.”

“And what of me?” The shock on his face is evident, and his confusion is even more so. “You say you love me. Show me. Stay and show me."

In an instant, something lifts; clarity falls upon Gale’s shoulders as he watches tears streaming down your cheeks. Mystra’s forgiveness is not guaranteed, but he is almost able to believe that your love is a far greater purpose than absolution from a Goddess who forsook him in his most dire time of need. Perhaps you—a living, breathing deity made of nothing more than flesh and blood and infinite flaws but pure perfection nonetheless—are a far greater purpose than anything he ever believed he could be afforded. 

It takes a moment for his words to return to him: “One moment with you could sate me for a lifetime and prise the fear from my heart.” He appears almost solemn in his confession. “I know this is all unreal, but I created it for you. You must know that you're… You're very special to me.”

“Surely you know—”

“If things were different..." He almost seems to be unaware of you speaking, completely drowning in his mind. “If we were home, I’d have taken the time to do this properly. To say it all better, but time is short… I’m in love with you.” Fireflies dance around your bodies as you dry the tears from your cheeks. You cannot help but notice the fabricated sky illuminating his skin, doing nothing to conceal the signs of his age, nor does it hide the fear behind his eyes. He is wholly imperfect; wrinkles line his forehead, small patches of gray streak through messy strands of brown hair, his eyes are wet with tears that he forbids to escape, and his hubris, which will damn him to the Hells one day, has left his body brittle, but he is Gale, and he is nothing short of remarkable in your eyes. He is wearing his heart on his sleeve; he is unzipping his chest, showing you what rattles inside of his ribcage, and silently begging you to stitch him back together when the dust settles and… 

And he is looking to you for an answer, despite having never asked a question.

“You surely must know my affections are the same.” His eyebrows unfurl and relax at your words, a visible weight taken from his shoulders. “Stay. Stay here, by my side, and show me how special I am. Show me what it is you deem worthy of loving.” For what seems like the one thousandth time, your eyes lock. All traces of doubt, anger, and fear have given way to purely ardent love.

While Gale believes he will spend the rest of his life at war with himself if he chooses to defy Mystra, he knows it will be a life well lived if it is to be spent at your side. Damn Mystra, damn the Gods and Goddesses, damn the entire world; his calling will be found nowhere that is not beside you.

Words, once again, fall from his lips before he knows what they will be: “May I kiss you?”

“As long as it is not a parting kiss.”

“Never.”

a/n: part 2 will prob take me 2025982 yrs but it will have smut :3

[songbirdtales]

Keepsakes (AstarionxTav)

Author's note:

The more I'm writing the more this is turning into the slowest of burns. IDKY I'm eating up Astarion and Gale rivalry but its fueling me lol. Enjoy!

Tav sat by the fire with a ragged stuffed bear. The tattered toy had tears in several limbs and had been partially decapitated. Tav has some rags and a needle set aside as they examine the damage, mentally calculating their supplies. 

“You’ll kill your eyes like that.” Gale stood over their shoulder, his arms crossed behind his back as he surveyed the scene.

“Good thing I’ve darkvision, yeah?” They offered him a fanged smile, the levity of conversation welcomed.

“Still, if you’ve need of, you’re welcome to use my tent. I keep it well lit for late night reading.” He was doing it again, this dance they’d been at the last few days. This dance of over generosity met with deflection when Tav would probe at his intentions. Sure, perhaps it was simply friendly companionship, but the dissonance in his words and actions made Tav feel there was something Gale wasn’t telling them.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you awake, we need you fresh tomorrow.”

Gale held his hands up as if he’d been caught in a crime. “No need to worry, I’ll be sleeping by the fire tonight. It’ll be empty regardless of me.” An arm opened to gesture back towards his tent. “You’re welcome to it as you please.”

And again they went. “Thank you, Gale. I’ll keep it in mind.” He couldn’t say much to that. Tav looked to their rags, then back up to the wizard. “Gale, could you help me with something actually?”

“Of course!” He was so eager. “How can I help?” Tav almost found themself pitying him. He wanted them so bad, and although Tav couldn’t deny there was a physical attraction, they didn’t want him like that, and they respected him too much to play with his heart.

“Do you have any scrap cloth?” Tav held up the moth worn rags, some had holes in the center with very little usable fabric, it made for a rather limited stock.”I’m trying to mend this toy I found in the village we passed through.”

“The goblin infested one? I hadn’t even noticed.” That’s what he was growing to like about Tav. They were thoughtful, even if they weren’t exactly a hero. They were a chaotic neutral soul from everything he’d seen. He didn’t mind that, but he found it unfortunate how they seemed to attract the worst kinds of characters, himself included. “I think I have a few pieces I can spare.” He nodded towards his tent. “I didn’t know you liked dolls.”

“I’m not sure I do, but mending things like this is familiar, and I could use something familiar right now.” Their eyes had turned back to the toy in their hands. They grabbed their supplies and stood, ready to follow him back to his tent, which is exactly what they hadn’t wanted to do. Still, they could keep this from escalating in a direction they didn’t want. Everything was still fine.

“I understand. I’ve been grabbing every book we pass. It’s the most I’ve read in ages. It’s comforting.” Gale said as they walked side by side to his tent. His strides were longer and quicker than Tav’s, Gale actively having to alter his pace and path to keep at their side. His body language betrayed his excitement, and Tav felt nothing at the sight but anxiety. Tav paused beside his sitting cushion as Gale stepped forward, kneeling into the tent and gathering some slashed clothes. “There you are,” Gale beamed as he handed the cloth to Tav.

The cloth was good quality, heavy and strong, but it had been brutally cut up in battle to the point it wasn’t much worth repairing. The blood had been mostly washed out but the reminisce of stains lingered. All in all, there was more than enough good fabric for their bear.

“You really took a beating the other day…” Tav mused as they looked over the torn robe. They’d not really thought much about how brutal the Gnoll on the road had been.

“You should have seen the other guy.” He joked back, laughing a little until he noticed Tav wasn’t laughing back. He quickly tamped the laughter down to awkward silence.

Tav offered Gale a soft smile. “I’m glad you’re ok Gale. You’re a valued part of this party, and I don’t know how we’d fare without you. So, do try to be more careful, yeah?”

“Of course.” He said with a nod, his eyes struggling to keep contact with Tav’s demonic glow. His gaze only turned up when Tav spoke again.

“Well, I better get started if I want to get some sleep tonight.” Tav said as they switched spots with Gale, his body naturally following their movement as if they were both being pushed by opposite currents. Tav got down and crawled in, sitting in the pile of cushions Gale had amassed and formed into a reclined seat. They curled their legs up, propping their supplies on their thighs as they began to tear the gifted cloth into smaller segments.

Gale didn’t leave, sitting down on the cushion outside. He grabbed something nearby to seem as though he had a task himself, but it was truly just an excuse to watch Tav work. Tav didn’t mind, even if they saw his act for what it was. Eventually he actually did become fixated on his task, the two working silently, fueled by the other’s presence. It was peaceful, familiar, like working in a library. Gale had no idea how long they had been at this, but as he pulled himself from his work to speak to Tav, he paused.

Inside the tent Tav was passed out in his pillows. The bear had been noticeably mended in parts, but it was not yet done. Gale got up from his seat and kneeled into the tent. His hand reached for the blanket, pulling it across the tent to gently drape it over Tav. A warm smile bloomed on his lips as he let them sleep. Only then would Gale leave, heading back to the fire.

“There you are,” The annoyance in Astarion’s voice was palpable as he approached Gale at the fire. “Where have you been off to?”

Gale knew the smell of jealousy well, and Astarion was worse than he’d like at hiding it. “Just doing a little late night carving.” Gale reached in his pocket and produced a small wooden figurine. It was crudely carved, but even Astarion had to admit it vaguely resembled a cat in a cat’s most basic shape.

Astarion stared at the deformed wooden cat for a moment before looking up at Gale with the least amusement Gale had ever seen from him. “Do you know where Tav is?”

Gale had to actively resist smiling but the faintest glimmer of a triumphant grin couldn’t help but pull at his lips. He’d cross his arms over his chest. “I do.” He said simply and curt as if he had no intention of elaborating. Anger twitch to Astarion’s face, and just as he was just about to speak, Gale spoke again, cutting him off. “They’re already asleep for the night. Poor thing, utterly exhausted. I’d let them be.”

Astarion’s face had more warmth to it than Gale had ever seen, the heat of his anger barely contained. “I asked you a question. Do not make me repeat myself.” That normally beautiful face was twisted and sharp as Astarion glared daggers into the human wizard. 

The grin grew broader across Gales lips at Astarion’s posturing and he’d nod back over his shoulder. “I thought it best to leave them be.” He was so smug about it, as if he’d won some unspoken competition.

Astarion glanced over in the direction Gale had gestured quickly at first before realizing Gale had nodded to his tent. His gaze came back to Gale as a glare. “No need to make things weird, Gale. We’re all adults here.” If his tongue wasn’t so sharp, Gale might have noticed the projection in Astarion’s words, but both men were preoccupied with their egos. The condescension in his voice was cutting, leaving Gale speechless long enough for Astarion to turn sharply away and saunter off.

Gale sighed as the Elf departed, a wave of relief washed over him that his jugular was still intact. “Dramatic.” He finally scoffed.

Astarion was at Gale’s tent in a matter of strides. Still fuming, he knelt beside the opening of the tent and pulled the flap aside with his arm. The sight of Tav, fully clothed, dead asleep, with a partly repaired stuffed toy was not what Astarion had been expecting. Instantly the wind was knocked out of his anger and the fire of it died, leaving Astarion frozen. Any action he’d thought to take was now wildly dramatic if not inappropriate… for a moment he was almost aware of his jealousy, until Tav stirred.

A soft, sleepy sound came from Tav as one eye struggled to pull itself half open. Their arms were just about to start pushing themself up when Astarion reached out a hand. He didn’t touch them, but his hand hovered just overtop their back. They didn’t push up into the hand, they didn’t have the strength. They were exhausted from the near daily feeding.

“Hush, go back to sleep.” He urged in a sweet whisper as his eyes turned about the tent. Gale had this packed with all sorts of magic nonsense, but his eyes fell back to the stuffed bear. He was fascinated instantly, not because of the toy, but because of the magic radiating from it. They had pulled apart Gale’s bloodstained shirt for thread and stitched it in a way he’d seen before from the witches of Baldur's Gate, a way of hiding protections and curses in the stitch and weave of clothing. Though in this instance it was very rudimentary, Astarion couldn’t help but wonder how a tiefling bard knew such magic. 

“Are you hungry?” Even half asleep, Tav’s mind was preoccupied with the camp, making sure everyone was safe. He almost admired that about them, if only for the wrong reasons. He was impressed that someone could have the willpower to keep all of this together.

“Not tonight darling.” His hand reached for their hair, gently shifting some loose strands from their face. He’d lean over to their ear and whisper,  “Sweet dreams,” as Tav’s eye fell shut once more.

He lingered, hesitating, his eyes shifting back to the bear before deciding it was best to leave what questions it gave him till the morning. Astarion would wait until he’d gotten a few steps from the tent before letting his real thoughts catch up to him. He was hungry, but a boar would have to suffice. It would look bad on him to drink Tav’s blood while they’re passed out in another person’s tent, and he needed to keep appearances up if his very simple plan was to succeed.

The next morning Tav woke up early. Gale had aligned some objects in his tent to take the first light of dawn and amplify it and wake him, Gods did it work, Tav almost wished it hadn’t. They were groggy, vision fading in and out of focus as they crawled out into the sunlight. They sat on their knees and stared at the horizon in silent reverence for a time. Their thoughts swam with everything that had happened leading up to the blighted village; the abandoned temple, the grove. It all came back like recalling a vivid dream, surreal and fragmented, yet so clear. 

They let their eyes close as the still cool air washed over them. Tav’s breath fogged in the morning chill as they let out a deep, tired yawn. Their fangs snapped as they closed their mouth and rubbed the sleep from their eyes. As they crawled back in the tent to retrieve their craft, they noticed something shine in the morning light. A single white hair. Tav cocked a brow but gathered it with the rest of the fabric and the bear.

Everyone was still asleep as Tav ted lightly towards and past the fire. Even Astarion was still in his trance from what it seemed so Tav went towards the river. As soon as their back was turned, a sanguine eye popped open. Astarion was silent as he followed Tav towards the water. He watched as Tav washed their hands and face in the running water before settling on a rock and pulling their bear back out.

“Good morning, Darling.” He watched them closely, the breaking of the silence practically made Tav jump but they didn’t hide their work. They’d been threading their needle and paused, tucking the needle into the bear so as to not stab themself with it on accident.

“Good morning,” Tav sighed in relief, a soft smile pulling across their face before their hand twirled in a flourish towards him. “You dropped something in Gale’s tent.” They held out the single silver hair between two fingers, offering it back to him. “You should be more careful with a wizard.”

Astarion scoffed and looked between Tav and the hair. “How do you know that’s mine?” The two stared silently at each other for a long moment, Astarion set in his flimsy denial as Tav’s hair was much longer, much more yellow, and much less curly than the strand in question. He’d groan a little. “Fine, yes, it’s mine.” A hint of irritation simmered in his tone before shifting into that arrogant sarcasm. “I’m surprised you’re giving it back instead of using it in your little curse doll, make me fall in love with you.”

Tav choked on laughter, doubling over as their cheeks puffed before their lips burst open. Their hand clapped over their mouth to muffle the sound so as to not wake the others. “I don’t need magic to steal a heart.” 

They turned their hand down, ready to flick the hair away towards him but Astarion reached out to snatch it before they could. He didn’t keep it, brushing it off his hand on his trousers. Tav looked back down to the bear and held it up a little. 

“Besides, these are for protection. It’s something my mother taught me to do. When I saw this in the rubble, I thought I might give myself something familiar to do. This one’s for Gale, since it’s got his blood and all on the thread.” Those blue eyes turned up to Astarion curiously. “I can make one for you next time I find a stuffed animal.”

“Don’t expect me to give you my bloody drawers.” Astarion huffed.

“No need for that.” Tav was still chortling as they picked up their needle to resume work. “I'll be honest the blood was dramatic of him, but I’m thinking of making one for everyone. Give my hands something to do while we travel.”

“Really?” His tone shifted as he leaned just a little closer, that perfect, sly smile on his lips. Tav knew a performance when they saw one, and this was well rehearsed. “Nothing else to busy your hands with?”

Tav knew this game, bored flirtation. It was one of their favorites, and considering there was nothing else to do besides fixate on the imminent fear of death, why not play along? Their hair swayed as they tilted their head, strands still caught in their horns and loose down their back. Their hair was long, past their shoulders and with a hint of a wave. “Yet.” They hummed in response, a curious look on their face, studying his reaction.

Astarion recoiling as a very confused “What?” come from him before he’d clear his throat. He wasn’t used to someone flirting back, normally they were too intimidated. “I mean, What about your uh, violin? Or is it a Lute?”

Tav backed off, their smile growing wider at his stumbling words. “I’m fine playing classics by the fire, but I’m a bit reluctant to work on my own stuff around the fire with strangers. Besides, most of them want to sleep as soon as we get back to camp. I'm not gonna keep them up.”

“Oh come now,” He’d put the charm back on, gesturing to the camp. “I’m sure Gale would be thrilled.”

Tav’s face soured, their nose scrunching a little as their lips thinned. “Yeah…” They didn’t seem excited by the idea. “You… never heard me play in Baldur’s Gate, did you?”

Astarion laughed and found himself a seat on a nearby stone. “Darling, I have no idea who you are beyond our time together with the rest of our companions.” Tav squinted as they caught sight of a glimmer of honesty. When he didn’t care about something, he had no filter, and in that they could see just a hint of what hid behind the mask.

An easy smile grew across Tav’s lips. “What kind of music do you think I make?” They asked with pure amusement.

Astarion stared blankly at Tav for a moment, blinking a few times as the gears in his head turned. “What other kind of music do bards make besides adventure ballads?”

Tav instinctively covered their mouth as they laughed again, truly amused by his ignorance. It drew Astarion’s eye instantly. “I mostly sing about grief and death, heartbreak and vengeance. It’s not exactly the mood I want to bring to camp.”

“It can’t be that bad.” He said as he crossed his arms. “Come, let me hear some of this emotional music. It can’t be that much of a downer.”

Tav rose a brow, his challenge wordlessly accepted. They reached into their back for a small book where they worked out their lyrics. “Here’s something I’m still working on.” They cleared their throat and began reading the lines like poetry. It was an eloquent verse, and very clearly described having dreams of murdering their own father.

Astarion was thrown off in a completely new way. The longer they read for, the more his expression contorted as Astarion tried to mask his concern. They only got two lines in before Astarion held one hand out and averted his gaze. “Th-that’s enough. I get it.”

“Yeah,” Tav was holding back laughter. “I don’t need to be playing songs like that at a time like this. I’ll get my musical fix by playing their favorites by the fire, but I figure it’s better to save the heavy stuff.” Their eyes turned to the sky, the sun was just about to peek over the trees, the morning star fading as the sky lost its pastel hues. “Never gets old.” They sighed, as the sun came up and the warmth of its light washed over them both. 

Astarion flinched instinctively before letting out a deep sigh of relief. “No, it does not.”

They sat in the silence of the sunrise for a moment before Tav’s voice gently broke it. “I know everythings scary right now, but I truly believe that if we stick together, we can survive this. And if not, at least we’re free, for what it’s worth.”

“I think freedom’s worth everything.” His eyes were fixed on the water, watching the river glisten as it ran. The flashes reflected in his eyes, making them sparkle like rubies.

Tav let themself stare for longer than they should have, taking in the contours of his features, the shapes of his shadows, the lines in his skin. They didn’t care if he caught them, though he seemed too fixated on the water to notice. “So do I.” Tav’s voice melted into the sound of the river, so soft Astarion barely registered they’d said anything at all.

By the time he’d looked back to them, Tav was standing, holding the now fully mended bear in their hands. They tilted their head as they gazed at the bear, checking their work. They bit their lower lip in thought, as if trying to remember a forgotten step. Finally, they went to the river crouched beside the edge. With one finger, Tav reached to wet their nail, holding the drop in the carved point of their nail before bringing it to the forehead of the bear. The toy looked a little cleaner, Astarion could even feel the magic of it was more pure. The protection charm was complete. 

“I’ll try to find you a different animal. Maybe a goose?” They said with a joking smile.

Astarion clicked his tongue, squeezing his still folded arms as he pouted. “Take your time.” He had no desire for a hagcraft charm.

Tav shook their head as they left Astarion at the riverbank. The elf glanced back towards the fire to see Tav giving the now well awake Gale the bear. He seemed more fascinated with the magic than the bear itself and began to info dump about thread based magic.

Astarion’s face felt relatively hot as anger gathered in him. He covered his face with a hand as his mind still raced from that one word. He didn’t like this, whatever feeling this was. He didn’t recognize the feeling as it gathered in his core, this twisting in his guts, as if he’d eaten something rotten, yet still starved. Was it really hunger? He’d fed that night and this felt different. He’d already made them his mark, so why was he starting to panic?

It was then that a new thought came to Astarion, what if Tav can see through his game? How well could he really wrap them around his finger if they knew it was fake? And what did that mean for the security of his simple plan?

[normal-thoughts-official]

Wyll's ideal reclassing is as a bard and God herself couldn't change my mind.

Listen. I do like that Wyll is a ranger if he gets out of the pact but rangers are a lonely class by nature and fuck that. And while I also get the people who reclass him as paladin, I think the last thing he needs after getting out of Mizora's pact is to immediately be bound by a new and different set of rules to another otherwordly being he's sworn his soul to.

And while I understand why the devs didn't do this, since bards are sort of a support class and there are many possible endings for Wyll where he is on his own, I am bound by no such rules because i know that the only real canon ending is that he is with Karlach.

So, bard Wyll.

For starters, the man loves drama. Look no further than his introduction, but I would also like to present to the jury the conversation where he tries to find Gale a Cool Wizard Name. Pretty much the only thing he ever has fun with anymore is his theatrics. He'd love every second of being a bard and using said theatrics to defeat his foes. Especially because Wyll is a sweetheart but when he's angry he is angry, and as a bard he gets to let his mean streak out with spells like vicious mockery and such. "Oh he already has vicious mockery as a warlock if you have the pact of the tome" thank you for further supporting my argument. He was made for this

But there is more! Wyll is a folk hero and his whole thing is that he wants to help the weak and in need, and if that isn't supporter class material, then I seriously don't know what is. Yes, defeating monsters is important; but healing people, restoring balance by weakening those who abuse their strength, entertaining and making them happy are all just as important ways of supporting the weak, if not more important.

And those ways allow him to be closer to people, which he is so desperately starved of.

As a warlock he sort of had to keep his distance because Mizora would make sure he never got close to anyone, either intentionally or just by the fact that the nature of his pact put people off (even more so after the horns). Unbound by Mizora, he has no such problems and can find a community, even if temporary, with the people he saves. "Oh but you just said you want him to be with Karlach and then he's in Hell". Yes, and there are people there. Show me a single place with more people who are weak and unfortunate in need of rescuing and respite. I'm not the first person to say this, but they actually have the chance to turn the House of Hope into an actual house of hope where people can rest and escape the horrors of the Hells. And those people would need respite and happiness, and Wyll "Drama Boy" Ravengard would be delighted to provide and find himself among them.

Also, if no one else, he has Karlach, and there is nothing he wants more than to see her happy and alright. I don't need to justify this one, it's text. So, again, supporter class makes a lot of sense in that context. Warlock/ranger is good for when he's on his own, but he's sworn to help and protect Karlach now, and while fighting side by side obviously qualifies, being able to heal her - make sure she's alright - support her in battle more than just fighting with her, gives them a deeper bond and puts him more at ease, I believe. Plus, they both deserve and desperately need some playfulness in their lives, so, at the very least, he can make her laugh with his insane Vicious Mockery casts. He kind of overcasts that one because 1- he has fun with it, and 2- it makes Karlach smile, but they're both op as fuck so it doesn't matter anyway. It's the closest they can get to lightness and fun while they don't find a definitive cure for Karlach's heart.

And once they do find it and get the fuck out of there, listen. They both deserve some downtime, okay. We're talking about two people who have been thrown into fighting nonstop since they were barely on the cusp of adulthood, and who have more trauma to unpack than years of life. So fuck going straight back to adventures and oaths and nonstop seriousness. Sure, Wyll would want to, but he also wanted to go to fucking Hell for no reason. Even with his father back, even free of Mizora, that's the only thing he can think to do with himself if you let him choose. And he deserves better than that. He deserves to rest and unpack what's happened and find value in himself beyond the Blade of Frontiers, to enjoy the youth that was stolen from him; and the man craves to settle down more than anything, even if he won't admit it even to himself other than the marriage aspect of things. But need I remind everyone that when Wyll had been given a death sentence - the tadpole - what he did was stop at a grove and teach kids how to fight? He thought he would do one last mission and then die, and what he did was that for once he allowed himself to stay and get to know people and be part of a community for a while. Sure, they needed him, but so many people did. And he was supposed to be hunting Karlach, yet he put that aside in order to have a place to belong, just for a little while, before he became a monster and lost his soul (which is fine, really. One way or the other, he knew that would be his fate. It's just coming sooner than expected, that's all) (this is me laying down Wyll's logic. None of this is fine and I'm screaming and crying).

As for Karlach, she never even wanted to be thrown into any of this anyway. Once they're out of Avernus, they will both need to rest and breathe, and that is final. And as a bard, Wyll can settle down. He can find a home and a community, have a place to come back to, have vacations when he needs to, have fun when he wants to. He will never fully give up being a hero - it's who he is, it's who he's always been even before he was the Blade. Someone who cares, someone who wants to be there for others - but he can and should find balance between that and being himself. And what better class to do that than the artsy, dramatic, drawing-strength-from-your-own-self-expression class?

Plus, as a bard, he gets to sing absolutely off the shits songs about the Blade of Frontiers/Avernus while being the Blade of Frontiers/Avernus. The comedy potential is unlimited. You want to see that. You agree. Don't lie to me.

Also, bards' spellcasting modifier is also charisma, so that's just convenient. I know that when you get reclassed in bg3 you can simply change your stats but uhhhhh. Fuck that? And yes, yes, he already has high wisdom because if anyone has a will of iron it's him, but I also feel like Wyll's off the shits charisma is a part of who he is. He is charming, both in the romantic and non-romantic sense. He enjoys being around people, he loves culture more than anything (I am once again thinking about his idle dialogue with Gale at the tollhouse when Gale says that they must have been very rich with all the trade from the Chiontar and Wyll replies, "And they wouldn't have brought just trade goods, but song, dance, and custom. Riches of the mind and the spirit". If that doesn't summarize Wyll's values and love of life I don't know what the fuck does), he likes being social and charming others. And people are drawn to him, people trust him, because he's a goddamn folk hero through and through, and not just because he's the Blade of Frontiers. So keeping his stats and using his charisma to draw his magical strength just makes sense for him

There's no other class that Wyll would enjoy as much, that would allow him to keep his favorite parts of being the Blade while also allowing room to be himself, or that would fit his current stats as well. Wyll was made to be a bard and I'll go to war over this

[galedekarios]

Keeping this anon, but I hear you hate bloodweave. I was curious on your take to why.

You don't have to reply to this if it makes you uncomfortable thought!!

i'd like to preface this again by saying that this is my opinion. idc what you ship.

i've talked about this here, but i don't mind reiterating my points:

they have no chemistry, to the contrary, gale shuts him down right away during their first talk and ast*rion's manipulation attempts. i assume that gale sees right through him from the beginning. a lot of people love to hc gale as naive as or as completely taken with ast*rion, but it's the complete opposite. i imagine his many years in waterhavian society made him realise quite quickly what type of person he's dealing with. the relationship they have doesn't progress much from that. by act iii they - at best - begrudgingly tolerate each other.

they are diametrically opposed in the things they value as people as well as their morals. gale is kind-hearted, he approves of helping those in need, children, mothers, slaves, refugees, even the animals you meet in-game. he seeks to avoid bloodshed, approves of letting people who want to pay the party back for their help keep their money and belongings. he seeks knowledge and even power not for selfish reasons or a taste for the darker things, but because he seeks to better their odds of survival against a seemingly invincible foe. ast*rion meanwhile is selfish and cruel and vile. he delights in violence and bloodshed, he finds the struggle of people caught in the crosshairs amusing. he is greedy and short-sighted, seeking power for himself, no matter the cost to others.

they are completely incompatible in terms of what they look for in a relationship and a potential partner. gale wants and needs a deeper connection, a tangling of the souls, and he needs someone to be there for him unequivocally, to love him for who he is as he is. he is not taken in by someone's looks or image they present of themselves, nor does he do hate sex / endless bickering / enemies to fwb / etc.

the first things he cites for trusting the protag are their good actions (helping mirkon, helping arabella, seeking to ease the tension between zevlor and aradin), it's all those things that at first make him trust the protag and later - when they unselfishly offer him help, give him artefacts - makes him fall in love with them. sex and immediate gratification isn't important to him. sex is a component - one way in an array of ways to proclaim love.

for ast*rion, it's manipulation first and his entire romance hinges on that. his partner falling for his looks and his text book manipulation into sex. that's already where this breaks apart for me in terms of this ship because that doesn't work with gale.

add to that ast*rion's cruel remarks about gale's when he is need:

[after gale's background story reveal] You'd have us debate? That Netherese jack-in-the-box should be a blip on the horizon by now!

[after mystra's demands] I can't believe Mystra's demanding Gale sacrifice himself to destroy the Absolute. It's just a waste of a perfectly good cult that we could be controlling. And a waste of a perfectly good Gale, I suppose.

[at the stormshore tabernacle] Well? Go on, then - it's rude to keep a goddess waiting.

[after orin potentially kidnaps gale] So, we kill Gortash or Gale dies? It's not an easy call. On the one hand, killing Gortash would be fun. On the other, Gale can be very annoying. We should probably save the wizard, though. He does have his moments.

i think it's very clear, given the fact that these reactions range from act i to act iii, that he doesn't give a singular fuck about gale. contrast this to karlach's reactions, or even shadowheart's:

Karlach: That bloody freak won't get away with this. That's my wizard she took. And we're going to get him back.

(particularly karlach has many reactions like this.)

...unless you play either of them as an origin char and make the most ooc choices, i do not see how this pairing is supposed to work.

additionally, as i've discussed more in my previous post, the parallels people draw between them are shallow at best or can be drawn virtually between any of the other origin companions, or are non-existent at worst. ast*rion having a reading animation that he shares with gale (as halsin and shadowheart do too), or having their tents next to each other (like wyll and gale do in act i) isn't really enough for me.

as i've said previously, i have tried to engage with the pairing because it's sadly inescapable since people often don't bother tagging, but there's nothing except shallow ooc stuff.

[dekariosclan]

What do you think Gale would do if, after six months of living together, Tav gained a little weight and started complaining about his appearance?

P.S.: I know for sure that Gale will love us anyway (the ending for the mind eater is proof of that), it's just very interesting to know your point of view. You always have the best headcannons 😍

Well this is an excellent question, thank you! And thank you very much for the compliment on my hcs ❤️ This is great timing because I have been wanting to do a post talking about how Gale approaches physical attractiveness, and what it means to him in a relationship. You’ve given me the perfect springboard for that!

So, before I talk about the Tav in your scenario and how I think Gale would react to him having a negative self-image, I want to delve into some background on Gale.

First things first—Gale is a wizard, and as a wizard, he has had many experiences changing his physical form. He’s versed in invisibility spells, size-changing spells, appearance-changing spells/illusions, becoming incorporeal, turning to mist, etc, etc. You’d have to assume, then, that being able to change physical form so easily would make Gale realize that being considered ‘physically beautiful’ is not something of great importance.

Second, the world of Faerun is inhabited by incredibly varied and diverse physical beings: elves, dwarves, dragonborn, tieflings, githyanki, half-orcs, etc, etc. Imagine not only growing up and seeing so many different faces every day, but also being a scholar like Gale, one who is always eager to learn about different cultures. Gale’s perception of physical beauty is naturally wider and more varied as a result of being immersed in such an environment—and, since Gale is canonically pansexual, he has no preferences in regards to gender, either.

All this just to say: this is a man who, for his entire life, has had very little reason to care about physical appearances at all.

….and then we come to his relationship with Mystra.

Gale and the Goddess who presents herself as an ‘exceptional physical beauty.’ One that many would consider the pinnacle of physical perfection: eternally young, beautiful, flawless.

I’ve seen so many comments about how it doesn’t make sense for Gale to fall for anyone who isn’t ‘beautiful’ after he’s been with a Goddess. But think about it—what did that get him? What did his love of Mystra and her perfect physical beauty get him?

Abandonment. Heartbreak. Depression. And the realization that there was no sympathy or compassion to be found in the depths of that Goddess’s eyes. No actual love or warmth in her at all. Just a beautiful exterior; a cold, empty shell.

So given all of that: is it any wonder that Gale doesn’t give any weight to physical attractiveness when he falls for Tav? And instead only focuses on Tav’s goodness, kindness, and warmth?

Because Gale just wants to love, and to be loved. He truly only cares about Tav’s heart, Tav’s soul, and most importantly, about the loving bond that they share together.

Now, I do want to clarify—Gale does still recognize and appreciate the physical aspects of his beloved. Very much so, obviously, with his practiced tongue, his appreciation for Tav’s glistening muscles, and his (definitely thirsty) comment on Illithid Tav’s ‘moist tentacles.’

But all that’s a bonus in his eyes. That’s the result of his love for Tav; it’s not what made him fall in love with Tav to begin with.

Which is why it doesn’t matter what Tav looks like. In any form. Gale doesn’t care about the wrapping. It’s the gift inside that he truly treasures.

———

So OP, (assuming you made it this far—thank you for your patience!!)

I think that, if Tav gained weight as stated in your scenario, be it a little or a lot, and started complaining/making negative comments about himself…

Gale would, at first, be completely oblivious.

Not because he’s an inattentive husband, or because he’s not paying attention to his beloved—to be clear, he’s the most doting husband, and he hangs off of Tav’s every word—but because he loves Tav so much and adores him so deeply that he simply cannot fathom it. He cannot fathom that Tav’s comments of “I don’t fit into this anymore…” or “I don’t look like I used to…” are anything more than observations on living a lovely, comfortable, domestic life together.

But when Gale does finally realize what’s happening, and what Tav means…for a moment, he would be stunned. Because how Tav could think he was anything less than utter perfection would be mind-boggling to Gale.

He would compose himself quickly. Take Tav’s hands in his. Raise them to his lips, and between kisses say, “Forgive me, my love. Your husband has been remiss. It seems I haven’t told you lately just how much I adore you.” Then he would pull Tav in for a lingering kiss and, with a smouldering look, add: “More importantly, it seems I haven’t shown you. A critical oversight that I intend to correct—right now.”

And he would.

But later—much later—as they both lay blissfully spent in bed, if Tav’s doubts came creeping back and he still felt compelled to ask Gale, “What do you see when you look at me? Do you still see the old me, the one who was smaller, thinner? Or do you see this new version and simply…accept it?”

Gale would gently place his fingers under Tav’s chin. Tilt his head up so that their eyes met, place his other hand on Tav’s cheek…

And say, with utmost sincerity: “I see the love of my life.”

[propenseverbosity]

Gale with an Ace!Tav (Part 1)

I've been thinking about Gale with an Ace!Tav

More specifically, a Tav that hasn’t told Gale that they’re Asexual yet. 

Not because he wouldn’t be accepting or assuring that he would love Tav all the same (because he would) but in the haze of endless battles and conflicts on their path towards a cure for their infection, there was just never a good time!

They could mention it after the night they spent channeling the Weave with Gale, but a simple thought of a romantic walk isn’t enough confirmation that he would even feel the same way. So why risk it?

It might have even come up naturally during the tiefling party, with tensions still high after the defeat of the goblin leaders, but when some gentle flirting leads to Gale telling them his condition poses too much of a risk for a physical relationship, the point becomes moot anyway. 

Tav isn’t really sure how to explain that even if they could engage in physical intimacy with Gale, that it isn’t necessarily something they want to do. So they say they’ll wait for him instead, promising that it would never change their romantic feelings for him.

Gale has no idea how much they mean it.

After Elminster stops the orb’s unpredictable power, time is running out for Tav to tell him. Gale becomes bolder in his flirtations, even going so far as to express his desires in front of their other companions after a particularly stressful battle in the shadow-cursed lands.

By the time Gale summons Tav one night for a ‘private conversation’ far away from camp, Tav realizes they should have said something sooner.

Beneath the shining aurora that Gale conjured just for them, it only deepens their feelings towards him. It also raises the potential for hurt, if they were to break his heart by telling him they don’t share the same kinds of feelings he clearly feels for them.

As Gale begins to offer them a night of passion under the stars, they brace themselves to finally tell him the truth, fearing his potential rejection, but what he has in mind is different than what they expected.

The way he talks about using the Weave to connect their souls rather than bodies, electing not to ‘confine ourselves to the pleasures of mortal flesh’, Tav is intrigued. They were never aware of a way to bond with a partner like this that didn’t require a physical form. It was the perfect compromise. A way to show Gale their love for him in a way that he preferred!

Maybe they wouldn’t need to tell him after all.

[Part 2]

[spacebarbarianweird]

The Dhampirs of the Sword Coast - Chapter 4

It's been a while but I've finally written the 4th chapter! Upon receiving a quest to find an ancient spellbook, the dhampirs form an unlikely party of adventurers. Also we learn some gruesome details about vampires and dhampirs in the Underdark and meet a mysterious stranger in the woods.

Read on AO3

Link for Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

The List of Chapters

Masterlist

Headcanons

Ulsha (Half-Orc/Paladin) - age 26. Lawful Good.

Alethaine (High Elf/Necromancer) - age 25. Astarion's daughter. Lawful Neutral.

Theris (Tiefling/Bard) - age 27. Chaotic Neutral.

Mierni (Human/Wizard)- age 14, Gale's foster son. Suffers with selective muteness. True neutral.

“So,” Theris the Bard stops and puts away his viola. ‘We are positively lost.”

“You are observant,” Ulsha shrugs.

“Oh, Ulsha, perception checks are my specialty!” Theris places his clawed hand to his undead heart. 

“When you aren’t high.”

Alethaine shivers.

Autumn has gone from “warm and tolerant” to “disgusting and cold” within two weeks. Rain is pouring down on the four dhampirs and Alethaine feels like a wet, sad, lost cat. Besides, Ulsha and Theris— her two-meter-tall half-orc and tiefling companions – constantly quarrel.

As for Mierni, the little wizard raised by Gale Dekarios, he has been surprisingly quiet ever since their little group left Waterdeep behind. 

“Shut up,” Alethaine mutters walking forward. For the last two weeks, the party of dhampirs had been following the Trade Route south to reach Dragonspear Castle where, according to Gale, Bowgentle of Silverymoon’s spell book was hidden. 

But as time goes she wonders if she should have inquired more  about the location of the book and the dangers that lie ahead.

But patience has never been her strong side.

The storm wind starts howling and the trees creek as if about to break.

“We need to set up a camp,” Ulsha says leaving Theris behind. 

“On the open road?” Alethaine cringes. “I don’t know about your folk, Ulsha, but I am not a fan of sleeping in the dirt.”

“We belong to the same kind, last time I checked.”

“But neither of us is waterproof! We need at least somewhere dry!”

Ulsha makes a weird sound similar to a hushed roar and Alethaine takes a step back. Well, you can’t overcome genetics. After all, Alethaine Ancunin is a Moon Elf and Ulsha is a Half  Orc.

And elves are afraid of orcs.

“Mierni! Are you alright? Could you cast something that can protect us from the wind and rain?” Ulsha suddenly speaks very softly like a nanny or a mother. She very well could be both considering the tiny dark-skinned wizard is even shorter than Alethaine.

The boy shakes his head. He opens his mouth as if trying to say something before turning his head away and grasping the magic staff.

“Great! And the wizard is mute again!” Theris hisses.

“It’s not his fault!” 

“Of course it’s not, but it doesn’t change the fact that we are in the middle of nowhere,” Theris bares his fangs.”We have a paladin who gave an oath to never use her very useful dhampiric skills, a sorceress whose spells and skills are a mess and a wizard who is mute! At least you have me, so I can play some tunes at your funeral. Is this spell book even that valuable?”

“It probably is,” Alethaine looks around. 

“Very well Alethaine, what do your elven eyes see?” Theris asks.

Alethaine is too tired to have an argument about “not all elves have great eyesight, not all elves are good archers, and not all elves are delicate, elegant creatures”.

“I see a lot of dirt. One of you was supposed to be smart enough to get a map.”

“This is the wilderness, it won’t be mapped,” Ulsha notices.

Alethaine takes a step forward. Then another. The rutted road makes it difficult to move even for a dhampir and she feels her boots getting disgustingly wet 

She would sell a soul for a warm bed at an inn if only there were one.

The woods are alive, they are alive in a grotesque, decaying sense, with leaves turning into rot, dirt, and mold. But still – alive.

Alethaine feels an eerie presence. She stops and turns her head slightly  to better catch a strange sensation.

“Do you see something?” Theris asks. Ulsha stops him with her strong green hand. “I just wanted to ask!”

Alethaine closes her eyes. Her mind is filled with shadows, marks of decay. 

Here.

She drops her traveling bag on the ground and picks up a shovel. 

“Theris! Would you be a kind tiefling and help a maiden dig a grave?” Alethaine calls to him.

“No. Dig it yourself!” Ulsha nods in agreement and closes Mierni’s eyes.

“Pen-channas!”  Alethaine mutters piercing the ground with the shovel. It’s difficult to dig, the ground feels like Mire.

“Does anyone speak Elvish here?” Theris protests. “I am not comfortable with her speaking Elvish when she can speak Infernal perfectly!” 

“Samit olme ulundova,” Alethaine says out loud. “Caretya lusta ná.”

Digging graves is a pleasant thing. It’s like submerging into water after a long day. 

Finally, the shovel touches a half-rotten corpse. It looks like a halfling, but it could be a very thin dwarf. 

Alethaine hears steps behind her. Ulsha mutters something between a prayer and a curse and Theris is more curious than disgusted. 

“Speak!” Alethaine orders. Green runes appear in the air and a small, unnatural flame ignites on the palm of her pale hand. A pleasant sensation runs through her body – it’s like a caress, fresh water after a fever, a pain after wound debridement. 

The corpse levitates a few feet above the ground, its mouth and eyes glowing with the same unnatural green light as Alethaine’s hand.

“Where are we?” Alethaine asks.

“On the Sword Coast.”

“Fuck, I know this already. How far is Dragonspear castle?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are there inns around?”

“There was one… But it was burnt to the ground.”

The body levitates in the air. Two more questions before it shuts up for good. But Alethaine can’t think of anything useful to ask considering the corpse had the same level of geographical cretinism as the dhampirs.

“Oh, I know! Let’s ask how it died!” Theris gets enthusiastic.

“What for?” Ulsha protests. The corpse turns its head to her. 

“Because it’s always interesting to know how someone died,” the corpse replies.

Ulsha takes a step back.

“Oh no no no, I’ve broken my oath by speaking to it? Did I? Did I break my oath? Lathander forgive me.” Ulsha looks absolutely helpless.

“No, it doesn't count,” the corpse says, and promptly returns to its grave.

“Alethaine, I forbid you from digging any more graves!” Ulsha says after the dhampirs give up and decide to set up camp hoping their tents will protect them from the rain.

“Who are you to forbid me to do anything?” Alethaie glares at the half-orc. It’s a difficult task given the stark height difference.

“I am in charge of our party. I don't want you to attract unnecessary attention”

“Ulsha, our party is made up of a paladin of Lathander, a constantly high tiefling, a mute kid, and an elf. We are attracting attention by default.”

Ulsha moves closer using her size for intimidation.

“Alethaine, no grave digging while I am in charge.” 

“Don't you dare use your intimidation skills on me!” Alethaien suddenly gets angry. 

“You want to question my authority?” The half-orc bellows. 

“No, I am fine with you being the one at fault.” Alethane lies on her bedroll. “But I am going to dig as many graves and talk to as many corpses as I want!”

Ulsha gives up and goes to check on Mierni and Theris. Mierni still refuses to talk and Theris has already drunk half a bottle of fire whiskey he’s found somewhere.

Suddenly, Ulsha drops toher knees, raises her face to the west, and prays

Farewell, Illuminated one until we meet again

We carry the sun in our hearts until then

Give us the strength to carry on

Until the next dawn

The moment she ends the prayer, Alethaine feels how the night starts.

Even though she is not a vampire, she always knows when it’s night and when it’s day. Sun isn't an enemy, but not a friend either. 

Why is Ulsha so adamant in her faith?

“Ulsha.” Alethaine approaches her. “You were raised in the Underdark right?”

The half-orc nods.

Alethaine scoots closer.

"How bad was it there?"

"You really wanna know?"

"I do."

The Half-Orc chuckles.

"It was bad. When the spawns were released from the dungeons, they rushed to the Underdark, murdering, raping, and feeding. It was a bloodthirsty horde worse than then the abyssal demons. Some of them disappeared to return to their homes, to their past lives, mostly dwarves and drows. But I am afraid many returned to the surface to be vampires, the hunters of the innocent. Among those who remained underground, only 1,000 were still sane. The others… They are more like animals than sentient beings. They live in small colonies, like stray cats, and constantly travel looking for prey. As for the sane’ 1,000…"

Ulsha paused, collecting the thoughts.

"Dalyria, one of the ‘leaders’ tried to be their queen or chieftain, whatever. She called them a Coven. But soon, 1,000 divided into 10-15 clans in a never-ending war with each other. It's a feud. A fight for food, resources, and territory. All the clans were more or less equal until … dhampirs started growing older. Dhampirs became the ultimate weapon – we can sense the presence of vampires, we can stalk them in running water, in sunlight, we can starve them…”

Alethaine catches a glance of Theris who has made himself comfortable in his tents and started playing a viola. 

"My clan never pretended they ‘got’ me for any other purpose than to make me their champion, to fight their wars for them. Dalyria was in a rage when she learned about me and she called upon her sons, the twins Eben and Eren, who lived on the surface. They massacred every vampire in my home. It was a bloodshed I had never seen before and I wish to never witness it again. I thought they would kill me, but they showed me the way up to the surface and told me to never come back. The Underdark is no place for dhampirs, it will be our demise should we return there.” Ulsha exhales loudly before turning to Alethaine. “What about you? You don’t look like an orphan or an outcast”

Alethaine sits beside the half-orc.

“I am neither. I was raised by my vampire father and mortal mother.”

“So your father just kept a mortal on a leash?” Ulsha suggests.

“What? No! They aren’t slave and master,” Alethaine protests. 

Childhood memories pass before her eyes. Her father, Astarion, angry because Tiriel left for some dangerous quest without heeding his advice. Her mother, joking about something plain stupid. 

And often – cries. Alethaine knows that her father’s past tortures him and he often can do nothing about it. 

“They are married,” Alethaine finishes. “And they treat each other well.”

Ulsha shrugs.

“It’s not uncommon. After all, all vampires were once mortals. My clan was led by Sebastian. He was a noble from Baldur’s Gate and spent seventeen decades locked in a cell starving and tortured. He met a mortal man in the Underdark and left with him. Sometimes, I am happy for him. Sometimes, I am angry because, once he left, the new leaders started a shitshow. You know, there is a difference between a vampire who comes from a distinguished family and a psycho-pedophile who used to own slaves. Vampirism just makes you more aware of everyone’s flaws.”

“You probably think I am some spoiled girl,” Alethaine chuckles.

“I don’t. Lathander teaches us not to be jealous. I am happy for you and I wish I had the same upbringing.”

Theris suddenly jumps to his feet.

“Finally! I caught that stupid, dumb bitch!”

“Who?”

“Inspiration.”

Ulsha groans. “Spare me”

Alethaine stands up to leave Ulsha’s little tent, the half orc grabs her wrist.

“Be careful, Alethaine. Here on the surface dhampirs are still rare but in the Underdark, we are juggernauts who change the game for vampires. Be careful of whoever asks you for help.”

Alethaine nods and crawls inside her tent. It’s more or less warm and she soon starts slipping into oblivion. 

… Only to be woken up by a ruthless sun and a scared wizard.

“Mierni, what’s the…” Alethaine mutters, quickly stopping herself before saying a “bad word” in front of a fourteen-year-old boy.

Mierni points at the campsite. The fire has been extinguished. Ulsha grabs her ax in a fighting stance while Theris is hiding in the bushes.

“What’s wrong?” Alethaine asks.

Ulsha groans something incomprehensible.

Theris points in front of them.

Now, in the dusk of the morning, Alethaine sees that either she and her cousins are blind idiots or there is some dark magic at play. 

Dragonspear Castle, or at least what is left of it, towers above the forest in all its ancient and macabre beauty.

“So we could have spent the night under a roof?” Alethaine mutters and immediately gets kicked in her ribs by the little wizard. “Oh… I see.”

At least a dozen ogres are wandering around the castle at a very close proximity to the dhampir camp.

“Anyone implying they are my kin,” Ulsha warns, “Will lose their limbs.”

Mierni opens his mouth, but the words are stuck in his throat as if he was under the Silence spell. Definitely embarrassed by this, he tries to hide behind Alethaine.

"Here is the plan, short and simple,” Theris says. “We go to the chief ogre, double dog dares him to help us, he goes to the closest town, folks there come to kill him, poor fella, the ogres start a fight for the throne, we chose the one we like, support his claims, he becomes the new chief and we gaslight him to let us in the castle. Voila, problem solved!"

"Theris, are you ever sober?" Alethaine asks

Theris looks at her with his red hell touched eyes and Alethaine suspects that the answer is “no”.

The Black Death, an albino rat, squeaks.

“Alright, simple plan,” Alethaine says. “Theris and I sneak there to find the spellbook and then we leave before they notice us.”

“You are an elf, they will catch your scent the moment you are close,” Ulsha groans.

“Then only Theris?” Alethaine suggests. “No, he won't find the book, he can’t identify magic.”

“I’d love to disagree but I won’t. Maybe Ulsha can … talk to them?”

Ulsha collapses the two-handed ax on the ground. “What did I tell you, Theris?”

“But you do speak Black Speech!” Theris hides behind Alethaine and the elf realizes she doesn’t really enjoy being on the first line between the half-orc paladin and her enemies.

“So what? No, if we are to complete the quest and bring that book to the distinguished wizard,” the last part of the sentence doesn’t sound mocking at all. “We need to get inside together.”

“Or we can pretend we didn’t find it,” Alethaine suggests. “What, it’s just a spellbook?”

Theris surges forward.

“It’s an expensive book! I am not losing a fortune because you are all so stupid.”

“Theris!” Ulsha bellows but it’s already too late.

An ogre grabs the tiefling’s collar and lifts him up like a vermin.

“Smells dead,” the ogre comments. 

“At least I don't reek of piss and rot.” Theris says, offended.

“You,” the ogre says. “You are also dead.”

“Aka’magosh,” Ulsha puts her hand to her chest, hiding the symbol of Lathander. “What is your tribe doing here?”

“Power. Abyss. They have called. We have come,” the ogre says somewhat proudly. “Dirma. Abyss. The red eye in the skies.”

Alethaine puts a hand on Mierni’s shoulder. The little wizard is so scared thatshe is afraid he will run away (and will definitely be eaten by ogres).

Well, there are always stories that mimic your every step, Alethaine thinks.

Forty-five years ago the cult of Absolute took hold on the southern areas of the Sword Coast, infecting ogres, goblins, and drows, literally making no exception, with parasites who would turn them all into mind flayers. All pawns in the hands of the Bhalists and the rogue Illithid who’d decided it was his chance to seize control.

An attack on Baldur’s Gate. Random passengers. 

A vampire who’d decided the painful death from the hands of mind flayers was definitely better than his life as a spawn.

A lonely traveler from the East who was looking for a job.

In two months, the cult was destroyed. All glory was received by Duke Ravengard and the archmage of Waterdeep. The half-elven warrior and the vampire disappeared in the vast wastelands hoping to forget the horrors they both had endured.

Scholars say the cosmogonic myths are the most important of all because they explain how things came to be. Other scholars note that, since family and home are the whole universe for children, they need to know their own myth of creation.

Alethaine knows everything about the cult of Absolute starting from “and that’s when we awoke in the pods” to “and then we fall into the Chiontar river after killing the brain.”

Can the Absolute come back? Just like in those fucking neverending stories when problems just pass from one generation to another!

“You,” The ogre points at Alethaine. “Abyss.”

“Yes,” Alethaine exclaims. “I accept the Abyss and whatever lives there as my only lord!”

Ogre cringes but it seems like Alethaine’s words persuaded him because he finally releases Theris, causing him to fall on the dirty ground.

“The abyss. Will eat. The land. Be only wasteland. Nothing lives. The great old one shall come back.”

“Can we,” Alethaine suggests. “See the castle? I mean we’ve made a long path to pay respects to… the great old one?”

The ogre contemplates. Alethaine thinks she can physically feel how thought crawls in the ogre’s mind.

“Yes. You can. But not her. She prays to the sun.”

Ulsha nods, hardly hiding her joy when hearing that she won’t have to come closer.

“No!” Theris protests. “She is coming with us. I am not going anywhere close to them without a proper warrior in our ranks! She is… she is about to betray her false god and she wishes to pay her respect to the Abyss!”

The ogre takes a sniff.

“I SEE. I WILL SHOW YOU.”

“Oh, Latander please forgive me,” the half-orc mutters but doesn’t try to run.

“I am expecting some gratitude for my amazing deception skills,” Theris nags.

“It’s not your deception skills, it’s him who has bad perception.” Ulsha doesn't give Theris a chance.

Alethaine moves forward. The ogres camp stinks - not of the pleasant smell of death and decay, but  of dirt, blood, and gore.

Even Ulsha feels uncomfortable, especially since she has to hide the symbol on the chest.

The chieftain (the string of fresh halfling heads on his belt indicates that he is indeed the leader) proudly announces something in Black Speech. Ulsha refuses to translate.

“ABYSS, ABYSS, ABYSS!” The ogres chant. 

And then Alethaine notices a pit.

The pit that appears to be the primary source of the stench is placed by the gates of the castle. Alethaine approaches it, quietly wishing to be too small for the ogres to notice her.

The pit is made of flesh.

“What the…” Alethaine mutters in common. “Rhaich!”

The flesh pulses as if alive and it’s probably deep enough to reach the Underdark. The pit whispers and Alethaine concentrates to try to understand something.

The unnatural darkness holds a grip on her half-undead mind. It lurks in her memories, her fears, her insecurities.

A dead kitten resurrected by necromancy.

An old grave that smells like home.

Loneliness. Fear. Where do dhampirs go when they die?

Then she sees woods and fields dying, becoming a twisted version of themselves. The maw of the Abyss devours the world, leaving nothing but the undead, who starve to death.

“Alethaine!” Theris drags her away from the pit. “What in hell's wrong with you?!”

“What… I am fine!”

“You’ve almost jumped there!” The tiefling hisses. 

Suddenly the chieftain bumps his staff and the ogres start throwing stuff into the pit.

Parts of victims' bodies. Stolen gems. Pieces of clothes.

“I think they mistake it for the garbage pit,” Alethaine mutters.

“No,” Ulsha answers. “Those are offerings.”

The chieftain keeps sputtering words in Black Speech and Ulsha cringes at every syllable. 

Alethaine decides not to ask for a translation.

She keeps watching as things drop down into the bottomless pit.

And then she feels a tickling sensation in her fingers.

Magic.

Not the twisted and unnatural one she just experienced, but the real Feywild magic.

And it’s somewhere close.

Mierni starts tugging at Alethaine’s sleeve while making incoherent sounds. 

“What?” She follows his finger.

The chieftain grabs an intricately decorated book with runes that start shining the moment the dirty hands of the ogre touch it.

���The Silvermoony Spellbook,” Alethaine whispers.

Mierni starts nodding.

“Well,” Theris leans on him. “Cast magic hand or something!”

He shakes his head. 

“Someone, turn his speech on,” Theris spits. “Maybe we should scare him?”

“Touch Mierni and I will drag you to Gale as a test subject for his magic experiments,” Ulsha warns.

Alethaine tries to squeeze through the ogres, but their thick bodies keep pushing the dhampir back.

The chieftain opens the book, almost ripping the cover, and throws the expensive item into the pit.

“MAGE HAND!!!!” Mierni screams at the top of his lungs. A hand weaved of blue light floats towards the book and grabs it by the cover before the greedy pit devours it.

The ogres fall silent and Alethaine has this uneasy feeling of being watched by rather unfriendly creatures.

The mage's hand rises into the air so high the ogres can’t touch it. 

“Now we run?” Theris asks.

“Yes,” Alethaine agrees. “No, we run.”

The mage's hand dissolves and the book starts falling. Ulsha lifts Alethaine up and the elf manages to catch the book before it falls into the ogres’ hands.

“Run!” Ulsha puts Mierni on her wide shoulders. “Zigzag and spread in different directions!”

Alethaine rushes to the right while Ulsha and Mirni take the left.

“Oh, so you’ve left me! Of course, no one ever feels sorry for the bard!” Theris curses as he sprints towards the castle’s walls.

Alethaine sometimes doesn’t like being a dhampir.

Sometimes she wishes she could breathe, and didn't have fangs that constantly hurt her lips and gums.

But not in a moment like this. 

She easily leaves the angry ogres behind. The woods welcome her as if she were a real elf, not an undead. Her darkvision helps her see better and soon the crass voices fade away.

Alethaine stops and opens the book.

The unknown symbols dance on the page but she can’t grasp the meaning of the words.

The heavy presence of magic returns.

Strong, potent. And wild.

Alethaine freezes trying to identify its source.

Someone grabs the book from her pale hands.

“I think this belongs to us,” a red-haired half-elven woman appears out of the shadows. She wears leather trousers and a shirt and her only weapon is a dagger. “Oh, Fuckface says I should thank you for doing the dirty job. She is in a surprisingly good mood today!” --

Quenya and Neo-Sindarin vocabulary

Pen-channas! (Sindarin) -  Idiot! (Literal Translation: intelligence-less)

Samit olme ulundova (Quenya) - You smell like a monster

Caretya lusta ná (Quenya) - Your head is empty Rhaich! (Sindarin) - Curses! -- Tag list

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@sillybillylia

[valstarsandgalaxies]

This fic came straight from my feelings. I wasn't feeling very good, everything was overwhelming and i wanted to cry.

But it all inspired me well enough to write this fic, where Gale has a panic attack (so this is tw). Somehow making Gale feel at least a bit of what i felt, was very comforting to me.

Btw. This is UNEDITED (just letting you know and sorry)

Breathe, darling

He can't breathe. He's trying to catch his breath. Unsuccessful. He sees Bucky right in front of him, but he's blurry. He could recognise him only because... Well, who wouldn't recognise Bucky? With his broad shoulders and charming face. Dark brown curls, soft voice, whispering a low "are you okay?". He can see and hear those things, yet he can't bring himself to actually acknowledge them. His heart was pounding like it should jump out of his chest at any moment. His hands and legs were shaking. His fingers tapping on the mattress of the bed, unsteady and loudly. It was harder to breathe with every inhale he took. He was starting to choke. That's the first time he hears John's voice clearly.

"What is it? What's wrong, Buck?"

He couldn't get any words out. None of his senses were working. It was almost like he couldn't control his body at all. His eyes started to get watery and he felt tears were about to fall. He can't let that happen. Men don't cry. That's what his father always used to tell him. Men always have to be strong, crying is a weakness. It never occurred to him that Gale was merely a little kid, who just fell and had a bruise on his knee.

One wouldn't guess that trying not to cry would be this difficult. In his mind suddenly all he could think about was "do not cry, do not cry, do not cry", which made him want to cry even more.

While this was occupying his mind, he kind of forgot that he still needs to breathe.

"Buck, darling, you need to breathe, okay? You need to breathe for me, could you do that?"

And Gale could never say no, not when John calls him darling. Or any other pet name actually. It's almost a curse, John's words are sometimes too much for Gale. Too much love to bear. John took Gale's hand and placed it on his chest. Then placed his other hand on Gale's chest.

"Okay, why don't we try syncing our breathing, baby? Come on, up and down, just like me."

And so Gale tried. He focused on his hand on Bucky's chest and tried to match his breathing. Tried to catch his breath and get back to reality. Away from his mind. Away from his awful head. The worst thing is, even if John helps him to escape now... It's only temporary, he'll be trapped immediately again. Isn't it the saddest thing? Being trapped in your mind forever? How could people accept that and be okay with that?

Right now he wishes he could crawl into John's body, that his soul could intertwine with John's and that they'd become one. United forever. He quite likes the idea of John's protectiveness.

If he and John just could be together. But that's only if, and if belongs to fantasies and dreams. They both can't afford that, they barely have the time to afford whatever they're doing now.

"That's my boy, your breathing has calmed. Now let's keep it steady, yeah? Try to not get upset again, my darling."

John was about to pull his hand away, but Gale reached for his wrist and put it back on his torso again. He needed to feel John's touch, he reckons it might be one of the only things keeping him sane at the moment.

John understands. John gets Gale. It's the best feeling Gale thinks he'd ever feel. The way he and John know each other so deeply, their communication without words, they show their needs with a glance or an expression. Maybe after all their soul might as well be intertwined and if they're not they at least live next to each other.

And so John sits up next to him, standing up from his kneeling position in front of him and pulling him in for a hug. A very careful one though, he must have been scared to not squeeze Buck too much, especially after his trouble with breathing. Nonetheless, he wraps his arms around Gale's waist, rests his chin on his shoulder and leans his mouth into his ear. If Gale would have been in his right mind he'd have freaked out heavily, but he's sort of not in his skin, still high on his panic attack.

"What happened, baby?"

John whispered. And Gale couldn't care less for the world and the expectations put upon them. Right now it was only John and him. John who was holding him close and whispering to his ear, while slightly caressing his lips on his neck. He didn't kiss him though, his lips were just hovering over the area. Almost like exploring.

"It was- i... uhmm"

He still couldn't say a coherent sentence. Bucky can sense it and turns him, so they're facing each other. And with the softest, most gentle voice he said:

"I know maybe you don't wanna talk about this and I'll respect it, if you don't. But don't you think it'd be better for you to say it out loud? And you know, maybe just tell me. After all, it's me, Buck. It's only me. You can tell me anything."

It's Bucky, it's only Bucky. So he tells him.

"I'm uhmm- I'm not very sure. I just wasn't feeling well, it's just a lot. All of it, i mean. Suddenly the air was suffocating me like when you're too high in the sky and you don't have a mask on."

"Oh, I'm so sorry-"

"It's okay. You handed me the mask, at the very last moment. You saved me."

"I believe that's exactly what I'm here for."

"Are you?"

"Yeah, cause i couldn't live with myself if something were to happen to you. And because you don't deserve to feel like you don't matter anymore. Or that you're not loved. Because you are, Buck. I love you and care about you. And if you need me to help you put the mask on again, just ask me, I'll find it for you. And if your hands would be too weak, I'll put it on and I'll make sure you'll breathe again. I'm with you, always and forever. It's you and me, Buck."

And after that, there was nothing more to be said. Buck couldn't even think of words to match these. Or some that'd make a good response. But when Bucky's looking at him expectantly, probably waiting for him to say something, he manages a quiet:

"You and me, Bucky."

Which seems to satisfy John as he smiles and lies on the bed. They're alone here. It's late at night, but everyone's at the bar. They were there too until Buck wasn't feeling well and excused himself from the room. He ended here, in the barracks, choking and trying to find breathable air as Bucky came to rescue him. The other guys will probably come back soon. They should go both to their beds. But John is currently lying in Gale's bed. And what's he to do about that?

So he lay down, put his head into the crook of John's neck and nuzzled his nose to John's pulse.

"The others will be back soon."

Gale mumbled. But none of them move an inch. After a long while, John said:

"Yeah. Are you feeling better though?"

And Gale wasn't sure what to answer. Sure, right now he was feeling really fucking good. He was lying next to John with their bodies touching whole. But his anxiety has increased lately. As well as his panic attacks.

"Yeah, I'm feeling better. I'm good. Thank you, John."

He doesn't say any of that. John already thinks he's fragile. In a very specific way though. Bucky knows Gale is very strong and he is the most composed and all that stuff. But he also knows what's stuffed under all of that. And that's this. Because every emotion he pushes down goes down there and one day that place will explode and Buck has no idea what will happen to him then. He just hopes John will be with him.

A noise. They hear chattering coming closer to the barracks. John's body jumps up and he lets himself have a second to calm down. He then looks at Gale, with those beautiful blue eyes and whispers to his ear:

"I'm here whenever. Don't forget about me, love."

He licks the shell of his ear and Gale shivers as John's wet tongue meets his skin. It was a gesture, Gale didn't understand what it meant exactly, but John was telling him something.

When he hears a click and the doors open, John is dutifully sitting on his bed reading his book. Gale didn't quite understand how he got there, but it didn't matter. He probably dazed away, too occupied with the linger of John's tongue on his ear.

He fell asleep as he was replaying the sound of John's "don't forget about me, love" in his head over and over again. And he thinks, how could he ever forget? How on earth could you forget about John Egan?

You simply can't.

[pikapeppa]

Karlach/Dammon: Burning Blue

A wish fulfillment fic to answer the question: what if Dammon was the lucky guy to break Karlach's ten-year celibacy streak?

NSFW smut, ~7500 words, from Karlach's precious POV. This takes place the same night that Dammon makes Karlach very touchable again. 🥰 Read here on AO3 instead.

*****************

I’m nervous. Gods, I’m fucking nervous. No, no, don’t be nervous, Big K, you’ve got this. It’s nothing you haven’t done before! It’s just a good old-fashioned come-on, that’s all. Just a good old-fashioned invitation for Dammon to do the beast with two backs with you. No sweat, nothing to worry about, no reason to feel like your engine’s gonna thrum its way right out of your chest.

Ugh, fine, I’m nervous. I’ll admit it, all right? I’m nervous. But how can you blame me? It’s been a decade since I laid a finger on another living soul. One who wasn’t a hellspawn or trying to kill me, I should say. Yeah, the Avernus kind of laying-a-finger-on-someone is really not what I have in mind right now.

All right, there he is. I mean, of course he’s there, it’s his smithy setup in the barn, where the fuck else would be be? Shit, I’m so nervous. What if he says no? What if he doesn’t want to hit the bedroll with me? I might just crumble up into a pile of ash on the spot if he turns me down…

Ohhh, no you don’t. No more doubt. Not another negative word, you hear me? We’re doing this. Come on, soldier, shape up, be confident, all right? Just be your usual big beautiful bold badass self, just like Brynn said. Back straight, head high, tail-barb up: come on, girl, you can do this.

“Dammon! Hi! How’s the hammering going?” Nice, good start. Solid greeting, nothing weird about that.

“Karlach!” he says. “You’re back. I thought you were off to camp for the night.”

He’s smiling at me. Gods, does he ever have a nice smile. It’s like his whole face gets lit up with sunshine. And those eyes? Phwoar. I wonder if anyone’s ever told him how pretty his eyes are. Like two big blue jewels. Or like lightning turned into jewels. Wait, what’s all this nonsense I’m saying? I think I’ve been spending too much time with Gale. Ha, saying something would be a good idea right about now, wouldn’t it?

“Yeah, I’m back. I was wondering, do you — are you done for the day?” It looks like he’s done for the day. His forge is still hot, but it’s just coals now rather than a big old fire. Gods, I hope he’s done for the day.

“Yes, I’m just finishing up,” he says (yay!). “Did you need something repaired? I can rekindle the fire, it’s no problem—”

“No, no, all good. Everything’s tip-top, thanks to you. Listen, I was wondering: d’you want to have a drink with me?”

His whole face lights up, and my gods, I swear: if I had a heart, it would’ve done a fluttery thing like something from a romance book. “That sounds great. Let’s go on inside.” He hangs up his apron, and then we’re heading to the inn.

Yes! First step done, we’re off to a cracking good start! Here we go, inside the inn for a drink, just me and Dammon. How great is this? I mean, not that it’s not wonderful being with Brynn and Wyll and all the rest of those adorable little dumplings, but there’s something special to be said about being alone with just you and the person you’ve got mad horns for.

Here we are, at the door to the inn — and Dammon touches my shoulder. “Go ahead.”

He’s touching my shoulder. His hand, that strong callused hand on my shoulder. He’s touching me, he can touch me, and it’s all thanks to him. Gods, I want to ride him until the sun comes up.

Keep it together, Karlach. Stay cool until you find out if he wants this too. Ha, stay cool! I can sort of almost do that now! Enough for touching, at least, which is all I want in the world right now, and Dammon is touching my shoulder, and… and I should probably get inside the inn now.

I step inside — quick little rub of Darkmaw’s paw for luck. Ooh, Jaheira is still awake, I love her, she’s so damned cool!

Dammon leads me to one of the tables near the bar. “What can I get you? Wine? Beer? The beer is even cold, thanks to Jaheira—”

“Cold beer? Sign me the fuck up!”

He smiles — ugh, swoon! — and off he goes to the bar to find some beer. And here I am, sitting at this table, happier than the happiest clam that ever lived in the sandy banks of the Chionthar. Ha, that was a funny line! I mean, I think it was funny. I bet Wyll will, too. I’ll have to tell him about it — maybe he can add it to one of his stories!

Gods, this inn is nice: all candle-lit and quiet since it’s nighttime, real cozy-like. Perfect for telling a certain smith that he’s one of the kindest, warmest, most wonderful people you’ve ever met and that you fancy his pants off — literally, if he wants it that way. Ohh, I’m getting nervous again. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s going to be fine.

Dammon comes back and sets down two steins. “Are you all right?”

“I’m better than all right. I’m fantastic.” I lift my stein. “Cheers to you, Dammon. For everything. I really mean that.”

Another killer smile. “Cheers back to you, Karlach.” He taps his stein to mine, then brings it to his mouth, and I do the same — ohhh, beer. Cold beer, my gods, I’d forgotten exactly how good this was! I take another swallow and another — okay, honestly, I am so thirsty. And now I’m out of beer, and Dammon is smiling at me, and no, no, I can’t throw myself at him across the table, I can’t.

He chuckles and puts down his stein. “Can I get you another?”

“Naw, I’m good,” I laugh. “This was great, thanks.”

He nods and rests his elbows on the table (hellooo, rolled-up sleeves and forearms). “So what did you want to talk about? Do you have questions about your engine?”

“No, it’s not that.” No fucking way am I thinking about that right now. “I wanted to ask if, um…” Don’t be nervous, girl. You’ve got this. “You said before that I was — that I’m… touchable. Very touchable.”

Oh no, his smile’s fading. “Yeah, I did. I’m…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about that. Maybe I crossed a line…? This is a big — a huge deal for you, I know it must be overwhelming, the last thing you need—”

Wait wait wait! “Hang on, slow down. You think you crossed a line?”

“I… didn’t I? That’s not what you wanted to say?”

“Hells, no!” Woah, voice down, there are people sleeping in the room next door. “Are you kidding?” I say (quietly). “If that’s what you call crossing the line, I want you to cross all the lines.”

He looks gobsmacked now, which is really fucking cute. “You do?”

“Yeah, I do. I really, really do. If you want to, I mean. I don’t — I mean, I know I’m a lot of heat to handle, but I…” Fuck, my engine feels like it’s roaring. Please, gods, let him want this too. “I want to be with you, Dammon. I… It’s been so long since I was with anyone, and — and now that I can be with someone, I… I want it to be you.”

He doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at me like a fish, actually. Oh fuck, am I totally off base here? Noooo. “No pressure, though! No — I mean, if you’re not into… If I’m jumping the hatchet here, that’s totally fine, it’s not a problem—”

“No!” he blurts. “It’s not that. Believe me, Karlach, it’s not that I don’t want to. I mean — what I mean is that I…” He’s smiling again, thank all the fucking gods. “I would love to be with you, actually. I just… I can’t believe it’s me you want.”

I would love to be with you. I would love to be with you. He said that, right? Those were the words he said? Dammon the amazing smith with the amazing sinew-y hands said that to me, right? Oh shit, he’s still talking.

He gestures at me. “I mean, look at you. You’re Karlach. The Karlach, the destroyer of demons and devilspawn. You’re a hero.”

Oh my gods. Is that really what he thinks? “Wha—? Oh come on! It’s not like that.”

“It is like that,” he insists. “Haven’t you spoken to the kids? Mattis and Ide and them? I mean, I know you have, but you know they worship you, right? You’re like a goddess to them.” He looks around like he’s checking for spies, then lowers his voice. “Honestly? I think you’re better for them than a goddess, because you’re real to them. You mean something to them, Karlach. You’ve given them someone to look up to. That’s no small thing for a group of tiefling kids with no parents to look up to anymore.”

Fuck, I’m gonna cry. He doesn’t even know about Mum and Dad, and he hit the nail right on the fucking head.

He touches my hand — oh fuck, he’s not just touching my hand, but holding my hand. Turning my hand over on the table, his fingers sliding over my palm, his fingers curling into mine like he did right after he fixed me… Gods, my entire throat is full of fucking tears.

“I would love to be with you, Karlach,” he says in the softest voice. “If you’re sure this is what you want.”

Oh, hells. He’s going to make me weep. Swallow it down, soldier, gulp those tears down! “Let’s get outta here. Will you come back to my camp?”

“Actually…” Ooh, what’s this cheeky look on his face? Cute! “Would you be interested in a bed?”

What? No way! “A bed? You’ve got a claim on one of the beds here?”

“Sort of. Me and the other grown-ups have a rotation with one of the rooms upstairs. Taking turns having a little peace and privacy for a night.”

“You and the grown-ups?”

“Yeah — well, we offered to the kids, too, but they want to stay together on the main floor, where the Harpers are. Can’t really blame them, either. But anyway, um, what I was trying to say is, um.” He clears his throat. “If you’d rather use a bed than a bedroll, there’s—”

I’m already on my feet. “Bed. You and me. Now.”

He smiles — gods, that brilliant smile. And he’s on his feet too now, we’re heading for the stairs — oh my gods, he’s holding my hand again. Dammon is holding my hand, his fingers are between my fingers, how fucking nice is this? How long have I been thinking about this — no, dreaming about this? Easy, Karlach, keep those tears in your eyes.

He gives me a little smile as we walk up the stairs. “Fair warning that it was Rolan’s turn in the bed last night, so it might smell a little magical.”

What! Is that a thing? Gale and Brynn never said that was a thing! “Really? What does magic smell like?”

“Oh, no, I — I’m just joking.” Dammon smiles and rubs the back of his neck. “It was a bad joke. Sorry. Pretend you didn’t—”

I kiss him. How could I not kiss him? He’s so — oh, gods, he’s kissing me. His lips, my lips, his hands in mine, we’re — we’re kissing, we’re kissing! Dammon the smith is kissing me, and he’s… Would it be naff as all the hells if I said he was dreamy? Fuck it, who cares if it’s naff? He is gods-damned dreamy. As much as his hands are callused, his lips are so fucking soft, and I’m… I am melting. I swear, I’m melting, he’s making my lips melt apart like a hot knife in butter, he’s touching his tongue to mine… Gods, his hands though? How he uses them? This is fucking magic. His thumbs are sliding over my wrists, his palms skimming up my arms, over my shoulders, oh gods, oh gods oh gods…!

His hands cradle my neck, and his tongue slides into my mouth, and I’m — I’m… I can’t think. I can’t think, I can’t — I can just feel. I feel him: his lips his tongue his hands — how close he is, the nearness of his body to mine, I feel… fuck, I feel everything, every touch of his fingers and every stroke of his tongue, and I — he — shit, was that me? That little kitten-y sound: was that actually me? I’ve never made a sound like that in my life.

He breaks the kiss, presses his horns to mine. “Are you all right?”

I’m a puddle. I can’t talk. I just nod.

He smiles (arghhh, as if I’m not melted enough already!). “You’re burning blue,” he whispers.

Huh? “Huh?”

“You’re burning blue.” He rests his palm on my chest — oh shit, I really am burning blue. I… I’m burning blue but — but I’m not burning him!

“You’re…” My hand’s fucking shaking as I press it over his. “You don’t feel that? Not even a little singe?”

“Not even a little singe.” His eyebrows do that little mischief-quirky thing. “I told you, I’m good.”

I laugh. I can’t help it: I’m as giddy as a kid on her birthday. “Oh ho-ho, boy, you don’t know what you’re doing by saying things like that in a voice like that.” I step closer to him.

His gorgeous smile gets even bigger. “Or maybe I know exactly what I’m doing,” he says, still in that voice — oh, gods yes, his hands are on my neck again, so callused and so fucking gentle—

“Ahem.”

Fuck, Jaheira’s right behind us! “J-Jaheira! I mean, uh, ma’am!” Shit, should I bow to her? What should I do? She’s looking at me!

She smiles — the Jaheira is smiling at me! — then tilts her head. “Karlach, is it?”

She remembers my name! Snap to attention, soldier! “Yes ma’am, that’s me.”

She nods to Dammon too. “Dammon. Good evening. Let it be known that no one begrudges you your fun, but perhaps you should have it elsewhere that isn’t right at the top of the stairs. The only stairs that leads to the upper floor…?”

All right, now I’m going to melt from embarrassment. “Of course! Right! Uh, right! Uh—”

Dammon cuts me off, thank fuck. “Sorry, Jaheira,” he says. “We’ll get out of your way. Out of the way, I mean.” He takes my hand again, and I’m following him down the hall to one of the rooms: a simple little room with a nice cushy-looking double bed.

He leads me inside and closes the door. We look at each other. And we just crack up, we just totally — we’re both laughing like loons, just laughing so hard I can hardly fucking breathe. Augh, my ribs are starting to hurt, I’m laughing so hard!

“Here, sit down,” Dammon chuckles. He leads me over to the bed, and I let him guide me there.

Then I push him down and straddle him.

His gorgeous eyes get big. “Oh! Are you—”

I kiss him again — gods, he’s so delicious. Soft lips, hot tongue, strong hands: oh, I could just die for the touch of his hands. They’re circling my waist, they’re gripping my hips, they’re curling around my thighs… Fuuuck, gods, I’m sparking. Feels like everything’s sparking, like everywhere he touches is shooting with sparks, and I can’t… I can’t wait. I can’t wait anymore. I need more, I need his fucking hands, I need his hands on my skin.

I rip off my top and chuck it on the floor, and his baby-blues drop to my tits. “W-wow. I—”

I grab his collar and I shove my tongue into his mouth — fuck, his tongue tangling with mine: mm, just imagine feeling that sweet tongue in other places… Hellfire take me, I need this man more than I need air.

I climb off of him and start unbuttoning the ol’ trousers, and he grabs my hands. “Hey, hey. Easy, Karlach. Slow down. You don’t need to rush.”

Easy? Slow down? He’s kidding, right? It’s like I’ve never known the meaning of the word. “I…” Fuck, I’m breathing hard, I’m breathing so hard, and every breath feels like it’s making me hotter. Easy, Karlach, slow it down for him.

I gulp down a breath. “I hear you, soldier. But I have to tell you, I… Sometimes it feels like I’ve only got two modes: off, and on-on-on. I don’t…” Damn it, Karlach, breathe. “You might need to show me how to do this slowing-down thing.”

He smiles, and I swear, something inside of me absolutely melts. He’s got this way about him when he smiles, like his smile makes his face softer even when he’s showing his teeth, and it just… It’s such a special smile, you know? Like the way it feels when your mum watches you eating your favourite meal that she made? That’s how Dammon’s smile feels, and I swear on my life, if I still had a heart, it would be swelling up to five times its normal size.

He shifts off of the bed. “I’m happy to show you,” he says, and gods save me, he’s using that voice again. “Maybe I can start with…?” He gestures at my trousers and gives me a can-I? kind of look.

“Yes,” I say loudly. “Fuck yes.”

A big brilliant smile, and then he’s — ah, fuck yes, he’s undoing the buttons on my pants. He’s popping the buttons one by one, not even touching me as he does it, but I swear to all the gods, watching him do this is making me hotter than I’ve ever been in my life. And that includes when Zariel first put this fucking engine in my chest. No, don’t think about Zariel, forget about her.

Dammon pops the last button, then looks at me. “Can I take them off?”

“Please. Rip them off for all I care!”

He grins — gods, he’s a stupidly beautiful man. He’s pulling down my shabby trousers now, finally, pulling the damn things down over my hips and my ass and — oh. Oh my gods, oh my gods he’s kneeling in front of me this is not a drill!.

He sighs. “Karlach, you’re… really beautiful, you know that?”

He’s kneeling in front of me. Dammon is kneeling in front of me. He’s looking at me, his hand is curled around my ankle, and — oh, fuck me, his tail-barb is tracing my calf, his tail is coiling around my calf. His tail, his hand, his — even just his beautiful blue eyes on my skin: he’s seeing me, all of me, my bare fucking skin that nobody’s seen for ten fucking years.

“Are you all right?” His tail-barb strokes my knee, his hand squeezes my calf — fuck, I can’t cope with this.

I grab his shirt and pull. “Please, I — please, Dammon!”

He stands up. “What’s wrong? What can I do?”

I kiss him again. I know, I know, I keep fucking doing it, I keep sticking my tongue down his throat, but he’s so… I… Fuck, his hands are on my hips, on my back, he’s — shit, he’s stroking my shoulder blades. His fingers are tracing over my vents like it’s the most normal thing in the world to touch a woman with fucking vents in her skin, and I’m… I feel so… It’s like I’m full, my chest, my tummy, it’s like I’m so, so full — but it just reminds me of how empty I’ve been for so long. And I need him to… I need more. I have to have more. I need him to remind me of how good it is to feel this fucking full.

I grip his collar. “I need you naked. Right now.”

He laughs: argh, that laugh, how soft it is, how sweet! “I thought you wanted me to show you ‘slow’.”

“You can show me slow with your kit off.” I know what I sound like, I sound desperate as all the hells, but I do not fucking care. A river of blue heat is running through my veins, and my skin is fucking vibrating for more: more of him, more of his skin touching mine — gods, I want to slide against him like we’ve both been fucking greased.

“All right,” he chuckles. “You talked me into it.” He takes off his scarf, then starts taking off his vest, and I start working on his belt. I’m just helping, right? Just being a good old helper, that’s me. Ha, his belt is off, his vest is off, just a pesky shirt and trousers now — oh-ho, he’s a fast one with the shirt, we love a man who can strip like a fast-changer at the circus! It’s just the trousers left now. I grab for his laces —

Oh yes, he’s kissing me. His hands on my neck, his tongue so fucking sweet and slow in my mouth — gods alive, kissing is fantastic, so fucking fantastic it’s unreal. He’s pulling me close, his hands on my hips and his chest — fuuuck me Dammon, his sternal ridges are rubbing my nipples.

I can’t fucking cope. I can’t fucking cope, I can’t think, it feels so fucking good, I’m making that noise again like a hungry kitten begging for milk…

He peels his lips from mine. “See? I knew you could do it.”

“Do what?” I whimper. Yes, I whimpered like a kitten, all right? Whatever, shut up about it.

“You’re going slow,” he says in that voice. “You’re doing it right now.”

I’ve not a clue what he’s talking about. I’ve never felt less slow in my whole fucking life. “What do you mean?”

“My trousers,” he says. “You stopped trying to take them off.”

I burst out laughing. (It’s mostly hysteria, I’m fucking telling you.) “It’s not ‘cause I want to stop! I just can’t, uh…” Oh gods oh gods: his tail. His tail-barb is caressing my butt and giving me shivers — gods, what a life! When was the last time I got a shiver about anything? — oh my fucking gods, his tail is twining around my thigh.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’m alive with desire, I’m so fucking alive, and all he’s doing is curling his tail around my upper thigh. But his tail is so close — he’s so close, the smooth heat of his tail curling so fucking close to where I’m burning so hot…

That kitten noise squeaks out of me again. “Dammon, please…” I stroke his chest — my palms on his chest, my fingers on the ridges of his ribs, I’m touching him. I’m pressed against him from thigh to chest, I’m pulling him closer with my tail, I’m petting the ridges of his back and his shoulder blades — ooh, he’s got wingtips!

“You have wingtips!” I gasp. “Aw, how lucky are you? My mum always said these were good luck!”

He laughs that precious little laugh. “My grandmother said the same. Said it means I’ll be able to fly in my next life.”

“Aww, I love that. Makes me extra-wish I had a pair myself.” I trace the sharp little hooks with my fingers, then keep running my hands over the ridges of his back. Damn, skin is amazing. It’s really an amazing, amazing thing, and nobody even bothers to think about how amazing it is. Skin and muscles, too, like these nice wiry ropes of muscles in his upper back and his arms… Phwoar, his arms are bloody fit. I mean, of course they are, he’s a fucking smith, but still: I didn’t realize just how damn fit he was under his clothes. And these veins in his forearms? The way they pop, and the burn scars on his forearms and his hands? He might even have more scars on his arms and hands than I do, which is saying a hell of a lot.

Hellfire fucking take me, he is gods-damned beautiful. The scars, the ridges of his spine and his sternum, the wiry muscle of his smithy’s bod — not just his body, either, but his jaw, his nose, that heart-melting jewel-eyed smile…

Oops. Embarrassing. I went totally silent while I was touching him. “Sorry. Went into my own little world for a minute there.”

Another soft laugh. “Don’t even think about being sorry,” he says, and he lifts his hand… Ohhh, he’s touching my cheek. He’s holding my cheek in his palm, just cradling my cheek like it’s a baby bird… How long has it been since I’ve had a hand on my cheek? A nice hand, mind you, not a blood-covered clawed hand trying to gouge my eyes out. Too fucking long, that’s how: too fucking long with no caring hands to touch me or hold me or hug me when things got fucking rough. But that’s all over now, thanks to Dammon. I can touch and be touched, I can kiss and be kissed, I can climb this rip-roaringly gorgeous man in front of me, and I swear to every god that’s listening that that’s what I’m going to do all night long.

I kiss him and pull him close with my hands and tail. I stroke his spine with my tail-barb, I lick his tongue like it’s the sweetest thing in all the realms, I rub myself against him like I’m some pent-up kid who doesn’t know what they’re doing yet, and it all feels fucking fantastic. And he’s touching me too, his claws scratching my neck so super-gently while we kiss, his hands on my back, my hips — wowee, his hands on my ass! I want that, yes more—!

He palms my backside and pulls me tight to his body — fuck, he’s hard. He’s hard he’s hard he’s hard, I can feel him rubbing against my ladybits through his trousers — augh he’s still wearing trousers, fuck my life upside down!

I break from his kiss. “Take your trousers off,” I beg. “Just take them off already, all right? I need them off, I can’t — I really really want them off!”

“I’ll take them off. It’s all right,” he says in this dreamy calm-soothing voice, and his tail starts uncurling from around my thigh—

Fuck fuck fuck oh my gods yes his tail is sliding between my legs. It’s — fuck, his tail, he’s petting my cunt with his tail, it’s sliding between my legs and stroking me as it unwinds from my thigh and oh my gods it feels so good, how am I supposed to survive—? “Mm ah fuck!”

His tail is gone. His arms are around me. “Was that okay?”

I am fucking gasping. “You tease,” I choke out.

He laughs, his lips close to mine. “Not a tease. I’m going to carry through, I promise.” Mmm, he’s kissing me again, he’s so fucking yummy, and he’s untying his trousers and I’m vibrating and I can hardly keep fucking still—

He pushes his trousers down and his cock is out. His cock, it’s hard, he’s hard — oh my god his cock. It’s gorgeous. I mean, it’s a cock, cocks are always a little funny-looking, I don’t know how folks who’ve got ‘em can cope with them, but Dammon’s is out and it’s gorgeous — fuck me yes he’s stroking it I want to do that.

I push his hand away, replace it with mine, and he gasps. “Ah—”

I kiss him. I’m stroking him, I’m walking him back toward the bed, he falls onto the bed and I’m climbing onto him and gasping into his mouth and stroking this thick pretty cock of his—

His hands are in my hair. “Karlach, slow down,” he gasps. “Slow down for a minute, all right?”

Fuuuck, fuck fuck, I can’t. No, I have to, I have to slow down for him. “Help me,” I beg. “I don’t know how.”

“It’s all right,” he pants, and he presses his horns to mine. “Just breathe with me for a second, okay?”

I nod. Breathe, I can do that, that’s totally something I can do. Just breathe. I close my eyes, I feel the sweet ridges of his horns against mine, I feel his breath tickling my lips because he’s breathing too, I feel — woah yes, that’s his tail. His tail-barb is tracing my lower spine, tracing lower still — eep he poked my bum!

I burst out a laugh. “You rotter!”

He laughs, too: fuck me, I adore his laugh. He’s laughing against my lips, his tail-barb is gliding down over my bum… oh fuck, it’s moving down to my thigh, around my thigh, drifting between my legs, is he going to—? Oh gods Dammon please yes!

“Yes!” I gasp — fuck, his tail, he’s petting my cunt with his tail oh my gods I’m going to explode.

“Easy, Karlach,” he whispers. His hands cradle my neck, perfect callused hands, fuck his tail is petting me, caressing me, touching parts of me that I’ve been dreaming of being touched for years — ah yes that’s the fucking spot right there, right there fuck right there yes!

“Dammon,” I mewl — yes, I fucking mewled like a cat, I’m mewling and my back is arching like I’m a bitch in heat, but really? That’s exactly what I am. I’m in fucking heat for this man. I’m burning for him, burning for more of this, burning alive with his tail petting that red-hot little button of love. Dammon’s breathing hard, too, his fingers gripping my hair and his hips moving under me while his tail-barb does its work between my legs. It’s like he’s getting desperate too, so desperate that he can’t keep still while his tail is petting me, and I love that he’s getting desperate. I want him to unravel just like I’m doing now. I want to hear him moaning, I want to see him bucking his hips for more, I want — I want him so badly, I want this so much, it’s happening right now and I still want it like it’s out of my reach. How does that make any sense? Why am I longing for something while it’s happening right now, right here, with this insanely beautiful man I’ve been fantasizing about since I first clapped eyes on him?

Oh fuck, why am I getting emotional?

He strokes my hair. “Hey, are you okay?”

Oh gods, there’s a moan to his voice already. He’s breathing hard like he’s the one being touched, like he’s the one who’s getting tail-fucked more perfectly than even my best fantasies — ah, fuck me, his touch, the way his tail is rubbing my clit just right, it’s so — he’s so, so fucking perfect, he feels so right, this feels so right: Dammon’s hands in my hair, his body under mine, his tail petting my cunt and his lips breathing into mine… My gods, I’m so… he’s so, this is, I’m… fuck, I’m so close, I’m getting closer, I’m going to fucking blow I’m going to—

Yes. Yes yes yesyesyesfuckmeican’tbreatheohmygods kiss me Dammon fucking kiss me—

His tongue in my mouth. Moaning, is that me or him? No idea, who cares, I’m a fucking inferno. Everything sparking, like lightning under my skin and scorching my throat in the best fucking way, all because of him.

His lips leave mine. His voice, husky and soft. “You all right?”

I whimper. Still vibrating. No words, can’t talk. Need him to fuck me.

He strokes my broken horn, strokes my cheek. “You’re burning blue, Karlach.”

I sure fucking am. Burning blue, burning alive in ways that I didn’t think I ever would again, and it’s all because of him. It’s all him, it’s Dammon — his sunshine smile, his jewel-pretty eyes the colour of a summer sky: I’m burning blue, all because of him.

I nuzzle his ear. “I’m going to ride you until you see stars, soldier.”

He laugh-moans. “Yes please. I’m all for that.”

He’d better be, because I can’t hold back now. I can’t do slow now. I am on, on-on-on like I’ve never been before, and I’m sitting upright on his lap and I’m stroking his cock while he grips my thighs — gods I want to taste him, I want his come in my mouth, no no I’ll save that for later, I need him inside of me right fucking now—

Fuck yes he’s inside me fuck yes. Dammon is inside of me, and he feels like fucking heaven.

He groans, and it’s the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard. “Gods, Karlach!”

I take it back: hearing my name like that is the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard. I stroke his chest — beautiful chest, beautiful ridges of his ribs — then I brace myself on his abs and start fucking him hard.

He groans, arches his neck in a way that makes me want to bite him (ha, don’t tell Astarion!): oh, my sweet fucking gods, he feels amazing. His cock is driving into me so hard, so sweet and hard that I’m making noise with every stroke, and he’s making noise too and gripping my thighs — ah, his tail, it’s coiling around my forearm in a way that makes my tummy flutter, and his eyelids are fluttering too like he’s really letting loose, which I love to see. I love seeing him like this, I love seeing him looking as good as he makes me feel, and fuck does he ever make me feel good. His thick fucking cock, the hot driving punch of it reaching so deep… Holy fucking hells, I missed this, I missed it so fucking much, and it’s so much better than I remembered. Dammon’s solid body under mine, his strong smithy’s hands on my hips and thighs, his tail squeezing my arm like the way he holds my hand, and those eyes: his beautiful eyes, the way he’s watching me under his half-lidded eyes while I ride him like my life hinges on his cock… Fuck me, did it ever really feel like this? Was it ever really this good?

Wait, wait a second: was sex ever this fucking good before?

I’m staring at Dammon now. Just staring at this kind and gorgeous man who’s filling me up within an inch of my life, and I… I don’t know that it’s ever been like this. I don’t know that it ever has been this good before. Sex is always great, don’t get me wrong, but it’s never… My gods, it’s never been like this. It’s never felt so… so close. So right. Fuck, it’s never felt as right as it does right now with him — how fucking weird is that? We’re in an abandoned inn in a place that’s been cursed to the shadows for a hundred years, and it’s somehow the most right that I’ve ever felt while being naked with another soul.

Wait, though: it gets even weirder. I’m with Dammon, an infernal smith who I might never have even spoken to if it wasn’t for the engine in my chest — the engine that’s slowly burning me alive. If I didn’t have this damned thing in my chest, I wouldn’t be here with him. We wouldn’t be here together doing this.

I’m having the time of my fucking life right now with the most wonderful man I’ve ever met because of something that’s going to kill me.

No, no no no, stop it brain, don’t think about it—

“Hey.” He’s sitting up on one elbow — no, he’s pushing himself upright and reaching for my cheek. “Hey, hey now, are you okay—”

I kiss him. I shove my tongue into his mouth and grip his neck, and I fuck him like there’s no tomorrow. I fuck him like this is it, like this is the only chance we’ll have and I have to show him how much this means, how good this is and how good it is because of him, because it’s him, Dammon: it’s Dammon’s body under mine, and his hand and his tail holding me, it’s all him, and I need him to know that there’s nothing I wanted more in this world than to be with him.

He breaks from my lips with the most incredible groan. “Ah, Karlach—”

I nuzzle his ear. “I want you so bad, Dammon. I want you more than anything.”

He groans again — gods, if only you could bottle a noise and keep it for later. “I’m all yours. I promise.”

My gods, what a promise. What a thing to say, what a thing to hear from someone who’s so fucking good. And now I don’t know what to say, my tongue’s a knot, my throat’s getting thick — gods, just fuck him already, just wring the pleasure out of him like he did for you.

I fuck him. I’m riding him hard. I’m bouncing on his beautiful cock and staring at his beautiful face while it crinkles up with pleasure — come for me, Dammon, I want you to. I really want him to, I want his come more than anything in the world, I want him to let it all go inside of me — oh yes, good boy, he’s getting even harder, he’s getting harder inside of me oh my gods fuck I know he’s going to come—

“A-ah, please, y-yes—!” He kisses me, Dammon is kissing me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth and his hand firm at the back of my neck, he’s shuddering and pulsing deep inside — yes, I can feel him giving me his come, and I want it all. I’m fucking hungry for it, for every last drop of him, every little bit of proof that this was me and him together: Dammon and Karlach, Karlach and Dammon, two hells-touched tieflings finding our little place of light among the shadows.

He breaks our kiss and presses his horns to mine again. “Gods,” he pants. “Gods alive. You are… incredible.” He laughs, this husky I’m-out-of-breath-because-I’ve-been-fucking kind of laugh, and I swear I’d give my unbroken horn to be able to hear that laugh every day for the rest of my life, no matter how long or short it is.

He leans away a little and strokes my hair. “How are you feeling?”

Gods, look at him: he’s perfect. He said I was burning blue, but I swear on my life, his eyes are incandescent. They’re the brightest, most electric blue I’ve ever seen in my life, and it’s like they’re scorching my soul, branding this amazing moment deep into me so that it’ll never be forgotten, no matter what comes next.

Fuck, I feel so full. I’m so… my chest, my throat, my entire fucking soul feels full. Oh no, my eyes feel full too, oh no — don’t do this, Karlach, don’t you dare.

“I—” Oh fuck, I’m sobbing. I’m sobbing? Why now, why?

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Come here, it’s okay.” He’s tucking my head against his neck — oh my gods, I’m falling apart. He’s hugging me, his tail is stroking my back like he’s comforting a child, which is funny ‘cause I’m weeping like a baby. No, not weeping: I’m fucking bawling. That’s fantastic, Karlach, that’s just great, let’s just bawl all over the gorgeous smith while his cock is still in me.

Okay, that’s kind of funny, but… Fuck, I can’t stop crying. It’s all just coming out now, everything, all the stuff that’s been going on: the tadpole, my engine, the shadow curse and how fucking awful it is here, Lae’zel almost dying at the crèche and Mizora being a fucking bitch to Wyll and Astarion making his snarky little jokes like he’s not dead-scared of Cazador. I’m just fucking sobbing, I’m howling for me and them and everything, and more stuff keeps coming out: Gortash, Zariel, Avernus, Mum and Dad — everything, it’s just fucking everything, it’s all the things, so much shit I haven’t cried about for years, and it’s all coming out on poor Dammon because he’s hugging me.

Dammon is hugging me. He’s just hugging me while I cry all over him, hugging me tight like I haven’t been hugged in fucking years, and I don’t know if I can stop.

I do stop, eventually, when it feels like every tear in my body is on his neck instead of in my eyes. When I finally stop crying, he speaks. “Are you all right?”

Gods be damned, his soft voice, his hand petting my back… He’s going to make me cry again. “I’m okay,” I say. “Stuffy, but okay.” I lift my head — eurgh, yep, lots of tears and snot on his neck. Real attractive, Karlach, really sexy stuff.

“Sorry.” I wipe my face real quick and start wiping his neck. “Sorry. That’s gross. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “You needed that. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Oh hells, now he’s wiping my cheeks… Did someone make this man on purpose to turn me into the world’s meltiest puddle? He’s wiping my cheeks and looking at me in that so-soft way with his beautiful soft eyes… Oh boy, I’m a goner. If I wasn’t already all fluttery for him, I’m a total loss now.

He strokes my shoulder. “Do you have to head back to your camp?”

No way. I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here with him and make this night last forever. Don’t say that, though, you’ll sound like a limpet. “I can stay for a while,” I say, all casual-like. “If you want, I mean. I — unless you have to sleep? You probably have to get up early for the forge—”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I can get up whenever, that doesn’t matter. Either way, if you — if you don’t have to get back, maybe…” He clears his throat — aw, he’s looking shy! Why is he looking shy? “Maybe you’d like to stay the night? With me, I mean?”

He wants me to stay? He wants me to stay! “Yes! I mean—” Oh gods, I’m laughing now. “Yes. I’d love to stay with you.”

He smiles — oh gods, that killer smile. He’s going to destroy me with that smile before the night is through, I swear. “Great! That’s — that’s really great. Okay.” He laughs a little and strokes my arm. “Maybe I can take my trousers off, if that’s okay with you?”

“Your—?” I twist around on his lap to look — ha, oh shit, his trousers are down around his calves, and he’s still wearing his boots!

I laugh and climb off of him. “You didn’t take them off? Bit eager, are we?”

“Me? You didn’t give me a chance! So much for slowing down.” He’s grinning now as he pulls off his boots, and he’s so damned pretty that all I can do is smile back at him. Gods, I really am a goner.

He drops his boots on the floor. He’s totally naked now, naked and warm and perfect, and I don’t want to waste another second not touching all of that perfect naked skin.

I straddle him and wrap my arms around his neck, and he smiles and strokes my hip. “Back for a second round already? I’m game, but I’ll need a little more time.”

I press my horns to his. “Dammon, I…” No, Karlach, don’t say it. Don’t tell him what you’re feeling, it’s way too soon. It is too soon, right? It’s too soon to know if this is just lust or if it’s something more, right? Something so much more, so much bigger that it feels like it’s filling my entire damn body… I can’t know yet for sure that this is what I think it is, can I? Fuck, I’m breathing all shaky. Stop it, K, don’t cry again, just don’t.

He strokes my neck — gods, his magical hands on my skin, I can’t get enough. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “Take your time. Talk when you’re ready.”

I nod, and I kiss him. For the dozenth time tonight, I’m kissing Dammon, melting under his soft lips and tasting his tongue and feeling every inch of my skin coming to life under his hands, and I can’t be fucking bothered with talking. Who cares about words or talking or even thinking when there’s this, when there’s him? Not me, that’s for sure. All that matters is being here with Dammon, skin-to-skin with him like all my hottest dreams, and I don’t give a shit about anything else.

Tonight, I’m burning blue for him. And that’s all that fucking matters.