#his family is all gone...so he only had the grove.

[forcedhesitation]

it’s completely bananas to me that halsin's sex scene features a moment where he somehow loses control of his druidic powers and wildshapes into a bear, because he’s apparently that horny. like...gale had to be infected with a mindflayer tadpole for him to make mistakes in his spellcasting, even though he already carried a small nuclear bomb of evil, weave-consuming magic in his chest. what THE fuck is halsin’s excuse? like, as funny as it is for an archdruid to be so overcome with lust upon seeing a tdick that he loses his grip on his abilities, it makes absolutely no sense! what do you mean that this guy has enough power to open a portal to the shadowfell, and rescue a little fey boy from it, but he can't control his wildshaping because "bear horny?" HUH?

[rolanpilled]

Why I Fell In Love With Rolan, A Character Analysis

I will be going through Rolan's lines, along with the devnotes, to try and explain my interpretation of his character.

This is coming from having spent 30+ hours combing through his dialogues, reading all of his books, listening to every voice line for context, and replaying every scene of his that's currently accessible.

TW: Mentions of abuse, family death, implied suicide

Very long post under cut. Get the Arabellan Dry out!

A few notes before getting into this:

In the game files, Rolan is referred to as "Prodigy", while Cal and Lia are referred to as "ProdigyBrother" and "ProdigySister".

Rolan is a character whose outer words and inner thoughts often do not align - for most of the game, he refuses to show vulnerability in front of Tav, reserving his softness for his siblings. This can be interpreted in a number of ways, ranging from a self-confidence issue to an avoidant attachment style. Though people are free to have their own interpretations, I will mainly be focusing on my own readings of his personality.

I am not a psychologist or a licensed health professional, but I have personal experiences with the mental health disorders I will reference in this post, and I have done a lot of research on the topics involved.

Part 1 - Elturel, and Rolan's past

"Rolan. Just... Rolan."

There isn't much you can tell about Rolan's life except that he's from Elturel and that Cal and Lia are his siblings - after all, he doesn't give you much info in the first place. He doesn't know you, he doesn't trust you. Why would he?

The information you get about his family and his life before BG3 come from minor dialogues, and using Speak With Dead on his corpse. The picture they paint isn't a happy one.

[Player: What's your name?]

[Rolan: Rolan. Just... Rolan.]

[Player: Do you have any family?]

[Rolan: No... family... no one.]

[Player: No family? What about Lia and Cal?]

[Rolan: They are... brother and sister. Cal says... I am family, but...]

Rolan doesn't have a family name. We don't know if Lia and Cal do, but it can be assumed they don't, else he might have taken theirs. The first thing that sticks out to me in this dialogue is that he doesn't consider himself to have a family, even though Cal and Lia say he's part of theirs.

The question is, what could have caused this? If his blood family was simply dead, wouldn't he refer to them as "dead" or "gone"? Instead he says he has "no one" and "no family", perhaps implying that his parents just... abandoned him. Either way, it gives the impression that he has issues with being abandoned, and may project a sense of toughness and arrogance to make up for his insecurity.

And there IS insecurity here - he outright says that Cal and Lia tell him that he's no different from family to them, but deep down, he doesn't seem to be able to accept it. That he can only reveal this information to you after death, having been so guarded in life, is heartbreaking.

As for his life in Elturel, not much is said, but a lot can be inferred from his attitude.

[Cal: Elturel was the last time the three of us talked like this. Let's hope it lasts until Baldur's Gate.]

After leaving Elturel, it appears Rolan, Cal, and Lia didn't have much time to talk. This is from the party scene - a scene where they're drinking, laughing, and joking amongst each other. Clearly the journey hasn't been the easiest for all of them, though one thing we can take from this dialogue is that they've had this friendly, sibling-like relationship for a long time.

From what we know of Elturel and the Descent, things were NOT pretty down in Avernus. Many people died, and after the city was returned to the surface, tieflings were driven out of the city, as we all know. Something important to think about is how exactly this might have gone for the three siblings: how exactly they ended up in the Grove, travelling with the refugees. The context seems to imply that the siblings were travelling on their own, not necessarily considered a part of the group, but this is debatable and not entirely clear.

So what brought them to Baldur's Gate? What finally drove them out of the city? Did they leave before things got worse, or were they driven from their homes with stones and violence? It could really be anything, but the one thing that's clear is that their primary reason for heading to Baldur's Gate is for Rolan to start his apprenticeship with Lorroakan.

We know that Rolan wrote Lorroakan a letter: multiple letters, actually. We're not sure if he wrote to other wizards, but from his dialogue, you can tell that Lorroakan's been someone he's respected for a long time, both for his magical skills and his political beliefs. Though he's never met Lorroakan, you can find a copy of Lorroakan's biography on his desk at Sorcerous Sundries - there's an admiration established early on, and the player is led to believe that Lorroakan is a powerful wizard (though if you bring Gale with you, he comments on Lorroakan's shady reputation, hinting at something darker beneath the surface).

What could have driven Rolan to write so far away, seeking apprenticeship? Was it out of a sense of desperation, wanting to leave the city but needing a way to take care of his siblings? Was it curiosity? A sense that Lorroakan might be his last chance to make something of himself after being denied what he felt like was his rightful destiny? As a tiefling, he must have faced some discrimination for his heritage - I can speak to my own experience here, growing up as a person of color in a majority-white community was genuinely traumatizing to myself and my non-white friends. Not only do we receive open bullying and ostracization for our appearance, there's something even more insidious that often happens to minority populations - neglect. A general disinterest in our accomplishments, a lack of encouragement and attention towards kids that don't fit the norm. If this was something Rolan had to experience, it's no wonder he felt angry and eager to prove himself. He's been neglected his all his life, and he finally has a chance to show everyone who doubted him that he really does have the potential to be a great wizard.

Rolan himself appears to be in his mid- to late- twenties, bringing up the question of what he's been doing his entire life if not magic. It's mentioned that he was able to conjure a flaming cat from when Cal was as young as 8, so depending on the age difference between the siblings, Rolan might have known magic from a very early age. So why, then, is he a mere wizard apprentice at the start of the game? He's surely had a lot of time to learn himself.

[Lia: Try not to get too close, Cal.]

[Rolan: Yes. Remember what happened last time?]

[Cal: I was eight and you magicked up a kitten. How was I supposed to know it was made of fire?]

What could have happened along the way? He might have just not found the time or the opportunity to be able to study, especially as a tiefling without a family or the money to pay for an education. In my interpretation, Rolan carries a lot of unvoiced shame for not having been able to "fulfill his destiny" until now. He projects an outward mask of confidence and arrogance to hide his vulnerability, his insecurities - that his family isn't really his family, and that he isn't really destined for greatness. His natural reaction to vulnerability is anger and denial, which we'll explore more in the later sections.

(It is mentioned in the devnotes, though, that Rolan "has truly worked his ass off to get here". Prodigy is not an ironic title - he's likely had to self-study to the point where Lorroakan felt that he had potential. He has a right to be confident, but it doesn't negate any potential feelings of unworthiness.)

Additional info - Rolan, Cal, and Lia, on top of having known each other since Cal was 8, also share a mother figure, who is deceased. There is no mention of a father. It could be that this was Lia and Cal's actual mother, who took Rolan in, or a number of other possibilities - it could be that ROLAN'S mother took the three in, or that she just happened to be an unrelated woman who adopted three orphans.

[Cal: We should have a little party when we reach the city, like we did for mum.]

[Rolan: That 'little party' lasted from sundown to sunrise. Lia would like that.]

This dialogue can only be accessed if Lia dies but Cal and Rolan live.

So we've set up a few key details about Rolan's personality: his arrogance may harbor hints of insecurity or desperation, he has issues with feeling abandoned or neglected, and he's potentially been denied his chance to learn magic in the past. We will explore these in detail in the next few sections, along with another troubling tendency of his - perfectionism, and the self-blame that comes with it.

Part 2 - The Grove

"I'll not gamble our lives, our futures, for people who are as good as dead."

If you recall his dialogue in the grove, Rolan seems to distance himself from the other refugees, focusing only on the safety of his siblings. Let's unpack this in his own words -

[Rolan: This isn't Elturel and I'm not responsible for every damn tiefling in the world!]

[Rolan: I made no such oath, and I will not be held responsible for these people.]

This is in contrast to Lia, who believes that they should help what she considered to be their 'kin'. Remember that Rolan often refers to the refugees in a detached way, refusing to associate himself with them.

At a first glance, it might seem like Rolan is fixated on his apprenticeship - he wants to get to Baldur's Gate straight away, so he can begin studying under Lorroakan. Lia accuses him of the same, causing Rolan to react with anger.

But if you think about what Rolan's underlying motivations might be, you might have realized something that Cal and Lia most likely recognized too - he's worried for his siblings' safety.

The grove is an open, unprotected area, and they're being menaced by druids on one side, goblins on the other. There's only a few fighters, Rolan, Cal and Lia among them, and none of them are strong enough to take on either group. Even if Rolan feels a sort of kinship with the other tieflings - which I'll expand on in a second - he prioritizes the lives of his siblings over them, and doesn't want them to sacrifice themselves for people he doesn't even know.

Now, the other theory - what if Rolan doesn't identify with the other tieflings, because he's been cast out by them before?

I'm going to inject my personal experience as an immigrant here. Life as an immigrant can be profoundly isolating, especially if you have few relatives in the area. Rolan may have been so attached to Cal and Lia because they took him in when his own people rejected him - for some reason, even other tieflings could have seen him as an "outsider", and refused to help him when his parents abandoned him or died. If you tie in the theory that he was a tiefling born to human parents (which would be taboo), it could have been that they rejected him for not "being tiefling enough". I'm aware that in-universe there's no one unified "culture" of tieflings, but even in groups without a unified culture, there are still small pockets of people with certain internal customs. It could be that Rolan failed to fit in due to his heritage, that he was rejected for his personality, or some other reason, but my interpretation for his refusal to help fellow tieflings is that he never quite felt the same kinship for them that Cal and Lia did. It could also be that he holds resentment towards them for abandoning him - abandonment seems to be a central theme in Rolan's story, and likely contributes to his feelings of inferiority and unworthiness.

(He does seem to know Infernal, though I don't know whether that's a cultural thing or an innate trait to tieflings.)

If the fight is held at the grove, Rolan, Cal, and Lia stand near the back of the cave to protect the children. They can be found arguing with each other on potential battle positions. Afterwards, if the tieflings and all three of the siblings survive, they can be found by the entrance of the cave, where Rolan again behaves arrogantly towards you and claims he could have handled the goblins on his own.

All of this is quite standard for his character and projects the image of an arrogant, selfish person who only seeks to protect himself and the people that matter to him, which is likely what he wants. It also lends some credibility to the interpretation where he was rejected by other refugees - if he felt neutral towards other tieflings, it might have made more sense if he was less derisive towards them. Instead, he consistently detaches himself from his people, drawing clear lines between them, with a hint of bitterness that seems to have a painful origin.

The rest of Act 1 is Rolan acting like his standard self - bratty, arrogant, and dismissive of others. That is how most of us met him, though he won't stay that way for long.

Part 3 - Moonrise

"But what good am I if I can't do this... this one thing?"

(Author's note: "This one thing" is travelling alone through a cursed, necrotic land, breaking into a prison staffed with dozens of trained guards, and personally facing an immortal chosen of the literal god of death. Rolan is a Level 4 wizard.)

As you already know, at the start of Act 2 Rolan is drinking himself to death alone. His brother and sister have been dragged away screaming by the cultists, and he's overwhelmed at the thought of never seeing them again. Naturally, he's quite angry with you, but if you read his lines closely, you can see that you're not the only person he's angry at.

[Rolan: Gods damn it all. I can do nothing right - not a damn thing!] [Devnote: Furious - mainly with himself]

[Player: You're supposed to be at Last Light.]

[Rolan: I'm supposed to be saving Cal and Lia!] [Devnote: Frantic, worried for his siblings]

[Rolan: Instead, I found myself cornered by shadow-fiends and in need of rescue. From you, of all bloody people.] [Devnote: Pissed off and taking it out on the player]

[Player: You were trying to help your family - you're too hard on yourself.]

[Rolan: Or not hard enough.]

[Rolan: I've failed Cal and Lia, again. Be on your way - I'll return to Last Light... I know when I'm outmatched.]

Rolan is someone who feels deeply responsible for the safety of his siblings (this lends credence to the idea that he's the eldest of the three). He may argue and bicker with them, but he could never abandon then, nor could he forgive himself if something were to happen to them. He is clearly carrying an unbearable amount of grief and guilt for allowing his siblings to be captured, but he's so emotionally repressed that he chooses to bury his sorrow under a mound of anger. Being drunk doesn't help - it's mentioned by one of the kids, Ide, that he's been through three bottles of wine by the time the player reaches the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

That much is obvious just from reading his lines, but his angry reaction to the player is, as the devnotes say, a way of taking out his pain and frustration on other people. He might feel guilty about it later, but in the moment, it's the only way he knows how to cope with them. This isn't his only instance of externalizing his self-hatred.

If Cal dies and Lia lives, the player has the option to break up an argument between Lia and Rolan. If they fail to neutralize the situation, Rolan will tell Lia (or Cal, depending on who lives) to get out of his sight permanently.

[Rolan: You deserve nothing. You two are cowardly parasites, and I am disgusted it took me this long to see. Get out of my sight.] [Devnote: Furious in his grief, lashing out, being as hurtful as he can to his surviving sibling]

[Lia: Fuck you, Rolan!]

-

[Lia: Insufferable, arrogant little prick. Argh.]

[Lia: Everything is about him, everything is about his pain. Godsdamnit, Rolan!]

It says a lot to me that if one of his siblings dies, that he has to be convinced out of lashing out at his surviving one. He seems to be like a person who deals with strong emotions by lashing out, likely as a defense mechanism to make himself appear stronger than he feels. This is a common technique used by people with self-esteem issues - to avoid drawing attention to their own vulnerability, they lash out and externalize their feelings with anger to bury the grief. Lia says as much in this ending - to Rolan, everything is about his pain, and he's managing it in the only way he knows how. He knows he's hurting his siblings, he knows it's wrong, but he engages in it anyway, a common trait of people who dislike themselves. If Rolan didn't have his apprenticeship, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that the death of his siblings might have caused him to spiral and give up on life altogether.

Interestingly enough, in the end where both Rolan and one of his siblings die, it's implied that the remaining sibling commits suicide. You can read more about it here - it gives some insight into Rolan's motivations, and serves to emphasize exactly how much this apprenticeship means to him. Rolan lives for two things, though it really just is one thing - his siblings, and his apprenticeship, which means more to him because it represents a hopeful future for his siblings. Every clue in the game points to his siblings being everything to him.

But let's move away from this bad ending for one second, and back to where we are. Rolan's been drinking himself silly, yelling at children, and eventually storms out into the SCL by himself. Being an apprentice wizard, few expect him to survive on his own, and true to form, he has to be rescued by the player again.

Though I think this line is currently bugged and unavailable, he actually has lines reacting to the shadows.

[Rolan: My magic is not to be trifled with - leave or die!] [Devnote: Exhausted and scared, but trying not to sound it]

Rolan, emotionally repressed fool he is, is once again attempting to appear big in order to protect himself from what he fears. Whether it's the shadows, or the loss of his siblings, he reacts to stressful situations with a brave front, attempting to push people away so they won't see him at his worst state.

This is one of the common symptoms of an avoidant attachment disorder - an attachment style that causes people to push others away if they get too close, avoiding emotional closeness and being uncomfortable expressing vulnerability to others. I interpret Rolan as having this kind of attachment style, which is often formed from neglect or abuse as a child, resulting in a self-sufficient but emotionally cold person. It can lead to the breakdowns of close relationships, as evidenced by Rolan pushing away his surviving sibling (potentially in order to save himself the grief of having to go through their death again). People with this disorder often cut off people before they can be cut off, in order to save themselves the pain of being abandoned again.

Some recognize the negative impact of their behaviors more than most, and though Rolan never comments on it, it can be inferred that he feels some measure of guilt for the way he behaves. If convinced to lay off of his surviving sibling, he immediately apologizes, recognizing his mistake.

[Cal: Do you wish it was me who died? Instead of Lia?]

[Rolan: Gods no, that's not what I meant. Never, Cal. Never!] [Devnote: Realizes what he's just said. Backtracking, apologizing, sincere]

[Rolan: Shit. I'm sorry.] [Devnote: Disgusted with himself and what he's just said. Looking away, sincere apology]

[Cal: Me too.]

We can see here that Rolan IS capable of self-reflection and guilt - it just takes more than a nudge to get it out of him. He says as much if you manage to rescue both siblings, thanking you and apologizing for his behavior - not an empty apology, or made out of necessity, but a genuine, heartfelt admission of guilt and gratitude. This kind of mature response from him says a lot about his character, and hints at a capacity for further growth in Act 3.

As Cal says, Rolan can be stubborn, but he's never malicious. I see this as an indicator of the immense guilt he holds inside him - though he externalizes his rage towards anyone and everyone, deep down, the person he blames the most is himself.

Which leads me directly into a talk about perfectionism, one of Rolan's defining character traits.

Rolan, at his core, is a perfectionist. The feelings of failure for not being able to save his siblings, the arrogance that belies a certain type of self-hatred, and a willingness to attack others in order to deflect from his own vulnerability - all of these traits tie heavily into perfectionism, which Rolan consistently displays traits of. At the start of the game, he spends every line with the player bragging about how he and Lorroakan are going to become household names, how they will boast of this meeting to others. To an extent, I'm sure he believes it. He's just been invited to what he considers to be a prestigious apprenticeship, despite everyone having considered him a failure. Naturally, he's excited despite the trauma of Elturel and Avernus, and wants to get to Lorroakan immediately in order to fulfill his destiny (he refers to it as his destiny several times throughout the game).

This makes what happens next all the more tragic.

Part 4 - Baldur's Gate, Lorroakan, and ending the Cycle of Abuse

Picture this - you've been rejected, abandoned, considered a lost cause for most of your life, accepted only by the siblings you just barely avoided losing forever. But the journey was worth it. You're finally here, in the city you've dreamed of, studying under who in your opinion is one of the most powerful and respected wizards in the world.

Then you get there, and you don't learn a thing. Your teacher asks you nonsensical questions and beats you as a punishment when you're wrong. It's unsurprising that when the player enters Sorcerous Sundries, that Rolan seems a bit more dejected than usual.

Much has been said about the depiction of abuse in media, but as a survivor of domestic violence, I found Rolan's reaction and justification of his abuse very accurate for someone suffering from DV. True to his personality, the very first thing he does is deny that anything's wrong, continuing his trend of burying his emotions in the hope that they'll go away.

[Player: I know the marks of subjugation. Your face - what happened?]

[Rolan: Nothing for you to worry about.] [Devnote: Master Lorroakan hurt him, but he doesn't want to say]

[Narrator: *His voice catches. Something's wrong here.*]

Survivors of DV often feel great shame towards their abuse, often blaming themselves and refusing to speak about it out of fear of appearing vulnerable. True to that, Rolan doesn't say anything about what Lorroakan's doing it, resorting to another common tactic for abuse survivors - implying what's happening without directly stating that the abuse is occurring. This is often out of fear, especially if the victim is still close to the abuser - in this case, Rolan not wanting to jeopardize his apprenticeship, or possibly be abused further for disclosing it to someone else.

[Rolan: Be very sure before you make to visit Lorroakan. He's got a beastly temper.] [Devnote: Sounds a bit disappointed in the player]

[Rolan: Master Lorroakan is... a difficult man.] [Devnote: Gently touches bruised face, distant]

Abuse survivors often hold a great deal of guilt for 'allowing' themselves to be abused, more so if the abuser considers them weak or easy to manipulate. There's often a stigma - "why didn't you just leave? You knew it was bad, yet you stayed, so there must be some blame on your part." This is not an uncommon belief amongst survivors, and through his journal entries, it can be inferred that Rolan holds a similar belief. Rolan's journal, and his VA's fantastic reading of it, can be found here. Rolan is clearly aware that what's being done to him is wrong, but he persists - in my opinion, partially because he believes it's worth the benefits involved, and partially because he feels a responsibility towards his siblings to succeed after 'failing' them so tragically before. Again, perfectionism, guilt, internalized self-hatred: easy traits for a horrible man like Lorroakan to take advantage of.

There are a few possible endings for Rolan here, the first being if you side against the Nightsong with Lorroakan.

The thing about abuse, as Larian so excellently portrays it, is that it is often perpetuated in cycles. A person who's been hurt is more likely to hurt others, whether as a response to their pain, or in an attempt to spread their misery in order to feel less alone. Though not all survivors become perpetrators themselves, many perpetrators are survivors themselves. Rolan is no different - if Nightsong is captured, and Lorroakan is killed in the fight, he will immediately attempt to cage the Nightsong himself and harness her immortality. This could easily be seen as an attempt to get strong enough that no one can ever hurt or take advantage of him again.

When the player next long rests, Rolan will be found dead, having been killed by Aylin - perhaps a mercy, to avoid him from becoming just the same as Lorroakan.

But the player who cares for Rolan wouldn't let this happen to him, right?

Rolan's attitude towards the player gradually changes over time, but nothing shows his growth more than his good ending, where you save Cal and Lia and side with the Nightsong. When you bring Nightsong to the tower, Rolan will be shocked, in disbelief that the Nightsong was a person all along. He turns against Lorroakan on the spot despite the other man's threats to ruin his life (a common tactic employed by abusers to control their victims).

[Lorroakan: Boy! At the ready. Once I've taken control of the aasimar, she must go directly into the caging runes.]

[Rolan: No, Master Lorroakan. I would have never assisted you if I knew you planned such horrors.]

[Rolan: You lied to get the Nightsong here. Made us all believe she was nothing but a relic. I have seen what true leadership can accomplish - but never under your tutelage.]

[Lorroakan: Watch your tongue, you child! I could make it so that no wizard in the realm will touch you.]

[Rolan: If they're all like you, I think that sounds like an excellent bargain.]

It takes an immense amount of courage to stand up to one's abuser, so to see Rolan so bravely stand against the man who hurt him was a positive surprise to me. It also shows just how much the player has changed Rolan for the better - your leadership and selflessness has inspired him, given him the bravery to stand against his abuser. It's a powerful scene, and I admit that watching it brought a tear to my eye, brief as it was. Few people get the chance to take revenge on their abusers, so it was cathartic to see Rolan thunderwaving him onto the balcony before letting Aylin snap his spine.

After the fight, Rolan thanks the player, finally feeling safe enough after his abuser's death to reveal what happened to him. Though it's implied that he feels some shame for being victimized, much of it is likely from the shock of the sudden event, and by the next day he's regained much of his enthusiasm - he still has the ego, but with less arrogance and more acceptance of the player's presence. Rolan's growth, from hating and mistrusting the player to eventually trusting them enough to show his true, kind self to them, is what really made me fall in love with him and his character arc.

Ultimately, Rolan's story isn't just about learning to lay down your pride and accept help from others - it's about abandoning perfectionism and elitism, accepting your own faults, and choosing to grow as a person. For Rolan, the player begins as an annoying, meddlesome force, someone who "moralizes" to him about saving others when he wants no part in doing what's considered "right". By the end of the game, he realizes just how lucky he is to have you in his life - without the player's influence, he could have easily gone down the worst path, the path of narcissism, ego, and disregard for others. But because of a string of coincidences, he was saved from that fate, and was allowed to grow and accept that there's enough room in his heart for more than just the few people that care about him. He learns to lay down the perfectionism, accept that making mistakes is a part of change, and feel his feelings for what they are - whether they're gratitude, fear, or even sadness.

For someone who struggles with avoidant attachment disorder, seeing Rolan's character change throughout the game greatly inspired me to change the way I was approaching my own relationships with people. Avoidant attachment disorder is not talked about very often, both in the medical field and in everyday life, and people suffering from it are often misunderstood or considered to be 'lost causes' - to see Rolan so capable of change inspired me to change myself, and I'm sure I wasn't the only one who felt this way.

When he takes over Ramazith's Tower, Rolan decides to distribute Lorroakan's knowledge to the world, and tells you about his plans to open a library. This is the most obvious sign that he's changed - the player's willingness to help him despite getting little or nothing in exchange has inspired him, and he becomes a kinder, more open person. He learns to trust again, to love again. It's unclear what happens afterwards, as he's not present in the epilogue, but the heartwarming conclusion to his arc can be seen in the issue of the Baldur's Mouth Gazette after Lorroakan's death -

Despite everything, Rolan makes it to the end, having vanquished the trials in front of him with the help of the player. He gets his tower, his knowledge, and shares it with the realms, finally able to realize that he's worthy and deserving of a happy life.

-

Thank you to Larian for bringing Rolan's story to life, to Mr. Taylor for his excellent portrayal of this character, and to all the Rolan fans for showing him so much love every single day.

I have met so many amazing and talented friends from the community around this character, and I'll forever be grateful for everyone who showed him the love I feel towards him.

I can be found on twitter at @gimblebock.

[written-in-flowers]

The Last Night: Otto x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Otto Hightower x Tyrell!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre: smut, fluff, and more smut

Summary: Otto comes to his Rosebud's bedchamber the night before their wedding with one last couple activity.

Tags: older man/younger female relationship, virgin!reader, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving/giving), spanking, edging, reading while being fucked, vaginal penetration, breast and nipple play, two horny people finally getting it on.

Part 1 to this

***

The final day of the Harvest Moon Festival came on the fifth day of the month. The following day would be your wedding. Your parents hosted a fabulous ball to celebrate the upcoming ceremonies. Full of entertainment, dancing, drinking and feasting, it was a ball said to rival last year's festival. You returned to your chambers, feet aching and light headed from sweet wine, and eager to get into your bed. Handmaidens peeling you out of your orange and yellow gown, you sighed with relief as you removed the flowers and leaves from your hair and massaged your own scalp. Your festival dress, a gown covered with painted fall leaves and flowers, might have been a masterpiece of fabric but it’d weighed you down considerably. The headpiece itself ached your scalp towards the end of the night. 

Wishing your handmaidens good night, you blew out the last of your candles and climbed into bed. The realization hit you right then. This time tomorrow, you’ll be a married woman. You’ll be Lady YN Hightower, wife to Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King. The King himself announced it at the final feast. He told the entire room how there’d been no finer man for the position than Otto. You’d congratulated him with a smile, and a glimpse down the front of your dress. He’d told you the tease might’ve been risky with so many eyes watching you both, but you couldn’t resist it. You liked how pink his cheeks became whenever you hinted at it. Ever since your time in the garden the first night, you and Otto had grown closer. You enjoyed his company above most you knew; he truly listened when you spoke and he remained perfectly respectful. 

Until he caught you alone. Then his hands and lips rarely left yours. 

Laying on your back, you pictured the last time you’d gone into the garden with him. Underneath the grove of citrus trees, the two of you took tea together to enjoy the autumn air. It started out simple enough: stories of the previous night, tales of King’s Landing and reminiscing about both your families together. You could be honest with Otto. Nothing you said fazed or upset him. He told you he’d heard worse things in The Red Keep. But, when you went to one of the trees for a fresh orange, he’d come up right behind you. Even thinking of it now gives you chills. 

‘I wish I could peel all these layers off you…’ 

He nearly did. You bit your lower lip as you pictured it in your head. Your back against the tree, fingers digging into the hard bark as you balanced yourself on one foot for him. Otto on his knees, he’d put your thigh over his shoulder and his face buried under your skirt. The memory of his tongue lightly flicking your bud made your insides throb. He’d driven you half-mad from the motion alone; he did not swirl or caress his tongue against it. He only held your lips open and attacked your hard clit. You begged him to put his cock inside you. You needed to feel more of him, but he denied you this. He said you’d have him with time. Instead, he placed you on his lap at the table and let you grind against it. You made a mess on his cock while he made one on his shirt and your gown. 

But tomorrow night, he will be all yours. 

Spreading your legs apart, you knew the perfect way to end your night. You tugged down the loose neckline of your nightgown underneath your breasts, and envisioned Otto’s mouth on them. You loved how his beard prickled the supple flesh, and the way he gently sucked and licked them. A part of you wished you didn’t give into him so easily, but after having a bite of the plum, you hungered for the rest. Rubbing your nipples, you thought of his hands replacing yours. He’d lay on top of you, cock pushing out your folds to tease your center. Your breathing labored as you rocked your hips into the sheets covering you. You held onto the memory of his warmth and touch. You concentrated on the image of his tongue swatting at your nipples as you grinded into his thick length. The length you wanted stretching and filling you; the length you wanted spraying your womb with his seed and impregnating you. You thought of the last time you’d put him in your mouth. It’d been in the library where he caught you reading quietly. It started with talking of the eastern cultures of the world and ended with your head bobbing up and down in his lap. 

You’d lifted your dress up your thighs, thinking of Otto’s long fingers touching your bare flesh, when the door opened. You let out a yelp and sat up, ready to scold whichever servant interrupted you, but the fire immediately died. 

“Ser-Ser Otto,” you breathed, pushing hair from your face, “What brings you here this-this late?”

Otto closed the door, and by the dim light of his candlestick you saw he wore only a shirt and breeches now. “You, my lady,” he said, coming to your bed. You noticed he held something in his bed, “I was enjoying a late night read and I came upon a story I thought you might like.” 

“Could it not, um, wait until the morrow?” 

“I’m afraid not.”

He used his candle to light the ones near your bed. With each candle, more light came into your corner of the room. With more light, came to sight of your half-naked body under your sheets. Otto’s eyes swept over you in the glowing lights, and you saw him gulp thickly. 

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the empty space beside you. 

“Otto…” you didn’t bother hiding your bare chest from him or the placement of your hands on your thighs, “I must warn you, ser, if you climb into this bed, we may do something The Seven wouldn’t approve of.”

“I think they can shut their eyes this one time.”

He sat beside you, putting his arm around your shoulders and bringing the book between you. A book bound in brown leather, you opened it to the first page. On it, you saw ‘Tales of the Flesh’ printed in red and gold lettering above the picture of a naked couple. They both laid on their sides with their heads facing each other’s groins, legs painted to indicate they’d been spread and tongue painted to show the action taking place. 

“I’ve never read this one,” you told him, the fire in your loins relighting. “Where did you find it?”

“I’d brought it with me,” he admitted, tucking hair behind your ear. “I’d been perusing it  when I came across a story I thought you might enjoy.” 

He flipped the pages to a middle section of the book. “The Maiden and the King,” you read out loud. 

The picture underneath was set in a bedroom. On a bed of scarlet sheets and gold curtains was an older man with a gold and ruby crown on his head, twirling his thick blue mustache. Across from him was a young woman, wearing nothing but a harness of gold chains with thick black curls cascading down her back. She posed her arms above her head, exposing most of her body to the king, who seemed to approve. 

“What is it about?” you asked, already picturing yourself in the maiden’s position. 

“Exactly what the title implies,” he said, “A young maiden pleasuring her king. Read it to me, pet. My eyes are quite tired from this evening’s festivities.”

You turned the page and did as he asked. A nervousness settled in your stomach when you realized the gravity of the situation. Someone might come any moment and find him in your bed. You thanked the Maiden for bringing Otto to you on this particularly heated night, the man whose body you craved constantly. But, you knew if anyone found you they’d tell your parents. 

Well, you are getting married tomorrow. In all honesty, did it truly matter?

As you went further into the story, you described to Otto how the king bought the maiden at auction and planned to deflower her under a full moon. Otto’s hands pulled down your gown. You only shifted to let it fall to your waist, then continued reading as he gently caressed and kissed you. 

“Faeyesha disrobed in front of His Excellency,” you read, “The gold chains glinting against her copper skin. Dark eyes dared him to come closer, to taste her sweet honey and fill her with his seed. His Excellency watched the young beauty dance before him. Faeyesha’s form enticed Nakyros to begin pleasuring himself to her body. Never before had His Excellency seen a thing of such stunning beauty-”

“-He is not the only one-” interrupted Otto, one hand grabbing your breast while the other slid between your legs. 

“-And the sight of Faeyesha’s bare breasts entranced him greatly. When he came to full hardness, he beckoned the girl forward. On the bed, King Nakryos examined the maiden. He spread the girl’s lips and slid a finger into her we-we-wet-ness,” your voice wavered as you felt warm fingers reach your lips, “Pushing and pulling until the girl squealed with ecstasy.” 

“Sit here, sweetling.”

Otto guided you between his legs, entrapping you in his embrace. Your bodies flushed together, every sensation heightened. Otto kept your legs apart with his own, and lifted your dress over your thighs. 

“This way I can touch you better,” he said, kissing your neck. 

“Otto, please,” you whimpered, wriggling against the hand on your sex, “If you keep touching me there…”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to take more than your fingers and tongue.”

He turned your head from the book, cupping your jaw gently. “That is my intention tonight,” he said. “Forgive me, but gods, YN…I cannot resist you anymore. I have done everything within me to keep myself from taking you as I truly wish. I did not wish to dishonor or disgrace you, but tonight…” he went back to circling your center, “You looked so enticing, so alluring and arousing.”

“Otto,” you giggled bashfully. 

“I cannot restrain myself any longer,” he continued, rolling your nipple in time with his other hand. “You’ve bewitched me, YN. I must have you tonight. I cannot wait any longer.” 

You pushed his hand deeper into your sex, grinding into his fingers on your own, “Then have me. Please, Otto, please.” 

Gingerly, he slid a finger inside your pussy. You jumped at the sudden intrusion, but easily settled into it as he continued. “Keep reading for me, darling.”

“-His Excellency slipped a second finger to ensure the auctioneer had not been false with him. The maiden writhed with pleasure as her new master explored her sex…”

Reading became more difficult once Otto explored you himself. It was a sensation you took a minute to adjust to, but once you did, you melted in his arms. A second finger joined the first and went deeper; the palm of his hand lightly rubbed against your clit each time he went inwards, bringing about more teasing that made you dizzy. 

“...His Excellency then took Faeyresha fiercely…His girth and length opened her sex, bringing him…him…”

“Full pleasure,” Otto finished, curling his fingers inside you. “Nakryos fucks his slave quite well, don’t you think so?” 

“Ye-Y-Yes.”

“Fortunately, my love,” he quickly untied his trousers for you, “I promise not to be so hasty. Lean forward for me.”

You moved forward between your legs, adjusting yourself to the strange position and keeping the book in front of you. “Turn the page,” Otto said, “Keep going.” 

Turning the page, you continued reading about the positions Nakryos took Faeyresha. Otto changed his hand’s position and began fingering you from behind, his thumb between entrance and anus. Teasing your nipple yourself, you pushed into his hand as you read about Nakryos’s and Faeyresha’s tale out loud. You’d been describing how Nakryos bent Faeyresha over the windowsill and took her underneath the night sky when that familiar tightness built in your gut. You chased your climax by riding Otto’s fingers, eyes rolling back at the thumb teasing your hole. But, right when you reached the threshold of your orgasm, Otto withdrew his fingers completely. 

“Otto,” you whined, shaking your hips in frustration, “Put them back.”

He chuckled at your demand, and you felt something longer and hotter rest on your ass. “With time, precious,” he insisted, rubbing your buttocks with both hands, “With time.” He gently squeezed both sides, pushing the cheeks apart and lifting them slightly. You trembled as warm kisses dotted up one side to your tailbone, “Does this arouse you?”

When you nodded, he continued massassing your ass until he reached your sex again. Sliding two fingers back inside you, that delicious sensitivity returned and you went back to meeting his hand. Otto brought you close to the edge with a few more pumps of his hand before pulling away again. You did your best to quiet your frustrated whining, but the sensations coursing through you forced your face into the sheets. Legs and thighs trembling, you stayed still as Otto’s fingers went back into you a third time. His free hand caressing between your thigh and ass added tingles of pleasure to your torture. You continued rutting against him, clenching the sheets and biting into them as you let the arousal take over. 

“Roll over for me.”

You maneuvered yourself enough to spread yourself on your back for him. Your body quaked when you watched him trickle spit right onto your sex. Cupping your breasts, you pinched your nipples in front of him as he whirled his thumb around your sex. When he kneeled in front of you, you drooled at his hardened cock. You reached down to grab him. His shaft pulsated at your touch, the hardness making it hot and throbbing. 

“Let me have it,” you pleaded, using the droplets of precum to coat him. “I need it.” 

He removed your hand from him and lifted your knees upwards. The cock you so desperately desired rubbed against your soaked cunt. He rolled the head of it there over and over until you were pushing him towards your entrance. By the time he pushed the head into your heat, you were clutching the pillow under your head and whimpering desperately. A twinge of pain did burn through you as he slipped further inside; the stretch distracted you from the pleasure for mere seconds before he fully entered you. The both of you released sighs of relief at finally being connected. Your eyes met his, full of lust and desire as he slowly began moving his hips. His hands roamed up your torso, palming your breasts while he dotted kisses on your neck. The pubic bone above his cock brushed into your clitoris, and you gyrated against the hairs tickling your sex. 

“So beautiful,” he groaned, holding himself deep inside you, “And all mine.”

“Yes…Yes, I’m yours.”

“Say that again,” he growled, picking up the pace. You felt him only withdrawing an inch or so each time, so you both stayed locked together. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whined, “I’m yours.” 

You continued saying this, your nails digging into the pillow under your head. Widening your legs further, you started meeting him halfway to let him know you wanted more. The bed let out soft creaks as he knelt up, grabbed your thighs and pounded you. If anyone heard you, it didn't matter to you. You’d been longing for this moment for days, maybe even weeks. Having Otto fill your pussy over and over, his hips slapping against your bottom from the position, it was everything you dreamed of. Grabbing both his hands, you put them on your breasts to make him squeeze and tease them while he fucked into you. Every touch he laid on you added to the pleasure rising up in you. 

“Otto, Otto,” you breathed his name into the air, head tilting back into the pillow, “Please, don’t stop. Please, keep going.”

And he did keep going. His body started trembling when yours did. The tightness of your walls gripping him, his tip hitting the spot making you see stars, your orgsams flooded both your senses. You became numb to everything but the climax Otto worked out of you by toying with your clit and sucking your nipples. His own grunts vibrated against your breasts, his thrusting becoming more erratic as a distinct warmth spilled inside. You loved it, you realized. Even as you grew sensitive during the afterglow, you kept pushing against him. Your pussy milked out every drop he could give you. 

Otto pulled out of you and collapsed onto the bed. You yearned to have him close to you, but the chill of the room cooled down your hot skin. A hand started moving between your thighs, fingers lazily circling your hardening bud again. You squirm at the shots of sensitivity hitting it, but you did not stop him. 

He chuckled at your movements. Rolling onto his side, Otto lifted one of your legs over his as he rubbed your soaked pussy. “I only wish to make sure it stays in there long enough, petal,” he said in your ear, kissing you deeply. You tasted yourself on his tongue, and you slid yours into his mouth for more. “I also quite enjoy touching your sweet cunt. I love the sounds you make when I tease you.”

You reached down to his cock, stroking it languidly from your position on the bed, “And I love playing with your cock. It’s so thick and makes me wet right away. Will you stay with me a bit longer?” you pouted, batting your lashes, “Let me touch it for a while more?”

“Anything for you,” he kissed underneath your ear and nuzzled your neck, “My sweet Rosebud. I think we’re going to enjoy our married life together, don’t you?”

“Oh yes,” you sighed as his fingers dipped back into your pussy, “Yes, completely.” 

Otto stayed in your bed the rest of the night. You admitted that you couldn’t get enough of him. You loved his warmth, his mouth, his tongue and cock. Your favorite part had been when you rode him for the first time, your ass bouncing in front of him so he could grab and slap it. You’d never cummed harder than right then. You could have gone all night if you both hadn’t passed out after the third round. 

****

“May I ask why Otto was in your bed this morning, darling?”

Out of all the people in the castle, your mother had been the one to find you. Jalissa Tyrell did not appear at all surprised or appalled at the sight of your future husband nude in your bed. She actually expected it. Apparently, your handmaidens whispered about your escapades with Otto in the Tyrell gardens. 

“He visited me in the night,” you admitted, letting her braid your hair for you. “We hadn’t intended to go as far as we did. It happened naturally.”

“You should have been more cautious,” she said, adding a crown of fake flowers and feathers to your head, “The maids heard you.”

“I didn’t think about it at the time,” you said, hiding your smile in the mirror. 

You felt her eyes on you, and pretended to be busy with a perfume powder. Thankfully, your mother arrived right after Otto had finished waking you with his tongue. 

“Did you enjoy it?” she suddenly asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Was he gentle the first time?”

“Very, and yes I did enjoy it. He was…thorough with me.” 

She stifled a laugh, “Pious men like Otto tend to have extreme sexual appetites. He can normally contain himself, but I think your ability to match his desires broke him.” She grinned, “I always knew what a little temptress you could be, yet I never imagined it like this. You could not have waited one more night?”

“As I said, it merely happened. We were reading a book together-”

“-Ah yes, I saw the book on your bed. You must be more careful when you go to Oldtown. People there aren’t as open minded as us.”

“I understand, Mother. I’ll try to…restrain myself.”

She laughed, “As if Otto will be able to do such a thing. If you two disappear during the feast, I’ll keep your father occupied until the bedding.” She finished your hair, and grinned pleased with herself. “Just try not to ruin your wedding gown, my love. It was rather costly and I’d hate to see it ripped or stained.”

You both laughed, and you promised to keep it intact for her. 

Though, you’re sure Otto made no such promise. 

[al9ayf]

Could I request headcanons for Haarlep, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor finding out their f!s/o has suicidal thoughts please?

yay my first bg3 request! hope u enjoy <3

ᥫ᭡ suicidal thoughts | dammon, haarlep, rolan, zevlor w/ f!so

｡˚ explicit content :: thoughts of suicide ofc, mentions of rape

ʚ dammon:

you had known dammon before the fall of elturel and were quite in love. but after the fall, and after you had lost your home, parents, and even dammon for quite a while, everything to your name was POOF gone just like that. and even after returning back to faerûn, it did not make shit any better for you

dammon was by your side the whole time. he gave you so much to care for. you even helped him set up his shop in the druid’s grove, but the happiness did not last long. the thoughts of everything you had being stripped away from you is too much to handle and dammon’s love and kindness cannot fix the thoughts that run through your mind. now with the threat of being kicked out and having to face this vast world with more refugees only makes this sadness worse

you would be better off dead than have to survive in a new hell. you want to see your family again and run to the front door of your house and smell a brewing dinner again. to laugh with your mother and poke fun at your younger siblings. the thought of seeing it again makes the adrenaline rush through you

dammon finds out about all this by accident. you do not confide in him about anything because you are scared to break his heart. you always try to seem okay but dammon knows better. he has seen the hells and seen many slaves there with that look in your eyes. the look of pure release. the glint of sweet death. but he does not confront you about it just yet. he waited another day to see if you will say anything, but night falls and you pretend to be just fine

dammon confronts you with sweet words and comforting arms. he holds you tight because he is afraid that if he lets you go, you will never return to him. the promise of a sweet girl in his arms gone from him forever

“i see it in your eyes. the promise of death, my love. i do not want such a beautiful soul torn from me so fast. not after we had lost everything.”

his words bring you to tears and you collapse. you cry out your confessions to him, and dammon kisses your head and promises to make things right. baldur’s gate is a new beginning and is already so close. your family would have wanted you to keep on living for their memory

dammon’s words comfort you and for the first time in a long while you do not think those thoughts anymore. he holds you tight and promises to always be there for you

ʚ haarlep:

haarlep not gonna give a FUCK 😭

you’re a reoccurring guest at the house of hope. one with many troubles and many, many offers to make raphael very happy. haarlep does not ask how you manage to keep the cambion on his toes, but it is working

occasionally you wait for raphael in the boudoir while haarlep helps you relax. most of the time when he sees you, you’re tense or your head is somewhere else. he helps you take your mind off things rather easily and has even become a great comfort in your life. even the incubus himself has taken a liking to you that he cannot believe

there comes a day where you enter the boudoir to wait for raphael again. haarlep takes you to the bath for a pleasurable experience, but you are far too gone this time. he kisses you and touches you in ways you like, but it barely elicits a reaction from you. finally getting annoyed yet concerned, he pops the question

“do i not please you right, little mouse? or perhaps raphael’s form is not what you need right now, hm?”

he tries to kiss you again, to somehow comfort you, but you place your fingers on his lips and stop him. there, naked in that warm bath with him, you confide in him that troubling thoughts have taken over your mind. that your traumatic childhood and now pathetic life led you to make deals with the devil to keep yourself moving. the only joy you find in life is with haarlep yet the painstaking thought of slitting your own throat is more joyful at times

haarlep did not expect those words to come out of your mouth. it seemed like you did not either. you go to leave when you see the confused look on his face, muttering something about seeing raphael at a later time, but the incubus pulls you back down into the bath and kisses you

he has feelings. although he is an incubus, he has attached himself to you. you are a complicated character and he thinks of it as a challenge he is willing to take on

“do not think because i am an incubus i cannot harbor feelings for you. when the only thing i look forward to is seeing your sad face coming through that door. to enjoy a pleasurable time with you. mind the past and present, and let’s live a future together. the house of hope will bring you just that… and i am also here to bring you a life full of surprises.”

he kisses you again to seal in his words. a change of life would most definitely change you, and although it would be in the house of hope, you could live lavishly like korrilla. a life by haarlep’s side is a life of joy itself

ʚ rolan:

rolan met you at lorroakan’s tower working as an assistant. at first he paid you no mind, not caring who you were. but there was an aura of mystery to you. a hidden sadness

rolan is attracted to you almost immediately. he tries to focus on his apprenticeship with lorroakan, but finds it hard to when all he wants is to be with your beautiful self. to see what magic you can conjure and set his heart aflame

soon enough you find each other entangled in each other’s arm, sharing a night of passionate love and conjoined sadness. you both suffer from the wizard’s abuse, and the both of you will endure it together. yet everyday rolan notices that you have it worse than him in some other way

after the shop closes and rolan heads off to sleep, he hears you in lorroakan’s bedroom. he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he was concerned. and after only listening for a few seconds, he finds himself against the opposite wall panting heavily. his heart aflame in a sorrowful way. so that is what lorroakan does to you at night? the thought of it makes rolan angry. angry at the wizard for having you whenever he wanted to, and angry at himself for not being able to stop it

the next night, rolan knocks on your bedroom door only to have it swing open to reveal an empty bedroom. presumably you are with the wizard again against your wishes, and so he decides to step up and enter the bedroom. there he finds your diary unopened by your bedside table. rolan knows he shouldn’t, but he must. and when he sits on your creaky bed and reads through pages upon pages of hateful words and unthinkable actions, rolan can only throw the book in anger and frustration at the ground

you were beautiful, sweet, and smart. and lorroakan stripped it all from you and left you as a husk. the urge to kill yourself became a line too thin

finally when you return to your bedroom, you break into tears when you are met with rolan. he holds you tight and protectively against your bedroom door. you clutch at his robes and cry into them. you confide in him everything that lorroakan has done to you

“death is kinder than men, and i will embrace it with open arms and sweet kisses…”

your words sting rolan. he knows it is true. you would find a more peaceful life in death, but he loves you so. he caresses your cheek and kisses the top of your head gently. you relax in his arms

“i promise you i will kill him. i will kill him a thousand times over if it could undo all the pain he has inflicted on you. that bastard has what’s coming to him!”

and you trust rolan’s words. you love him so.

ʚ zevlor:

you were amongst the refugees and had known zevlor for a long while. although inexperienced yourself, you swore to him that you would one day be as strong as him and learn how to wield a sword. he was your protector, your leader, and you wanted to show him your thanks and love. long have you loved him, and long has he felt the same

zevlor has comforted you during your lowest days. you lost your home in elturel, and it was difficult to keep on going without support. but he became that support and it made you so happy

after he was taken away by the cultist’s in the shadowlands, you too drowned yourself in your sorrows alongside rolan. you only had zevlor who meant so much to you, and now you have nothing. not even a glimpse of hope of escaping the shadowlands safely or alive. it was eating you up on the inside

after days of feeling hopeless and at a loss, you do not even have the strength to speak. you watch as the adventurer’s help reunite families again and loved ones, yet zevlor is nowhere in sight. it only drags you down deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit. the light starts to get dimmer at the top and to you that is alright. that is what was promised to you back in elturel

you were one of the last people left behind in moonrise towers. you stayed longer to drown in thoughts of how the world no longer mattered. how all family and love you lost in your life could not be found in a city with empty promises. everybody has something there waiting for them. alfira with her bardic school, rolan with his apprenticeship with lorroakan, and even the adventurer’s with their own separate journeys and determination to take down the absolute. what do you have in baldur’s gate? nothing. no family, no love, no home, and certainly no opportunity

you weep in the throne room not knowing that zevlor had managed to find a way out of the illithid colony and back inside moonrise towers. he finds you sitting at the steps leading up to the throne, weeping. when he calls your name with the gentlest voice yet filled with great worry, you jump up in shock to see him there

you at first hug him before he kisses your sweet lips. your heart is pounding at a million beats per minute. all adrenaline is rushing through your blood. he is alive and well. the only man who brings comfort and home to you is alive. there, in his bloody arms, you confide to him that you were ready to end it all. that you would rather die than live a life without him

zevlor yells at you for being so foolish. that there is more to life than just him. but he is your life, and he is the air that you breathe. and he finally understands why you would do such a harmful thing to yourself

he holds you closer to him. and you two don’t say anything. you just hug each other in a silent embrace, finally reconnected after so long of being apart

i hope u enjoyed it !! this was my first time doing headcanons so criticism is very much appreciated. also a reminder that bg3 requests are open <3

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Bang

First posted: October 4, 2019

Focuses on: Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

Favorite bookmark: "No spoilers, but if OP doesnt write a sequel I will literally die."

Second favorite bookmark: "The noises that came from me when I reached the end of that countdown were, um, violent. 😭"

Tier: Middle of the pack

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

I am so friggin' proud of this fic, I can't lie. It's such a powerful little one-shot, and I'm pleased with how I did it, and I'm pleased with the reaction it received. Gold star, me.

There was a bomb in the school. And the rec center. The Grove Street bank. The post office on Utica. The Nockaphee Building. The newly opened inner city hospital.

Once again, my dreaded foe, logistics. I knew what I wanted the crux of the story to be with Jason and Damian, so then I had to backtrack and figure out the scenario that best fit. Not one bomb but multiple, to scatter the family around (because there are so dang MANY and they're always RIGHT THERE in the city), and where a villain might be most inclined to stash them. I know where I got the names for the bank and the post office, but no idea for the Nockaphee Building. Google shrugs at me.

Bombs all over Gotham, embedded in the spines of community spaces and corporate structures like ticking tumors.

This inversion still tickles me.

Batman and Black Bat had bypassed evacuation to head straight to the source. Stop the bomber, stop the bomb. The rest of them were merely backup, protection in case the caped pair failed. Their job was evacuation. Get everyone out and keep them away. Every time they were given a new location, a segment of the core broke off until their forces were scattered wide across the city.

Again, friggin logistics. I duck and dodge plot as much as I can, because I don't care, there is so little actual plot to my fics. But I am as careful as I can be about seeding in realistic barriers into my story. I don't want to stop the whole story to say "Well, you see, they couldn't do XYZ because" or handwave away the most obvious solution to the problem at hand. I want it to make sense why each person is doing what they're doing (or not doing.)

Jason wasn’t normally a keep-tabs person, but explosions made him nervous.

Again, weaving plausible explanations and justifications in a way that also tells a little bit more about what relations are like between Jason and the fam right now.

The one moment of potential disaster—the bomb tucked into the belly of the rec center had malfunctioned and gone off on its own—had resulted only in property damage and no loss of life. The bomb maker hadn’t even set them all to run independently but instead had retained control via a mechanism that turned deliberate detonation into an all-or-nothing deal. All Batman had to do was incapacitate the bomb maker and turn off the controls.

Ugh, this bit of seeding was so tricky. A lot of partially started mental dead ends before I figured out these two pieces: setting up the rec center and the all-or-nothing bomb.

Jason wasn’t fluent in all of them—and had done his best to forget most of them—but he knew that a “hrnn,” unlike a “hnn” or a “mm,” was not a good sign.

This was plucked directly from the group chat. Certain members have a habit of reacting with typed out grunts like Bruce, so I've had time to appreciate the nuance.

Normally, it would be Nightwing’s job to nudge Batman into using his big boy words, but Officer Grayson had been on duty when the emergency alarm rang.

More logistical justification loaded and ready to go.

Jason leaped to the next building and ducked down, pressing his back against the low retention wall.

I don't know, I just like this. If this were a visual medium like a movie, you'd be able to see Jason deliberately blocking out the world so he can focus on whatever horrible thing is about to happen.

Okay. Okay. He was expecting worse. Jason scowled.

The double okay is a very me thing. There are two different tones involved but that's hard to invoke in writing.

Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. This was why Jason refused to be affiliated with these people. They were all idiots. “I didn’t want Batman to worry.” Yeah, because Batman wasn’t a grown adult who couldn’t handle his own crap. Obviously. So the little gremlin had lied about where he was, concealed an injury, and now was calling Hood like his own personal Uber. And Jason was going to let him, because he was also an idiot, apparently. “You’re a brat, you know that?” Jason growled as he hauled himself to his feet again. “Fine. Fine! Where are you?”

I personally l o v e this because right now Jason doesn't actually know what's going on, he just thinks he does, so you get to see his reaction to the assumed situation of "The baby of the family did something stupid and got hurt so I get to be mad about that but obviously I'm still going to help and then I'm probably going to make his life miserable for worrying me retroactively."

“The shelving units fell on me. I extricated myself, but something is blocking the doors. I can’t—I am—I made it to the supply closet.”

Damian is being amazingly patient through all this, if you think about it. But I guess he doesn't want to have to say it all out loud yet, so maybe he's just procrastinating. Once Jason understands, then it's real.

“I wanted to know if it hurt.”

That was my cornerstone line, right there. That's the whole reason I wrote the fic. I wanted someone to say this to Jason, because they needed to know. Please picture me dabbing.

This wasn’t happening. He’d just seen the kid a couple hours ago. They’d nodded while passing to their own teams. He’d left a movie about a dog on Jason’s windowsill last week.

It's such a little piece, but I wanted to hint at the utter disorientation of traumatic tragedy, how quickly the day can change and the swooping sensation a person might feel amid that change. Also, even as Jason has spent this entire fic being like "We don't talk!" I did want to seed in that they still interact. Damian trades movies he likes with Jason. He knows where Jason's safe house is. Jaosn is upset that he's about to die.

I would go back and change all those contractions, though. And having two different he pronouns back to back without tying them to a proper noun is just bad form.

Jason couldn’t lie, not even to a little kid.

This appears to be a tiny bit of Ronan Lynch seeping into Jason. Huh. @audreycritter are you seeing this

It had hurt to the point beyond pain, like every cell, every molecule, every atom had been lit up like a Christmas tree.

That "like a Christmas tree" is from something and for the life of me I can't remember what.

Don’t say please to me. Don’t say thank you. Don’t say things that you only say because you think you’re about to die.

I write this kind of thought pattern a lot to exemplify stress and grief. I don't know how I feel about this realization.

“No.” No matter how Jason tried, it was impossible to miss the tears in the boy’s voice now. “It would kill him, having to listen. And he’ll be so angry. I cannot—I-I cannot die knowing he’s angry with me. Please don’t call Richard.”

This was where my throat started to hurt. I don't remember where exactly I started to actually cry while writing.

“You understand. You can tell them. Tell them I-I’m sorry. And that I was brave?”

It was definitely by here, though.

Jason cleared the stairwell, slowing only slightly to duck under the sagging ceiling and pick his way through the debris-strewn hallway.

Oh hey. I don't use any details here but rereading reminded me that I based the rec center on parts of a real place so that I could visualize what Jason would have to get through to get to Damian. Totally forgot.

Ten seconds. Jason lunged at the barrier, roaring as he tore aside mountains with his hands. Nine.

I think building in the countdown itself helped with the tension. It definitely helped with the writing. Generally speaking, the length of sentences should match the pacing of the action itself. For tense writing, you really want short, snappy sentences, but I am a wordy bird who loves long multi-part sentences. See: this paragraph. So hacking up the action into short sentences bracketed by a single digit countdown really helped with the vibe.

“Jason?” Damian gasped over the earpiece. “I don’t want it to hurt. I don’t want it to hurt.”

That would be me. Dying is scary, but the pain before it is scarier.

Jason threw himself into the closet and shut the door.

Sometimes a lack of closure is fun, actually.

Funny story: I didn't actually consider that readers would think I set the bomb off and killed them both. I was new, hadn't done any sad-ending fics before, and also it's comics. Even when characters die, they come back in a few months, so it doesn't really count.

So my notifications start blowing up in the middle of a football game and I had to figure out if I wanted to continue the story...

[heich0e]

trick or treat!!! (geto or gojo take your pick on a little guy!! happy Halloween liv uwu)

HAPPY HALLOWEEN SWEET LEY!!!

"This is so stupid!" you call out, your face tilted up into the cool night air.

"No it's not!" you hear Satoru call back, in that sing-songy tone that infuriates you. His voice is distant—creeping out from between the trees like the wind that kisses your cheeks. You can't quite tell where the sound came from, turning both to your left and your right as though you have any hope of spotting him in the dark woods around you with the meagre illumination your cellphone flashlight provides.

A branch snaps nearby—much closer than Satoru's voice had sounded only a second prior—and your entire body reacts in a violent flinch.

You have no idea how he even managed to convince you into doing this.

Alone, in the woods, at night.

None of these circumstances are ones that you would ever choose to inflict upon yourself. And yet here you are, following after Satoru who had promised he wouldn't run off ahead without you. But Gojo Satoru is the golden boy with the silver tongue, you've known that much as long as you've known anything about him, and the moment your boyfriend made you that promise with a reassuring smile, you should have known better than to believe him.

He'd almost immediately gone back on his word once the two of you had travelled far enough into the tall grove of trees on the western edge of the Gojo family property that making the trek back to the main house alone was no longer a logical decision.

"Satoru?" you call out again into the dark, your voice a little less annoyed and a little more wary. You shine your cellphone flashlight into the trees around you in hope you might see him standing nearby.

You don't.

"Toru?" you call once more. Louder. Fraying with insistence.

Nothing.

You spin on your heel, turning back in the direction you're fairly sure you'd last seen Satoru slipping away between the trees. His legs are longer, and he grew up in these woods—he has countless advantages over you to navigating this terrain, both in physicality and familiarity. If you weren't suddenly so desperate to have him near, you think you might resent him for it.

Standing in front of you is a tall figure, blending into the shadows of the forest surrounding you so seamlessly that for a moment you almost don't notice it.

"Fuck!" you startle, dropping your cellphone to the ground. It lands with the screen face up, the moss and dead leaves underfoot swallowing any light from your flashlight and pitching you into greater darkness than before. You clutch at your chest as your heart races under the arching cover of your ribs. "Satoru, that scared me!"

Satoru laughs, and your stomach plummets sharply not unlike your cellphone underfoot.

"Hurry and catch up to me then!" he calls out.

From somewhere in the distance behind you.

You're frozen, staring at the shadowy figure no more than a few paces away from you in the woods. You can't even bring yourself to grab your phone—your only light, your only lifeline—from the ground below. You can feel your pulse hammering underneath your tongue.

Slowly, the spectre before you lifts a hand, and it stretches out towards you.

You scream.

It's a sound so shrill that it seems to rip through the stillness of the night like a blade. So piercing that if you didn't feel the way it tore from your throat you would hardly recognize it came from you at all.

"Hey, hey!"

A warm hand seals itself over your mouth, silencing you. You rip your body away without thinking, adrenaline coursing through your veins, but before you can even make an attempt to stumble off into the trees—before you can take a single step towards putting distance between you—a strong arm wraps itself around your waist and pulls you back into the warmth of a familiar frame.

Familiar.

Like the voice that had just called out to you.

You stop fighting, your body going slack in the hold wrapped around you, and when the hand finally eases itself away from your mouth you pant raggedly.

"Suguru, I am going to kill you," you seethe, tilting your head up to glare up at the boy pressed into your back, with his arm snug around your waist.

He smiles down at you, a tendril of his dark hair falling into his eyes, something almost sly in the look.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, and you know he doesn't mean it one bit. He dips down a little bit closer to you until you can feel the heat of his breath against your wind-bitten cheeks. "You're just so fun to scare."

[rainydaymiscellaneous]

“Little Light” (Astarion x Fem reader)

Note: sorry for me being gone, I now have two jobs and I also kind of fell down the BG3 rabbit hole. So. Yeaaahhh. Don’t worry you guys, I am still writing for Into the Fire I just am trying to work on the other chapters so it’s actually complete and I don’t have to worry about it being incomplete.

But in the mean time if you have any astarion related requests feel free to send them bishes in.

It was a dark night when Tav came into camp. A night no one expected to remember but gods, it would forever be seared into Astarion’s mind. It was different from the average night of his work. You see, he brought back a girl. Not unusual for the hero after saving the grove but it was unusual this night.

Bloodshed seemed to naturally follow the ragtag group of chaotic heroes. It was something they all got used to after a while, typically resulting in them washing their armor in a river trying to get the crimson stains out and the metallic smell to leave.

Tav said he was going to a tavern, which no one batted an eye at. Hells, Karlach joined him so he’d have a drinking buddy. But now they had come back with an unconscious woman in Karlach’s arms.

She was bleeding, that alone alerted Astarion to her presence from the mouth watering smell. He could control the urges, he never let them go out of control since he escaped the clutches of Cazador. Around blood, though, Astarion would become aware of his teeth. Like his senses would overwhelm him. Typically this would result in his little looks to Tav to quietly let him go off and find a willing victim, which he’d give a nod to so he could subtly slip away.

This night was different. Tav seemed more panicked than usual. He was asking Karlach to be careful. He kept trying to keep the girl’s eyes open. Karlach kept shooting Astarion a panicked “help” look. He walked over confused as Karlach laid her down.

And there was you. A girl who had been stabbed that he had never seen before. But why did Tav care? There was a difference between him worrying for random strangers versus this girl. There was a clear familiarity between the two but considering the tense situation, Astarion wasn’t asking right now.

“Y/n, keep your eyes open.” Tav demanded.

“I-I’m trying..” he heard you say quietly. Your eyelids felt like lead.

“Is magic not working?” Astarion asked.

“His powers are shot from the battle earlier!” Karlach says. You lazily looked at the unfamiliar voice.

“Red… eyes…” You muttered.

“Halsin! Make yourself useful!” Astarion yelled. You saw the fangs when he yelled. Most people when bleeding out would be freaked the fuck out by a vampire lingering so close. But you felt weirdly safer with him being the one to help.

Halsin rushed over, muttering incantations. A blue glow engulfed your vision and you finally succumbed to the urge to sleep. Halsin let out a small breath of relief.

“The girl will be fine. She needs to rest, regain her energy.” He says. Tav looked relieved by this.

Finally, Astarion felt it appropriate for some questions.

“Tav, who is this?” He asked. Tav sighed, looking down at your resting face.

“My sister. Y/n. She wanted to travel with us, which I said yes to. But then we were ambushed and Y/n took a stab meant for me.” He said. He sounded guilt ridden. Like he wished it was himself lying there instead of you.

Tav rarely mentioned his family. When he did, the only positive light seemed to be about you, his sister. Though in his tales of his childhood, he never mentioned a name. It was always “my little sister” or “my sister” instead of “Y/n”.

Astarion saw the emergency end, him standing up fully. “I need to feed.” He said before dismissing himself.

Hours passed, he finally returned to camp and you were fully awake. You were sipping on tea, Karlach wrapping a blanket around your body. “Thank you, Karlach.” You said softly. Your voice was light. Like a breeze on a summers day in a meadow.

“So you’re the sister?” Astarion asked, sauntering over in his usual manner. You gave a warm smile to him, something he hadn’t seen from anyone.

“I suppose that is me.” You nodded. Something was different about you.

“And you’re fine? Traveling with a vampire?” Astarion asked.

“Should I not be?” You asked.

“Most would be off put by it.” Astarion said. You simply shrugged, sipping your tea before saying

“I’m not most, I suppose.”

He rose a brow at this. He noticed the new staff, off to the side. “You’re a wizard?” He asked.

“Cleric.” You said. He chuckled.

“Tav’s sister is a cleric?” He asked.

“Indeed.” You nodded.

“I suppose that must mean you’re devoted to a deity.” Astarion said.

“Eilistraee.” You answered.

“Oh gods, you’re not like Halsin are you? Constantly speaking about the ‘joys of nature’s gifts’” he asks. You let out a snort at his tone before laughing.

“No! No. Though I understand him, I don’t believe us to be the same. I don’t operate on the Oakfather, that would be Silvanus. I have less strict rules on good and evil compared to followers of the oak father.” You shrugged.

“Ah. So if I pickpocketed an evil man, you’d allow it?” He asked.

“Of course, if he was truly evil. Think of it as balancing the scales. With unconventional revenge.” You shrugged making him chuckle.

“I think I’ll enjoy having you around.” He said with a smile. You smiled back.

“You are different.” A voice said. Astarion jolted, looking behind him to see Withers, the confusing undead creature that hung around camp.

“You must be Withers.” You said not turning around.

“Indeed. You see things others cannot.” He said. You nodded. “Pasts. Present. Futures. All you can peer into. Yet you do not bear the tadpole as your brother does.” Astarion looked over at you.

“I’ve always been able to. Hear things others can’t. See things, others can’t.” You said.

“You’re a seer?” Astarion asked. You nodded.

“Unfortunately.” You said.

“Oh? What do you see in our futures? Do we get this wretched thing away from us?” He asked, pointing to his head. You chuckled.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. I must touch the person to see.” You said.

“Ah. Well consider me an experiment.” He said. You paused, setting down your cup.

“Are you comfortable with this? I must see everything before being able to see the future. You’d be sharing your past.” You warned. He hesitated but found himself nodded. Everyone in camp already knew the extent of Cazador. One more person didn’t make a difference, right?

You held out your hands, him slowly putting his over yours. You closed your eyes inhaling. As if nature itself was speaking, there was a breeze, petals of pear blossoms flowing in it. The sweet smell filled his nose as he slowly relaxed.

“You suffered. Made a choice that landed an attack from angry people. You made a deal with a vampire… you were his… Six others fell victim as well. His reign was a terror. You would feed from whatever you could. You were frightened. Scared that that was what your immorality would amount to.” You muttered. Your grip on his hands grew stronger as Astarion noticed your expression with your closed eyes.

Empathy. Sadness. Sadness for his experiences.

“You were captured while looking for prey by mindflayers. You don’t remember much from it but you were almost… grateful. Something would finally drag you out from his clutches. The tadpole, it did something. Severed that urge to follow his command. To obey his will. To your surprise you find a friend in my brother.” You spoke softly.

Your fingers slid into his, him seeing a light yellow glow from your hands. “Your future is…” you jolted opening your eyes, the light of your abilities dying. Your face flooded with a blush staring at the vampire shocked.

“Are you alright?” He asked, concerned by the almost alarmed look in your eyes.

“Y-yes I… Erm. Aha. Took a lot out of me. Never did a reading on a 200 year old vampire.” You chuckled nervously. “I should go! Tav wanted me to help him with something!” You said getting up and almost sprinting away.

Withers cocked his head looking over. “She has seen something in you.” He says. Astarion seemed confused by the statement. Why lie to him about what you saw..?

This was a question that Astarion wanted to ask, but held off on it. But you seemed to wiggle your way into his heart over the course of a few weeks of traveling. He loved how chaotic you were, cracking jokes about imminent death and “if Tav dies, I call dibs on his sword.”

Shadowheart of course was disturbed by your odd nature but put up with it, due to your relation with Tav. You had made Astarion smile, laugh a few times as well. All in all, you seemed to be a light in darkness. Which was quickly turning his perspective ironic once they had all made their way into the shadowy parts of the forest, touched by a curse.

You seemed deeply drained as you walked, despite holding a torch. Everyone else seemed fine but you seemed so tired. You were walking when you stumbled, Astarion catching you. He passed his torch off to Karlach.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” Astarion asked.

“The nature here. It-It hurts. Like a f-fever that won’t die out.” You winced.

“Gods… Y/n, the harper is taking us somewhere safe, do you think you’re able to make it?” Tav asked clearly concerned.

“It’s- It’s getting harder to walk.” You said, panting from trying to fight off the dark energies of the forest. Astarion lifted you onto his back.

“I’ve got you, little light. Don’t worry.” He assured. That little nickname. That sweet tone. You knew when the cocky bastard was joking. But that tone had been more sincere than anything anyone in the group had heard.

They followed the Harper into the darkness, torches in hand as they eventually reached the last light inn. You held onto Astarion, feeling the cold skin of the undead man. You put your forehead on his back, him feeling the warmth of your body. It was too warm for this to be normal. Whatever plagued the forest was making you sick.

“Stop! Who are you?” A woman halted as they crossed the bridge.

“My name is Tav- look, my sister is sick, something is-is wrong she needs help!” Tav said stepping forward. The woman drew her sword.

“Jaheira! They saved my life, they’re not the enemy.” The harper guide said. She hesitated.

“Is this true?” She asked. She heard the coughing of you, walking closer and seeing your newly feverish state. She noticed the symbol on your arm.

“Cleric…? Your sister is a Cleric?” She asked.

“Yes! Please, we don’t mean harm, we need help!” Tav practically begged.

“…Speak to Isobel upstairs in the Inn. She can help you.” She said. Tav nodded, motioning for Astarion to go. Astarion practically sprinted up the stairs to the room, finding the woman.

Isobel turned around. “who is this?” She asked.

“She’s my friend, please- something is wrong.” He said. She paused noticing the vampiric appearance. Why did a presumably blood thirsty monster care?

“Lay her down, I will see what I can do.” She said motioning to a bed. Astarion obeyed, watching as Isobel hovered her hands over your body as you writhed in your feverish state.

He felt nervous, watching you slowly relax. “She will be fine. As long as she stays here.” Isobel said. “She will be protected by the magic in the field but if she leaves it while the curse still stands, it will prove lethal within days.” She said.

Tav had found his way into the room, looking at you. “…We could use Shadowheart until we fix this.” He said, watching you slowly fall asleep.

“I want to stay.” Astarion said. Karlach looked over.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

“You can use whoever, hell use Withers but I am not moving.” Astarion said.

“Alright. Alright I hear you. I feel safer with someone staying with her anyway.” Tav said.

So there he sat by you for days. The goal was for you to fight off the fever so your body could adjust to the corruption. They moved you downstairs next to a man who was constantly singing in his unconscious state. Honestly made Astarion debate on shoving a blade through the man’s neck but thankfully he shut up after Halsin managed wake the bastard up with a lute.

Tav was preparing for a battle on the moonrise towers, finally gaining a lantern (that swore vengeance on him for not releasing the pixie stuck inside it)

You slept soundly in bed. Astarion would rarely move. All came to ahead when he heard a very loud thud and screaming “TO ARMS” from Jaheira.

Astarion stood up, unsure on if he should see what the hell was going on but there stood a winged creature in the doorway. It seemed set on killing anything in its path. Astarion drew his blades, staring at the thing before him.

It pounced like a cat to a mouse, Astarion stabbing it repeatedly. He kept trying to get it to possibly run off at least but it kept scratching, screaming that awful screeching noise. He struck again, when the creature managed to knock him down pouncing on him and drawing its claws out ready to tear out his heart.

That’s when a blade stabbed through its head, killing it instantly. He looked up, seeing you with his dagger that was knocked out of his hand when it pounced. You stood there, shaking as you shoved the creature’s corpse off of Astarion and he took your hand, standing up.

“When did you wake up?” He asked.

“When you started fighting that thing.” You said panting. “Are you okay-“ he gently wiped the blood off of your cheek, ignoring your concerned tone “I-I saw the thing on top of you and I-I thought you were-“

He cupped your cheeks. “I am fine, Little Light.” He said softly. You looked in his eyes, dropping the blade. “You’re shaking.” He noticed.

“My legs haven’t left the bed in days…” you said softly.

“Mm.” He nodded. You couldn’t move. You found yourself enraptured in those crimson eyes. He kissed your forehead and hugged you. “I’m alright. I promise.” He assured. You slowly hugged him back, surprised by the man’s manner. He hadn’t been affectionate before. What changed?

You let out a relieved breath, feeling his hand travel into your hair, gently moving his fingers as if to soothe you. He kept whispering reassurances. “I’m alright, I promise” or “We’re safe. It’s okay.”

You had never felt this amount of safety, especially since the entire separation from your brother and the dark forest. But here you were. Safe in the arms of the one you knew you’d come to love.

You loved him. You knew this would come to happen. When you saw his future, you saw yourself with him. Loving him, with yourself on his arm with a smile that was almost glowing. You pulled back because when you saw his future and he asked for his reading, it was technically the first time you had spoken. You didn’t want to come across as flirting, you didn’t want it to seem like you were almost manifesting that you two would come to love one another. You kept this secret to yourself. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

Sometimes when you gave readings, people would become cross, claiming you took the autonomy of their choices away because you knew the outcomes. They didn’t understand that you had no ability to control what you saw. That that wasn’t your intention. But to many it came across as rude, especially when the readings were negative.

You knew after seeing the visions of Cazador’s evil acts upon him, that he must’ve struggled with feeling like he was never in control. To say that you saw him with you, you felt as though it’d almost seem like you’re forcing yourself onto him. You could never do that to him. Never.

You pulled away looking into his eyes. You also felt that by keeping this to yourself, you were robbing him of his right to know what he asked. “Astarion I-“

The door flew open, Tav standing there panting. His armor was covered in blood, though it was clear it wasn’t his own. “Some flaming fist bastard tried to kidnap Isobel!” He said.

“Did they succeed?” Astarion asked.

“We’d all be dead if they did.” Tav said sheathing his sword. He looked down, seeing the dead creature.

“We saw one of them go down stairs. We thought for sure that you were-“

“Y/n had it handled.” Astarion assured. Tav nods, noticing Astarion’s hands on your waist. He rose a brow, looking at the hand on his chest.

“…Did I interrupt something?” He asked.

“Aha! Uh- n-no—“

“Oh yes you did. I was just about to ask your sister for some blood but noooo! Someone had to enter without knocking!” Astarion joked. Even with the with the obvious sexual tension, you started laughing, rolling your eyes.

Gods he loved that sound. It was like music every time he heard your laugh. He smiled, not removing his hands from your waist as he looked down at you. Tav was increasingly suspicious.

“Right. Well. Uhm. We’re going to head off.” Tav said.

“Stay safe.” You said. He nodded before leaving, closing the door behind him. He paused, seeing Karlach.

“Wow, damn. That was crazy.” She breathed, clearly still dealing with the aftermath of the battle.

“Have you noticed anything with Y/n and Astarion?” Tav asked. Karlach looked confused.

“No? Why? Walk in on something?” Karlach asked.

“I don’t know.” Tav muttered.

“Were they like… doing it?” Karlach asked and Tav grimaced with a snort.

“What!? No! No it’s… Astarion had his hands on her waist. And her hands were on his chest.” He explained.

“Well how close were they?” Karlach asked. Tav sighed, pulling Karlach over. Ever since they made the temporary fix with the infernal engine, he had touched her hands quite a bit. This was going to be quite the difference…

He pulled her close, pulling her hand to his chest and put his hands on her waist. “Like this. This close.” He said looking up at the tall tiefling. She paused and once he realized how close they were he made the same expression.

“Well. You definitely must’ve walked in on something!” She said with a nervous laugh. Due to her red tone, it was hard to tell if the woman was blushing. But he did take notice in the glowing pattering of her engine speeding up.

He chuckled nervously back in response nodding. “I figured.” He said.

“Well would it be so bad? Ari is a good man. Wouldn’t hurt her.” Karlach shrugged.

“I just… She’s never showed an interest in men before. Honest. Never any childhood crushes, no secret boyfriends as a teenager. She said romance was dull and didn’t interest her.” He said.

“Maybe something changed.” Karlach said.

“I don’t know… Maybe.” He said. She nodded mindlessly.

“We should go to camp. She can’t leave the inn until the curse is lifted and I have a feeling that even though she’s awake, Ari’s not leaving her side.” Karlach said.

“Good point. Maybe it’s time to put Wyll back out there.” He said walking with Karlach.

You finally separated from Astarion after Tav left, getting back into bed as Harpers carried the creature’s body back.

“Do you want food? You’ve been out for days, maybe it’ll do you some good.” Astarion said.

“Soup..” you muttered. He rose a brow.

“Soup? You want soup?” He asked. You nodded sheepishly, feeling as though it was a dumb request.

“I will get you soup then,” he said softly. You watched him get up, leaving and returning with soup in hand. “It was too warm but I cooled it. And I brought bread, you need something else on your stomach.” He said.

You nodded, slowly eating the foods he got for you. You seemed to relax when you finished your food, laying in the bed.

“Why do you call me ‘Little Light’?” You asked after a moment.

“Ah. Right.” Astarion nodded mindlessly. “There’s a bit of hopelessness going around. Like the world itself is being consumed by darkness. But you, my dear, are a little light in the darkest parts of it. Normally I’d roll my eyes at your heroic nature. But the way you handle yourself compared to Tav? It’s entertaining. It’s nice. You don’t just see black and white, you can see the grays in it too. You know when a situation is tricky and you don’t try to avoid it. You make light where there is one. Hence ‘Little Light’.” He shrugged.

“Well now after hearing all of that it’s only fair that I give you a nickname too.” You said. He chuckled, shrugging. “Hmm. I’m thinking on this.” You pondered. He chuckled, watching you. “I could call you chompers,” you said. He blinked. “cause of the teeth.” You said before biting down loudly making him shake his head with a laugh.

“Call me that and I might be forced to bite you.” He teased. You chuckled thinking.

“Oldie?” You suggested. He rose a brow with an amused look on his face.

“Are you trying to make me suffocate you with your pillow?” He asked making you laugh.

“Middlemist.” You said. He looked confused. “It’s a rare flower. It can withstand many things, some have even seen battles. And they’re red. Like… Like your eyes.” You said. He smiled nodding.

“Much better.” He said.

“And they need a little light to grow.” You added. That made him pause. “Not that you need me or anything-“

“I do.” He said. You stopped, swallowing hard. “I have changed since I have met you. Into what I think is a better man. I’ve grown. I didn’t think I could do that again. But I did.” He said softly. You looked in his eyes. “Can I ask you something?” He asked. You nodded.

“What did I look like in my past? I can’t remember how I looked before I was turned.” He asked. You smiled, looking at him. “You had brown hair that was almost black. Your eyes were a deep green. Just like your mother’s.” You said softly. His mother. Oh how he forgotten that sweet woman. She died when he was young but he could remember her kindness. How far from it he must’ve strayed.

He seemed almost sad by your words. He must’ve been such a disappointment for his mother. For him to become a conniving little bat that really didn’t care about other people as long as he gained something in return.

“She would be proud.” You said. He paused hearing this. “You overcame everything that monster put you through. For that she would be proud of you.” You said. His gaze softened, looking at you.

“I’ve hurt so many people-“

“You did what you had to, to survive.” You said. “You are not a monster.”

He had never heard someone say that. In all of his 200 years of life. Someone gave him the reassurance that he wasn’t a monster.

His lips connected with yours in an instant. You were shocked of course. You froze in place but once you registered what was happening, you relaxed, your hands cupping his cheeks. He pulled away after a moment, it dawning on him who he was kissing.

“Shit. Shit shit shit-“

“Are you alright?” You asked.

“You’re Tav’s sister! I-I shouldn’t have—“

Then it sunk in. Astarion was your brother’s closest friend. Oh gods. Oh Gods.

“Shit.” you muttered. “We shouldn’t do this- We should act like this didn’t happen, right?” You asked.

“…If that is what you want.” He muttered. You saw that expression. Almost hurt. Like what just happened didn’t mean anything. But it did. Gods it did. It meant the world. The stars themselves.

“It isn’t but… I don’t want to hurt Tav when he helped me.” You said. Astarion rose a brow. What did you mean “helped you”? He knew there must’ve been a reason you had been with Karlach and Tav. Maybe you meant the medical attention you received but… Something in your eyes seemed to say otherwise. Whatever your brother did, made you feel as though you owed him. Something less trivial than Tav’s typical heroics.

“What did he do?” Astarion asked. You seemed to halt, closing your mouth. You felt as though if he knew your truth, he might see you as less than. Course that was ridiculous, you two suffered in similar ways. But you didn’t know how to even begin to talk about what was done to you in the “Name of the Absolute”.

You looked down, away from his gaze. What happened before you ended up with them? What exactly went on that made you so tight lipped that you wouldn’t even talk to him?

You hesitated but kept closing your mouth. “Those monsters didn’t just want Isobel.” You muttered. Astarion looked even more confused. What the hell did they want with you.

“The Absolute has been tracking me. Trying to find me, they want me to ensure their victory. The natural abilities I have can be weaponized. But Halsin… I know him, he was my teacher. And he told me that if I used them at full power it’d kill me. Destroy my body. I wouldn’t be able to withstand that much power.” You muttered. Astarion blinked.

“Tav had heard my name mentioned by one of the goblins apparently. They had plans to kidnap me and drag me to the towers. By the time he had found me, so did the Absolute’s lackeys. They tried to maim me just enough so that I could be dragged unconscious.” You said. He couldn’t believe this. Tav didn’t go out to drink that night. He went to actively find you.

“He saved me from that group. I was surprised Tav even wanted me here in the first place all things considered but I think he feels that the safest option is to have me nearby. Astarion you mean so much to me but I can’t betray my brother’s trust. Not like this.” You muttered. Astarion felt so many things at once. Sadness. Anger for the fact that they hurt you so badly you nearly died at camp. But understanding to your emotions.

So you ignored them. The feelings that were bubbling like water in a hot pot they were just there. You two tried to ignore it. Over the next two days, Tav returned with a lantern, clipping it to your side.

“LET ME OUUUUTT!”

“Tav why is your lantern screaming at me?” You asked.

“It’s a pissed off pixie.” He said.

“I WILL END YOU ASSHOLE!”

“She sounds beyond pissed.” You said staring at the pixie inside. She was clearly fuming. “It’s like a pissed off pet.” You snorted. Astarion chuckled, finding it funny.

“PET!? I AM NOT A PET! FUCK YOU!”

“I wonder if I can give it something to make it chill out.” You said looking into the lantern.

“Dunno. She’s mad though.” Tav shrugged.

“Thanks but why this?” You asked.

“Isobel said that the reason you’re unable to handle the lands was because mere torchlight wasn’t enough. This should be the best thing.” He said.

“Tav, we both know I can’t go into those towers.” You warned.

“I know. But at least this way, you can travel around without fear of death.” He said. You nodded.

“Thanks.” You said.

“Of course.” He nodded.

So you started joining everyone back at camp. Tav noticed a newfound sadness in Astarion. Staring of longing for you. But he wouldn’t go near you. Tav finally decided to start asking questions.

“Hey, Ari. Can I ask you something?” Tav asked.

“What’s on your mind?” Astarion asked, clearing his throat.

“I’ve noticed something. Between you and Y/n.” He said. Astarion tensed up.

“Wh..what do you mean?” He asked.

“I mean you seem to really like her.” He said.

“Well… Uh… I-I… I don’t want to disrespect you Tav.” He coughed out.

“Do you intend on hurting her?” Tav asked.

“No! Never.” Astarion said quickly.

“Do you intend on drinking her blood and leaving her to die?” He asked.

“No- Gods no Tav!” Astarion said.

“Do you love her?” Tav asked. Astarion paused. He froze. He watched you laughing with Karlach, smiling as you sat next to her.

“…How could I not.” He said.

“Then how is you falling in love disrespectful?” Tav asked. Astarion looked at Tav surprised. He approved? He wanted this?

“You wouldn’t hate me?” Astarion asked.

“No- Gods no. Astarion, Y/n doesn’t like people easily. I’ve never seen her take interest in someone. Ever. But she likes you. And if you like her too, you need to say something. Especially if this whole battle plan Jaheira has goes south.” He said.

Astarion’s gaze went back to you. “Talk to her. Tell her it’s okay with me.” He said. Astarion nodded getting up.

You stood up, walking over to your tent when you noticed Astarion behind you. You jumped. “Gods! You scared me.” You gasped.

“Oh! Sorry I-“

“No-no it’s okay!” You said.

“I wanted to talk to you.” He said.

“Oh… erm… About what?” You asked.

“Tav spoke to me.” He said. You blinked.

“About what?” You asked.

“You. And me. Us.” He said.

“…Oh.” You breathed. He felt already that he might’ve misread everything. Maybe the kiss was something that you didn’t like and you were using Tav as an excuse as to not hurt his feelings. Maybe you didn’t like him at all, maybe he read too much into this. “what did he say?” You asked.

“That… He doesn’t want to be what sets us back. That if we feel… strongly for one another we should pursue it.” He said.

You looked relieved. You didn’t hesitate, you just hugged him. “Thank the gods.” You muttered into his chest. Relief hit him instantly as he hugged you back. You felt safe again in those arms.

He kissed your head and you looked in his eyes as you pulled away slightly. “Stay with me tonight? Please?” You asked quietly. He smiled gently.

“Of course my dear.” He said, kissing your nose.

That night, he stepped into your tent, pausing as he saw your back. It was like his almost. Not infernal writings but something different. Writings of preachings of Shar. Which was odd. Because he knew you didn’t hold high opinions of Shar. You turned, jumping.

“Gods! I need to put a bell on you or something, you scared me!” You said. He shook himself out of the focus of the preachings on your back. You turned back, your shirt clutched in your fingers. “I suppose you’re wondering why Shar’s preaches are on my back?” You asked.

“…You don’t have to indulge my curiosity.” He said gently.

“I was kidnapped years ago when I was a child. Tav and I were playing in our village, I lost my ball and I went to grab it. I was known as the druid magic girl. So one of Shar’s followers grabbed me. Branded me with Shar’s words against my will to remind me that Shar would be superior.” You said.

He stopped, staring with wide eyes. He couldn’t believe that someone would brand someone like that because of their beliefs, much less a child. “It’s why I bathe alone. Last time I was with the girls, Shadowheart kept making remarks about it.” You muttered. He frowned.

“Shadowheart will have my fangs in her neck if she opens her mouth about it again.” He said. You sighed.

“You shouldn’t turn against her just because I have a problem with it.” You said.

“I would do it anyways. The girl is far too chatty.” He shrugged making you chuckle.

“I feel… hideous sometimes. With these scars. I hate them. It’s like I become painfully aware of my skin.” You muttered. Gods they really were two sides of the same coin.

He walked over, gently wrapping his arms around you from behind. He kissed the back of your neck. “I know how you feel.” He said softly. You dropped your shirt after a couple of seconds slowly turned in his arms.

“Cazador branded me. Though I don’t have a mirror. Don’t know what exactly is written.” He said. You looked at him sympathetically. You never wanted anyone to know that kind of pain. But there was someone who did. You rested your forehead on his.

“We truly are fucked up individuals, aren’t we?” You muttered.

“Indeed my dear. Pained by others.” He muttered.

You held his cheek, kissing him. “No harm will come to you as long as I am near.” You assured. He chuckled.

“I should be saying this to you.” He said. You felt a familiar tinge of pain, wincing and gripping your head.

A vision. Something in the strings of fate was near. You gripped Astarion’s arm, closing your eyes. What was fate telling you?

You saw yourself, in Astarion’s arms. Dead. With vines everywhere. The shadow curse lifted. You pulled away, panting.

“What happened? Are you alright?” He asked. You frowned looking down. This didn’t make any sense. You were perfectly alive in your first vision with Astarion. Something was going to happen, something so large it changed the strings of fate themselves. You panted, trying to catch your breath.

“Love, are you alright?” He asked again.

“I’m okay. I’m okay. Just a vision.” You breathed. He looked at you concerned. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay,” you said looking in his eyes. He looked confused.

The next morning you woke up in Astarion’s arms. Completely naked of course. Your legs felt… well they felt sore. Like your core muscles had been pushed past your typical limit. You were the first to wake up and you took your time to yourself thinking on what the vision meant.

Was it meant to happen? Was it a warning? No, anytime a vision like that occurred spontaneously, it meant it was fate. So what was Astarion’s future if you were dead? How were you going to live out your days if you were destined to die?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the red eyes looking into yours. “Morning, my love.” He said softly.

“Morning my darling.” You said back, kissing his forehead.

“You’re thinking. I can tell.” He said.

“I am.” You nodded mindlessly.

“About? Do indulge me.”

“… How much longer do you think we have before Tav attacks the towers?” You asked.

“I’m uncertain. He hasn’t had me with him that much, he wants me to look after you.” He said.

You nodded again. “I have questions for him… I’ll be right back.” You said getting up. Astarion seemed confused. Last night you seemed like this too. I mean, not entirely, eventually your focus went to him. A lot. Which surprised him. He had no idea a tongue could even do that but that was beside the point. Something had claimed your attention this morning, judging by the look in your eyes it was serious.

You got dressed, walking out of your tent. “Tav, I need to talk to you.” You said.

“Well you sound serious- wow you’re shaking.” He noticed your legs wobbling a bit. Damn it Astarion. Damn it.

“Aha. Well…. that’s not… important.” You coughed out.

“Uh huh. Sure. What’s going on?” He asked.

You looked back at your tent. You looked around the camp. “Not… not here.” You said. You grabbed your lantern next to the back. “Come.”

Tav followed you away from the camp, wondering what had you so serious. ���When do you think you’re attacking Moonrise?” You asked. He paused.

“What?” He asked.

“Moonrise. When do you plan on attacking?” You asked.

“…I just got the Nightsong. So probably soon.” He said.

“I need to be there.” You said. He rose a brow.

“You want to be there or you had a vision where you are there and I need to take you before I piss off a nature god?” He asked.

“The second one.” You said.

“You had a vision,” he said.

“Yeah.” You nodded.

“Gonna tell me what it was?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I do, you will try to stop me.” You said. He frowned.

“Y/n, what did you see?” He asked.

“I will not tell you.”

“What did you see?” He asked again.

“Tav-”

“Y/n. What. Did. You. See?” he asked.

“I died. I was dead. But you succeeded. The only way this succeeds is if I-”

“No.”

“Tav. We both know what happens when you try to change fate.” You said. He sighed running a hand over his face.

“…Okay. Okay. You seem serious about this. I’ll respect it. Does Astarion know?” He asked.

“No.” You said.

“You haven’t told him?” He asked.

“No. Please don’t say anything. I… I don’t want him to try to stop it,” you said. Tav sighed. But he nodded.

You didn’t realize Tav planned on leaving for the towers soon. Or that he’d do it without you. He couldn’t lose you. Not like that. Not in a place like the dark forest. He already almost lost you twice. Three times if you include the massive event that happened when you were kids that got his clan killed because he tried to change fate. He did. But at the cost of everyone else. The two of you promised to never try that again. But Tav was too stubborn for his own good.

The next week, it was decided. Gale, Astarion and Karlach would go with him. You, Lae’zel, Shadowheart and Halsin would stay behind. You were gathering water into a bucket when you realized they left.

“Where’d Tav go?” You asked Shadowheart.

“Dunno. Said he had things to handle before the towers.” She shrugged reading a book.

You shrugged it off but then realized Astarion was gone. Whatever your brother was doing wasn’t small. He took Astarion with him when he had to hide. You noticed the heavier armor Tav wore before handling large fights was gone. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

“Tav, I thought you told Y/n that she’d be here for this.” Karlach said walking next to Tav.

“I lied. I can’t…” even if he did go back on one promise, he couldn’t let the other one go. That’d be hurting you twice over. “The lands make her weaker. I just felt like she’d be better off at camp.” Tav shrugged.

Astarion knew when Tav was lying. There was another reason you weren’t here. But for whatever reason, he wasn’t saying it.

“Gale, do your powers feel okay?” He asked.

“Yes, I’m alright for now,” Gale shrugged.

“Good. Want you feeling alright for this.” Tav nodded. Astarion sighed. This was going to be a long fight, he could feel it.

Sure enough it was. He fought through hoards of angry and pissed off creatures. He pushed through though, thanks to Tav’s insistence that Gale learn a healing spell or two a while back. Then came Ketheric. Who was pissed by Tav’s interference with the Nightsong.

He stood face to face with Tav, glaring at the man with contempt. Tav hoped that if he died instead of you, the fates would be satisfied. They wouldn’t need your life any longer. But that isn’t the way fate works.

Long were the waves of battle that Ketheric threw at them. Each one knocked everyone down. The first wave, took out Gale. The second was Karlach. Astarion was knocked to his knees as Tav bared his teeth at the bastard with his sword in hand with enemy blood on his face.

“You will die, little boy. You will die a heretic. A non believer in the Absolute.” Ketheric said.

“I will die knowing you died with me.” Tav growled back.

Astarion gripped his dagger, coughing from being winded.

Then he noticed. The moss slowly growing up from the stones. The small little blooms that were rising from the cracks of the ground.

He heard something. Your voice. And suddenly it was like he breathed in fresh air. Everyone felt better within an instant. Karlach slowly got up, gripping her war hammer as Gale used his staff to rise.

“Lay a hand on my brother and I cut you where you stand, Ketheric.” Your voice said. Everyone turned to you standing behind them all. You looked different. Your eyes were glowing green, your bird tattoos on your cheek were glowing white. You looked as though a celestial being had touched you.

You stepped forward Tav showing a new kind of fear in his eyes. Astarion had never seen Tav this scared. Not even as he was facing Ketheric did he seem scared. But right now, this man seemed terrified.

“No! Y/n-“ you flicked your wrist, ensnaring Tav. You couldn’t let him stop you. Tav struggled in your vines as you stepped forward with an incredibly calm look.

“You have turned this land. Corrupted it. Eilistraee is unhappy with you. I am unhappy with you.” You said walking. Karlach looked at Astarion with a surprised look, almost questioning if they were seeing the same thing.

Y/n, their sweet chaotic little cleric was walking towards a man that nearly killed them mere seconds ago as if he was a child about to be scolded. But something was different.

“Do you know what happens when the balance of nature is disturbed?” You asked, picking up a dead foot soldier’s sword from the ground. “it does anything it wants” You walked, dragging the sword across the stone of the tower. “For as long as it takes” your eyes glowed brighter. “To set the scales back.”

“Was this supposed to scare me, child?” Ketheric spat. You gave the most unsettling smile anyone in the group had ever seen.

“Oh no, Ketheric.” You said.

“And you expect to just stab me?” He scoffed.

“Oh you’re once again wrong, Ketheric. This is your grave marker.” You said, slamming the sword into the ground. “My words aren’t meant to scare you.” You said.

“Mine are.” It was if you were speaking. But it wasn’t your voice. This was different entirely. Tav struggled harder.

“You wanted her powers? Fine. Here they are.”

Within an instant vines erupted through the ground, the glow of your eyes becoming brighter as you began floating.

“Y/N NO!” Tav screamed. This was what Ketheric wanted you for. This is what he wanted to use. Astarion’s eyes widened as it seemed like wings made of pure light formed behind you. With a flick of your wrist, Ketheric was obliterated. But that didn’t end there.

You let out a loud scream, light erupting from your chest blinding everyone for seconds before finally they all heard a thud. Astarion blinked a few times to regain sight. He thought whatever had been going on was still happening until he realized… that was the sun.

He gaped turning to look at you before he realized you were the thud. You had served Eilistraee‘s purpose. Now, you were dead. Astarion dropped his daggers sprinting over as Tav, Gale and Karlach all did the same.

“No no no no, Y/n- darling don’t do this to me don’t you fucking do this to me!” Astarion said frantically shaking you.

Nothing. Not a stir.

Tears flooded his eyes, him holding your body close. “Y/n wake up. Please fucking wake up.” He begged. Cold. You were so cold.

Tav looked at Gale “Isn’t there something you can do!?” He asked.

“I-I can’t— when someone takes this much power from a god it-it destroys the vessel— I’ve never even witnessed a god possess a human like this!” Gale said.

“Withers c-can bring her back right!?” Tav asked.

“Her soul had to be what costed all of this…” Gale said.

“Damn it Gale! Can’t you do anything useful!?” Tav snapped.

“Tav I don’t think there’s anything we can do-“

“Unless you have something useful to say, shut up!” Tav snapped.

“Stop snapping at him like he’s nothing!” Karlach defended

“I don’t see you trying to help—“

“EVERYONE SHUT UP!” Astarion yelled. Everyone turned. “Would one of you assholes just fucking help me bury her so she can rest, or do you all plan on being heartless fucks just screaming at each other when you know damn well that she wouldn’t want this!?” Astarion asked. Silence. Haunting silence.

Tav looked down at his baby sister in Astarion’s arms, cold and lifeless. She truly was gone. He collapsed to his knees in front of Astarion in tears, gripping the moss that was now growing. Karlach slowly kneeled, holding Tav as he cried. Gale bowed his head as Astarion pressed a kiss to your cold forehead, gently laying you on the ground.

Then Gale noticed it. The moss was still growing. At rapid speed. Like nature was claiming it fast. Only druid magic could do that. He didn’t want to build hope but Halsin was at camp. And the only other Druid was you.

He felt it. A surge of life.

Astarion wiped his eyes, when he heard metal clinking of armor. He looked up to see your body levitating slowly.

“Balance is restored through my vessel, her heart pure. May it be a use in destroying the Absolute.” A voice said. Everyone was confused as a pink speck of light hit your body. Then a blue one. Then a green one. Then yellow. Honestly it was beginning to look like a glitter bomb exploded onto your body before it glowed brightly

Your body dropped, Astarion catching you. Your eyes were still closed. You still seemed very dead. So what the fuck was that?

Then you gasped for air, coughing. Tav let out a relieved breath as you looked around.

“Did it work!? Is Ketheric dead!?” You asked. Astarion wasted no second in kissing you the moment you spoke.

“Okay that’s nice and all but is he dead!?” Yeah. You were definitely back.

“He’s gone.” Astarion said. Tav hugged you as he set you down.

“You fucking idiot! You died!” He said hugging you tightly.

“Well with the grip you have right now I might die again.” You wheezed. Tav let go wiping his eyes.

“Gave us quite the scare there, fire cracker.” Karlach chuckled.

“I still have no idea how you’re alive. I mean Eilistraee herself was in your body using the entirety of your magic, that should’ve killed you.” Gale gaped.

“I suppose she saw more use for me.” You said.

“I’m not complaining.” Astarion said, gently caressing your hair.

“Neither am I.” Tav said relieved.

“Remind me never to piss you off.” Karlach said making you laugh.

“No, you were pretty terrifying out there actually. I’ve never seen anyone just waltz up to anyone and fucking use a celestial blast like it was a normal Tuesday before.” Gale said.

“Well, Eilistraee doesn’t take kindly to people interfering with nature.” You shrugged.

“That’s an understatement of the century.” Karlach chuckled.

You slowly stood up, Astarion gently helping you rise as you leaned on him.

“Let’s go back to camp.” You said. Everyone nodded.

“Let’s have a fucking celebration. You deserve it.” Tav nods. You smiled slightly was Astarion pulled your arm over his neck to help you walk. You all towards the stairs but you stopped, Astarion looked over with a confused glance. He followed your eyes to the remains of Ketheric with the embedded sword at his feet. Astarion looked down at you as your gaze changed to the sunset.

“We wouldn’t have won without you, you know.” He said gently. You said nothing, looking into his eyes. “But if you scare me like that again, I might actually die.” He said making you chuckle before kissing him.

“I’m being serious, don’t do that again.” He said. You slipped your arm off of him.

“No promises.” You shrugged walking.

“Wha- no that’s not a good enough answer little light- get back here!” He groaned. You kept walking and he grinned, scooping you into his arms.

“Oh get a fucking room!” Tav groaned.

“Yeah? Maybe you and Karlach can finally get a room too!” You teased.

“Hey!”

“I mean it’s not a bad idea Tav.” Karlach said.

“See even she’s- wait what?!” Tav said making everyone laugh.

[2demondogs]

Name of the Game, Boy | Dutch & Arthur

Tags: Young VanDerMatthews and Arthur fluff, Dutch teaches Arthur how to roll a cigar; Hosea's not really present Word Count: 2.3k A/N: Have a Cigar by Pink Floyd, while on the nose, is unexpectedly fitting overall. I'm a cigarette aficionado myself, so I did my best to describe an unfamiliar process.

They've been cornered between city-smog and marsh-heat for days now. Tents were pitched under the shade of a grove, but when its the air that is assaulting them, there's not much the penetrable material of their enclosures can do. It's times like these he wishes they had found somewhere abandoned to shack up, even if it didn't have all four walls.

Hosea's lungs were beginning to struggle with the thickness, and the dampness. Dutch worries. He would have protested his going hunting if it weren't for the emptiness of their metaphorical pantry, and would've joined if it weren't for Arthur. What food's left has wandered off via the saddlebags on his horse, most certainly to the find the nearest watering hole and non-mudstuck grass to graze on. Hosea dislikes them being out of sight, but Dutch's only complaint is his things being carried into the wind.

His upper lip was soaked in sweat when he woke up — hardly unusual, but positively unbearable with the thick hair trapping every bit of it. The same could be said of where his back and behind were drenched in sweat when Hosea roused him to announce his early morning hunt.

While it's still cool out, he said. Even in half-sleep, Dutch laughed.

Always the reasonable one, the older man continues to insist that long sleeves keep the sun off and, therefore, they will sweat far less if they wear them.

Arthur can listen to him all he wants. Maybe, just maybe, he has a point somewhere in that advice.

But Dutch has been feeling choked in anything beyond his singlet. He cropped the sleeves off in their first days wandering this area and, being comfortably outside of society, has worn nothing but his shirt and trousers since they set up proper camp. His arms are beet red and bubbling with burns from the sun, but at least he can feel those rare breaths of relieving wind right on his skin.

Hosea's eyes wander, too. Pleasant, besides the additional heat of them.

The kid is already sitting in his tent with the flaps open when Dutch peels himself from the bedroll once and for all, a modest-sized tin in hand to roll himself a morning smoke. Sleep here is fitful and yet hard to swim out of, like a limbo, even with the sun coming up on its early noon position.

Across the yard or two between the tents, he can tell Arthur is dozing off with his eyes open; he's been growing suspicious that the boy has heat poisoning, his usual alertness having faded into something almost docile — if such a word could ever describe that scrappy mutt of a teenager.

"Mornin', mister," Dutch greets, seating himself between the men's tent and the dead campfire.

He looks up from where he was lazily picking the dirt from beneath his nails with his pocket knife. "Mornin'."

For such a young man, his voice is getting gruff, and fast. Dutch feels a twang of pride thinking on how its dropped since they took him in, as if he has any right to feel that fatherly way.

Even if he tries, the situation doesn't feel... committal enough to warrant himself a label which so many men desire. His mock-son could scurry off any time to try his hand at another orphanage, at finding some wealthy family with a nice homestead who will pity him. They wouldn't, but Hosea and Dutch could just as easily abandon him in his sleep or send him on a goose chase while they flee.

Their relationship isn't tied the same a father and his offspring's is. One mistake from either party, and it could be gone without nearly the same sorrow. Dutch grows older and softer by the day, but he fears wiser is not part of that.

Hosea suits the role of patriarch just fine; the youngin' has begun to say something like Pa and quickly changed his mind with a flush once or twice. In those moments, Dutch always jealously wonders what type of father he'd be.

Is he a Pa, too, perhaps an Old Man? Maybe he could be Daddy, the way his father was to him. Will Arthur ever call him anything but you old coot and yessir?

He's grown fond of the damned critter, and he seems to have met the age where most men feel a certain emptiness in their bachelorism.

Eyes are burning into him as he pops the tin lid and takes out the beginnings of his first cigar: a bundle of tobacco leaves and a bottled shot of whiskey for moistening them. It needs refilled when they cross the next saloon.

The pre-rolls he purchased in Saint Dennis have already molded in the heat, much to his dismay.

Looking up from the bunch of tobacco he's binding to absentmindedly check the horizon for Hosea, he finds Arthur turning his eyes down fast at nothing in particular.

"What's on your mind?" He asks, amused.

Arthur rarely turns away when he's caught watching something; in fact, he seems to stare harder as if to assert his authority. It'd be impossible to say he weren't Dutch's kin, if it weren't for that mop of dirty blonde hair and those blue eyes.

"Nothin'."

"Naw, come on, son."

How he perks up at the name is mostly imperceptible, but it softens Arthur's face as it softens Dutch's sudden, self-imposed jealousy of Hosea.

Raising on gangly legs — still so, even after being fattened with some of Hosea's best game meat — Arthur comes to stand before Dutch, hands stuck in the pockets of his trousers.

"That a cigar?" He nods to the roll in his hand. The question doesn't seem to warrant the interest, but he lets Arthur be timid about his real intent.

"Yessir," Dutch says. He rolls it smooth along his thigh, considers the opportunity he has before him. "You want to learn how to roll one?"

Hilariously, his only response is: "Could I smoke it, too?" His voice is even, total seriousness in it.

Dutch laughs. It is one his first real, hearty ones since they pitched in this miserable swamp.

"'Course you can," he says. He looks up and squints into the light, follows his eyes as the teen plops himself on the ground next to him. He warns with a dull severity: "But if you tell Hosea, he'll hang me. You're too young for smokin'. He worries you'll grow a pair of lungs like his."

"When will I be old enough?" He asks.

He purses his lips, picks up the razor he keeps in his cigar tin for trimming the ends. "I'on know," he admits. "Guess I smoked cigarettes before I was your age." He offers a wry smile. "But I weren't no role model for anything, so don't listen to me."

"They were too expensive f'me," Arthur says. "No one'd let me bum any."

It's one of the few looks into his previous life that he's ever given them. As always, delivered without a missed beat. Arthur doesn't realize how solemn his life was, not really — not beyond the animal discomfort it brought him. It was all he really knew.

Dutch is never sure how to respond beyond the tight knit of his brows. "Well, you're gettin' to try one now," is all he says.

He feels the yearning for a son again while Arthur watches him intently. Explaining his more practiced skills in words has never been Dutch's strong suit, so he's decided he'll either smoke a second or save it for Hosea, depending on when he returns.

Usually, he wouldn't care for one, but Dutch knows he likes the whiskey-River Valley combination real well.

It is strange to have someone so intent on learning from him. Dutch knows he can command a room of people rather easily — it's his job. A genuine attempt to teach makes it feel different, fulfilling; Arthur is hooked, blinking sweat from his eyes as it forms. Seems he's been wanting to ask Dutch to show him this process for a long time. It makes the heat of the risen sun feel bearable.

"Why do you use the drink?" He asks. He spilled a splotch of whiskey on his trouser leg, and Dutch hopes Hosea doesn't smell the liquor on him when he comes back. He'd have to say goodbye to his own hide.

"Makes the leaves flexible." He starts to bunch them to form a core, eyeing Arthur to his side. He learns quick enough, but he's pressing together too hard. "So they won't crumble when you manhandle 'em."

He struggles with wrapping the bunch, but shakes his head when Dutch offers to fix it for him. "I won't learn if you do it."

"A'right," Dutch says. "You want help, you jus' say it. You can try again next time Old Girl's out."

When they're finished, he knows Arthur's cigar isn't going to burn too well. What exactly will go wrong, he isn't sure — but his fingers, though skinny and precise, are unpracticed with this art.

It is an art, one of practicing the tactical differences between excess and moderation, and he makes sure to tell Arthur as much.

He does insist on toasting both cigars. It's hard to explain, the words his own father told him on the matter long forgotten in favor of muscle memories, and Dutch isn't sure that he could even think how to pick apart the delicate process.

He'll probably have to offer Arthur his own cigar if he wants the boy to not hate them forever over one low quality roll — he is fond of him, but it takes practice.

As expected, Arthur's acne-pocked face scrunches upon his first draw. The density of the smoke gives him a mighty cough, and Dutch slaps his back as he hacks.

"Sorry, son," he says, smoke furling from his nostrils as he speaks. He means it. "I probably shoulda known you wouldn't know how to smoke it right."

"There's," — a group of final, shorter coughs, tears forming in his eyes — "A right way?"

"Ayuh," Dutch nods. He barely notices he's adopted Hosea's favorite affirmation, mind focused on finding a flask to offer him a drink of water. "You don't inhale the smoke.

"I still cough like that if I do and I've smoked 'em longer than you been breathin'." Arthur seems mildly surprised by the reminder someone is so much older than him; oh, youth. "When you drag on it, keep that smoke in your mouth and let it sit there. With cigarettes, you smoke 'em. A cigar is for tastin'. Watch."

He takes an exemplary drag. Arthur mirrors him carefully, face still somewhat twisted as he waits to exhale alongside Dutch. The clouds mingle and fade into the air before them, over the unlit campfire.

"All I taste is some nasty ass leaves an' itchy throat," he admits, sounding disappointed.

Dutch laughs. "Sounds 'bout right. It takes time to learn how to appreciate it," he says. "Like all good things in life. Try mine."

They trade. Arthur's is bitter, and he notices the skin of it is cracking at the end. He rolled far too tightly in his efforts to do it right; the taste is tolerable, but only just, and it is difficult to pull on. Arthur immediately hits his cigar once he's gotten it and he bites his cheek to avoid protesting too rashly.

Over the year he's been riding with them, he's noticed the boy struggles with enacting much patience.

"I wouldn't smoke them so fast," he warns. "You'll make it into even more nastiness." Dutch taps the cigar on the boot of his folded leg, Arthur copying him. At least the ash falls off easy. "If you savor it, they can taste real sweet."

Arthur near balks. "Sweet?"

"These are a sweeter kind," he says, and the information takes a moment to be believed at all. He's sure Arthur still thinks he's pulling his leg once it registers that this sour little roll-up tastes sweet to his companion. "Hosea likes these ones 'cause they're some of the easiest to stomach."

It isn't entirely fair to say, but he is absent now and Dutch hasn't influenced Arthur with a good-natured jab at his partner in one too many days.

As they finish them in relative silence, the only sound the thrumming of the heat in the atmosphere and the chirps of birds and insects milling through it, Dutch relents to the sneaking feeling that Arthur looks up to him in some way.

The kid watches him close, nearing the end of his own cigar and yet still learning how to draw it right from how little Dutch's cheeks hollow when he pulls the smoke in. He tries his hardest to wait between drags like he does. He didn't think being mimed could feel so rewarding; he didn't think teaching anything could be much beyond an inconvenience or the mild satisfaction of knowing that he's smarter than someone else.

Probably it speaks to all his own mentors — at least all the ones before Hosea — that such egoism was all he found in it.

The man of the hour rides in shortly after they tap their last ashes, and he is equal parts dismayed and proud to see Arthur studying how Hosea smokes on his cigar once he's passed the responsibility of dismantling the sizeable deer onto Dutch.

He'll give their little smoking lessons away before the month is over, but he has a feeling he can talk his way out of being skinned. When it comes around, he'll tell Hosea he shows Arthur how to survive, and Dutch shows him how to live, and his hubris will endear Hosea too much to say anything besides: don't go rolling him one everyday.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Grove

Three evenings with Beatrice, a half-drow war cleric of Selune, and Zevlor in the Emerald Grove. NSFW for the last section. SFW for the first two.

When the human called the very handsome tiefling a foulblood, Beatrice Wildheart knew what she was going to do.

I punched that little bastard in the face!

When the same extremely handsome tiefling introduced himself as Zevlor, Beatrice knew what was going to do.

Not my usual silent pining that always leads to heartbreak.

Not this time.

When she, Gale, Wyll, and Shadowheart returned to Zevlor and Tilses informing them that the ugly nasty bitch wanted the refugees gone, she not only offered her support in taking care of the goblins but also asked him to find her along the shore later.

And now it is “later” and where is he?

Beatrice was standing ankle-deep in the cool water, her armor discarded. She had traded one of the druids for a tank top and a pair of knee-length trousers that sort of mostly kind of fits? Whatever, better than rags.

“Greetings, Lady Beatrice Wildheart.”

A deep, gentle voice rumbled, causing Beatrice to turn around. Shit. Does word travel this fast?! Fucking hells. “Zevlor, who—”

To her surprise, he chuckled. “Word travels fast.” Of course. “Though I must beg your pardon, my lady, for not showing proper respect to a woman of your standing.”

Lady of Silver, spare me.

She shook her head, hands resting on her wide, soft hips. “Please, I like it better when I’m just Beatrice. Or Bea, my friends call me that.”

Zevlor smiled. “Am I a friend already?”

Her brown eyes widened.

Wait.

Is he flirting with me?

Should I try to flirt with him?

“I hope so!” Giggling nervously, she carefully walked out of the water, stepping back onto shore. “I mean, I did volunteer to kill goblins for you, so that must mean something.” Heat rose in her freckled cheeks as she sat down on a large rock, heart beating in her chest. Don’t fuck this up. Be bold and brave. Let the Moonmaiden guide me.

“It’s kind what you’re offering to do for my people,” he sat next to her, shoulders sagging. Selune’s tears, when was the last time he had a good night’s rest? “But why do you want to speak to me? Is there something I can help you with?”

Be brave.

Be brave.

Don’t be weird.

Moonmaiden, guide me.

Smiling softly, she turned to face him. “I want to spend some time with you. That’s all.” Maybe he won’t notice me blushing?

He did not respond to her immediately, brow furrowed. “Surely there are others more worthy of your time? More deserving?” He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. As if the weight of everything on him is too much to bear. Moonmaiden, give me the strength and wisdom to help him. He is not alone. Not anymore. “I’m well past my prime, Bea. My faith was shattered. I’m an old, broken paladin who was forced to leave his home. Surely, there are others whose company is preferable to mine?” He now looked at her, infernal eyes ablaze. The most beautiful eyes…on the most handsome face…

She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“You’re worthy of my time, Zevlor. I want…” Oh wait, maybe I can try not to come too strong but still be helpful! “Would you like to hear about Baldur’s Gate? I’m from there, and assuming you’ve never been—”

The tiefling finally returned her smile. Aww, he looks a bit happier. Moonmaiden, give me some charisma to charm him…or something. “Correct, my dear. I would like that very much.”

For the next hour, she told him nearly everything she knew about the city, its inhabitants, and tradition. The Gate is home. It’s a bit shit but it’s home. When she began to explain the noble houses, he shifted the conversation to her---her family (obviously explained that I was adopted), friends (lots of them all over Faerun), her profession (I felt the call to protect and serve Selune by smiting the enemies of light), and then…

“There must be a special someone waiting for you back in the Gate.”

A statement.

Not a question.

As if it’s fact.

Oh dear.

She shook her vigorously. “No, no. It’s been a…saga of sorts trying to find a match for me.” Beatrice then added quickly, “A love match, I need to emphasize. Mum would never support anything less.” And Da, gods rest him. “But it’s complicated.”

Zevlor blinked. “I-I…why, if I may ask?”

You have got to be kidding.

A bitter laugh escaped her. “I’m the large half-drow daughter of a dwarven countess. That is, quite literally, the problem.” She squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders tensing. “It’s been made very clear that I’m not what anyone wants for a partner or wife or anything romantic really.” Mum cannot raise my dowry enough. I’m just…undesirable. But maybe not to him? A girl can hope, right?

“I will not deny that there are prejudices against drow, which certainly play a role in your situation. However,” he’s grabbing my hand?!?!? “I find you to be beautiful, brave, kindhearted, and of excellent character.” With his other hand, he tilted her chin slightly so he could admire her, lightly tracing her jaw with a finger. “There should be dozens, if not hundreds, of suitors vying for your hand. If I were a few decades younger,” Zevlor smiled sadly, now caressing her blushing cheek. “I would be as well.”

“Please don’t say that.” Da always said to listen to my heart because it would never lead me astray. Heart says… “I like you. A lot. I think you’re all those things too. I…I hope we can have time together like this again soon. We’re heading back out tomorrow, but we’ll be around to trade and rest and…” Beatrice trailed off, her brown eyes watching his thumb gently touch her bottom lip. “Zevlor?” she whispered.

For the first time since meeting him, the paladin genuinely smiled. “Waking gods,” he cupped face and leaned so that his forehead met hers. “I’d given up on them sending me an angel, but here you are.” He can’t just say things like that and not expect me to get misty eyed. “Are you certain? I’m no prize—”

Beatrice released an annoyed huff before kissing him. The kiss did not last long but to her, served its purpose. ���I don’t mind.” She said sweetly before giving one another peck. “Are you certain?”

His hands landed on her waist, squeezing gently as if I’m made of glass. Zevlor, I’m not… “Though I don’t feel deserving of your affection, I would be a fool to refuse it. A fool to deny it. I am certain, my darling.” When his lips next captured hers, the kiss was far more intense. Clawed fingers danced under the hem of her top but stayed at her thick waist. “I am very certain.”

So certain that when Beatrice’s party returned a day and a half later, he brought a bouquet of wildflowers he picked for her at our spot.

That little hidden place along the shore at the grove. It’s our spot now.

***

“May I tell you something?” Beatrice whispered, sitting in our spot with Zevlor the night after she recruited Karlach to her party. They sat side by side on a large stone, bare feet in the cool water. Her head was resting against his, and he snaked an arm around her broad shoulders.

“You can tell me anything, darling. What troubles you?”

Gods, where to start?

No.

Focus.

“I told you I felt like I was called to serving My Lady, but I’m not like most clerics you’ve met I bet.” She chuckled softly and reached for his free hand. “I’m not one to proselytize. I prefer using a great sword to attack and protect instead of healing. My temple would send me to besieged enclaves and villages, and I’d…well, get rid of their problems.” Beatrice wrinkled her nose and giggled. “It was a good time. I was doing a lot of good.” Then. “Then Da got sick, I came home, it was terminal, three years later he’s gone, and I…” Squeezing his hand, tears down her freckled, pale ash face. “The Moonmaiden told me to be a light in the darkness, but I feel like I…I’m not doing enough.”

Zevlor shifted, turning to face her and taking both her hands in his. “You,” he carefully lifted one hand, placed a kiss on her knuckles, and repeated the gesture with her other hand. “Are far too hard on yourself.” They both shared a small laugh with him rubbing his rough thumbs over her hands. “While I’m not entirely impartial,” There’s that lovely little teasing smile I adore. “I’ve no doubt that there are many in this grove, as well as those in your temple, who would say you’re doing wonderfully.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with an all too brief kiss. “I’ve never met anyone whose soul burns as brightly as yours, my dear---that is all you. Not Selune. You.” Follow my heart. It will never lead me astray. “So please, my beautiful Bea, be kind to yourself.”

But I’ve never been kind to myself, have I?

Not when some of the trainee war clerics called me a fat, useless drow.

Not when I’ve been politely and less than politely rejected by potential suitors.

Not when Da got sick and I couldn’t save him…

Not when Lewson got murdered by bloody Zhents.

Not when I got abducted.

Not when…

As he pulled her into a tender embrace, she felt herself practically melting into him. “Shh, quiet your mind. Stay right here with me, darling.” That’s his tail wrapping around my waist. He is so sweet. “Don’t let the weight of your own high expectations crush you. Don’t let it dim your light.”

“I’ll try, but you must promise me something in return.” When she heard him hum in assent, she smiled. “Be kinder to yourself too. You’re doing the best you can out of a frankly awful situation, Zevlor.” And that’s putting it mildly. She leaned back and cupped his face in her hands. “You deserve happiness. We deserve happiness. Don’t we?”

That night he did not answer her.

But I’m confident he will. We do deserve happiness, Zev. We do.

***

“A pity for us you have promised your body to Zevlor.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened as Lae’zel continued to speak about trophies? Bodies? Lips?????

“—I intend to, myself. Wyll looks particularly promising.”

And that’s my cue to get the fuck out of this conversation.

She giggled nervously, wished Lae’zel a good evening, and then she nearly knocked him over as she walked away from the gith.

“Oh, Bea! How nice to see you.” He winked adorably as he sipped wine I’m assuming. Not that I drink… “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”

“Yes,” mostly. That interaction with Lae’zel was something else. Her fingers brushed against his free hand, and she took a step closer. “And you?”

“With you, I couldn’t be happier.” A knowing smile tugged on his lips as he sipped his wine. “Once things die down, my dear, shall we meet in the Secluded Chamber? It’s more…private than our usual place.”

More private so we can…maybe…perhaps…

FUCK?!?!?

Wait no, Zevlor doesn’t fuck. He makes love.

And no, I didn’t read that in a romance novel.

I read it in several romance novels.

Feeling her cheeks burn in a mix of desire and anticipation, she nodded quickly. “Sounds perfect. I, um, I can slip away soon.” The only person I want to talk to for the rest of the night is you. Only you.

A low hum escaped him as he led her towards the edge of the party. “Meet me in fifteen minutes.” Zevlor murmured, bringing her hand to his lips. Sharing one last longing so much longing look, he turned and departed the camp.

Luckily for Beatrice, fifteen minutes went by fast. Got a pep talk from Karlach who told me to “fuck his brains out” and “pull his damn tail” while also showing him “who the real Hellrider is.” Quick little wash because no one wants a stinky lady in bed, right? And it’s not like I have my favorite perfume in the middle of nowhere.

When she arrived at the Secluded Chamber, she nearly gasped at the sight of Zevlor. In all their meetings along the shore, he was always in his armor, refusing to remove it even when she was always wearing something comfortable.

But now…

He looks so yummy.

He greeted her wearing a cream tunic, dark brown breeches that show off his legs MOONMAIDEN TAKE ME, and worn but still nice shoes. “Dearest,” he began with a tender smile. “I hope it wasn’t too difficult for you to leave. After all, everyone wanted a word the hero of the hour.” Gods that wink again. “That she would grace me with her presence…I’m an incredibly fortunate man.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” She swayed her hips as she walked to him, warmth blossoming within her. One look from him, and I feel desired. For the first time in my life, I feel desired. And I… Standing in front of him but having no idea what to do, she wrapped long arms around his neck and kissed him. “I want…” Beatrice whispered, her brown eyes meeting his infernal ones. Just say it. Say it. There’s no shame in wanting this. In wanting him. “Can we…” Spit. It. Out. She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. “Sorry, I’m nervous. It’s my first time.” WHY DID YOU SAY THAT, BEA? WHY? HE KNOWS.

“We don’t have to be intimate tonight if you’re this nervous—”

Her eyes widened as she quickly reassured him. “No. No. I…I…” Breathe. “You may not like what you see.”

It was at this moment Beatrice saw his expression shift from concern to molten. Hot. Smoldering. Moonmaiden preserve me. “If you allow it, my lady,” his already gravelly voice was much lower. “I will show you just how much I like what I see.”

She knew that too often she thought too much.

Not this time.

Barely a second passed when she released a breathy “yes please,” and his hands found their way to her ample behind, cupping and squeezing. His lips crashed into hers, and he moaned in her mouth. “Zev…”

That earned her another moan. “Been too long…since a lover called me that…” Her hands roamed to his narrow waist and slowly, carefully went under his shirt. Gods, he feels incredible. Muscle. Warm skin. Ridges. Bumps. Scars. I love them. I love them all. I want to— “You make me feel young again.”

No.

Beatrice slipped out of his grasp, giggling. “I’ll make you a deal, Zev. You don’t talk about how you’re old and I won’t say I’m ugly.”

And to really put this matter to rest…

“Darling, I…” His eyes widened as what he was going to say died on his lips. “I…”

She threw off her shirt, tossing it near a chair? We can sort it later. Fighting the urge to cover her breasts, she instead focused on untying the laces on her trousers. “What’s the matter, love? Cat got your tongue?” She hoped her teasing tone would distract him (and me) from the hammering of her heart. He likes this. I think? I hope?

As she stepped out of her smalls and pants, Zevlor continued to watch her, unmoving except for his wagging tail. He…does like how I look? “You are enchanting. Stunning. So beautiful.” In two strides he reached her and led her to a pair of bedrolls on a stone slab. Aw, he lit candles too. That’s so sweet. “Now, be a dear and lie down.”

HE JUST PINCHED MY BUTT?!?!?

Something between a surprise yelp and a giggle escaped her as she scrambled onto bedrolls not at all gracefully.

“What a sweet, eager little thing you are.” He cooed, kicking off his shoes.

Beatrice snorted as her head hit a somewhat soft pillow. “I’m not little, love.” Leaning to prop herself up on her elbows, she watched, slack jawed as Zevlor discarded his shirt (yummy) and trousers (NO SMALLS?!?! HE JUST…WALKS AROUND LIKE THAT?!?!). She panted at the sight of him and his incredibly hard, ridged cock, swallowing thickly.

His eyes twinkled as he crawled to her. “What’s the matter, Bea?” With his breathtakingly handsome face inches from hers, weight on his strong forearms, he teased, “Cock got your tongue?” The resulting squeak from her as she wrapped her long arms around his neck made him chuckle. “Don’t play innocent with me, my angel. I saw you gawking. Leering. Staring.” With each word, his lips touched hers.

Into one of the kisses, she smiled wide, her hands threading through his hair and loosened it. “Admiring is the word I prefer to use. Admiring my beautiful paladin and his very large cock.” I can tease too, love. “Zev, ah, want you…” Beatrice moaned, rolling her soft hips. Want you. Need you. Now.

“Patience, dearest. Want this to last, and more importantly,” he pressed several kisses down her jaw to her neck and then settled with his mouth above one of her breasts. “Worship you.” Moonmaiden take me. He licked and suckled her with abandon, his own hips grinding against her. This is already better than anything I could’ve imagined. Already so good, and we’re not even—

She inhaled sharply when she felt the rough pad of one of his fingers touch the curls at the apex of her thick thighs. “Oh gods…”

“You are so lovely,” the older tiefling panted, lifting his head from one breast before eyeing the other. Oh dear, that’s his tail around my leg. Selune save me. “Everything about you…you are perfect. Simply perfect.” His tongue circled the nipple on her opposite breast while her hands found the base of his horns. “Do whatever you wish, pulchra. Love me however you please. I would know…all of you…” After he lavished her other breast, he trailed kisses down her belly (Moonmaiden, was it my imagination or was he kneading me like dough? If so, that was amazing and he needs to do it more often) and then rose on his knees between her legs. “May I taste you, my love?” His hands rested on her soft thighs, and she could not help but smile at the look of adoration in his eyes.

She did, however, raise an eyebrow. “Pulchra?” It’s Infernal. Not sure about the meaning though.

Zevlor’s cheeks reddened. “It’s Infernal for ‘beautiful woman’ but for a gentleman of my vintage it means ‘mistress.’”

Okay, now I’m even more confused. “Mistress?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I cannot call you uxor. We are not married.”

OH.

“Pulchra it is then, and…yes. Please. Do wha—” Instead of finishing her thought, Zevlor dove into her, easily lifting her legs over his shoulders and tasting her as he promised. “Oh gods please…please…”

“There are no gods here, pulchra. Only me.” He grunted, continuing his ministrations. The feel of his horns against me as he’s eating me out…there are no words.

Beatrice did not know how much time had passed when he stopped and adjusted himself. “Zev?” she panted, letting go of his horns. Turns out I really love fucking his face.

Responding only with a smirk, he lowered his head and began to lick her swollen bud.

WHAT IS THAT?!?!

She immediately tensed, and Zevlor squeezed her thighs. “Easy, pulchra. That’s just my tail. Come…tail first then my cock…”

Oh. Oh wow. This is happening.

The only coherent reply she could manage was moaning his name along with “please” and “more.” As she quickly reached her peak, she felt his nails digging in her thighs slightly, which only made her more aroused. “Zev…please…want to…want…”

Then something inside her snapped, and she fell apart on his tongue. Small gasps escaped her, her ample chest heaving.

“That’s it, my darling…such a good girl…” Moonmaiden take me. With a grunt, he crawled over her and lined his achingly hard member towards her entrance. “We’ll go slow, pulchra. I won’t hurt you.”

“Show him who the real Hellrider is, soldier.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened as she touched his shoulders. “Can I be on top? If that’s okay?”

He exhaled sharply, nodding and laying on his back. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Zevlor watched as she less than elegantly straddled him. “Careful, sweetheart. Don’t want you falling over.”

“I think you’ve realized by now that sometimes I’m not the most graceful person.” She chuckled, settling over his swollen length. With his hands firmly on her wide hips, she began to slowly lower herself. Fuck me, he’s thick. A lot thicker than he looks. Hells. “Zev…”

Whatever he was saying though, she could not understand.

Infernal.

Holy fuck.

Moaning as she took him inch by torturous but glorious inch, laughed breathlessly. “What’d you say?”

“Ah, so fucking tight, pulchra. Queen of my heart, have me…all of me…I am yours for as long as—ah, oh waking gods!” Zevlor gasped when her pelvis met his.

He’s got ridges on his…and on his?!?? YES!

Rocking her hips, she rode him with abandon.

I feel alive…

And beautiful…

Because of my paladin…

She threw her head back as she reached her second peak, her hands gripping his harder than I do the Everburn Blade. “I love you! I fucking love you! I love you, Zev!” Panting, Beatrice’s broad shoulders slumped as he thrusted inside her, his hips stuttering.

“Pulchra…my angel…I-I…I love you, my darling…”

Moonmaiden take me, that groan from him!

Zevlor let out an oomph when she collapsed onto his chest, his strong arms wrapping around her. One clawed hand rested on her back while the other cradled the back of her head. “Bea? Are you alright?” He whispered, gently caressing her.

“Yeah.” She sighed and then muttered a spell to clean them. Gods, even soft, he’s huge. “You? Was I okay?”

As she rolled off him, he chuckled. “Okay? My dear, the way you were riding me,” he placed a kiss in her black-red curls when she curled against his side. “I’d say you’re the Hellrider, not me.”

YES! YES! YES! MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! I DID IT, KARLACH!

She traced the ridges on his chest and giggled. “Gods, you’re too much, love.” Laying in his arms and feeling sleep take her, shit, I should tell him I meant it. Just in case. “When I said I love you before, I meant it. I love you, and I…I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. And I know that there’s still much ahead, for both of us, but I want this. I want you. That is, if you even want—”

He squeezed the pillowy part of her upper arm. “Are we still not mentioning my age?” Zevlor teased. Oh for fuck’s sake. You. Are. Not. Old. “I do want you, pulchra.” He heaved a sigh. “Protecting my people must come first. That’s been my priority---my mission---for most of my life.” This sounds decidedly not good. He once again squeezed her arm and reached for her hand on his chest, bringing it to his lips. “But we deserve happiness, do we not? After everything that’s happened…everything that is still to come…we deserve happiness, and I firmly believe I’ve found it with you.” I’m gonna cry. I’m gonna cry so much. “I love you too, dearest.” He raised her hand to his lips again and placed another tender kiss on her knuckles. “Gods willing, we make it to Baldur’s Gate hale and whole.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as she prayed silently.

Moonmaiden, I have served as your righteous fury. I have cut down the enemies of light. I have protected many.

I beg of you, Lady of Silver, keep him safe.

Keep them all safe.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

YOTP - June

It's around @russingon-week after all, I think...

Have some Russingon for your nerves :)

Now with art by @chechula!!! Go give them a follow!

Pairing: Maedhros x Fingon

Prompts: Wedding/Proposal, Saving the world, (accidental) love confession, “You aren’t what I expected”, Downpour, Soulmate AU

Words: 2 510

Warnings: Injury, prophetic dreams, gender confusion, soulmate AU, blood and rain

Nelyafinwë flexed his right hand absent-mindedly—he’d had another highly confusing dream in which a hand that seemed to be his own was pointing wildly at a blurry landscape in the distance.

Even now, hours after waking, he could not shake the gnawing sensation that he knew the outline of the faraway city, nestled at the foot of a mighty mountain, but, no matter how fiercely he frowned, the liberating recognition escaped him stubbornly.

“There you are,” his father exclaimed impatiently upon finding him ambulating under a quiet colonnade. “Your tutor is awaiting you!”

Nelyafinwë looked up, tempted momentarily to ask Fëanáro about the city in his dreams, but he didn’t dare.

Ever since his childhood, his family had owned and inhabited this vast estate. Nelyafinwë had, nevertheless, always been aware that they’d removed themselves from an entirely different, unknown society for reasons his parents adamantly refused to discuss.

He couldn’t shake the sensation that this imposed exile was somehow linked to him, and so he’d done his best to honour his family’s sacrifice by fulfilling his father’s every ambitious project and exaggerated expectation.

He was, Nelyafinwë thought as he ducked into the library, after all the oldest son, and he owed it to his brothers to be the best role model he could possibly be.

With the fanfare of hasty steps and rustling paper started this most fateful of days, looking much like countless ones before, which would end in the inevitable victory of fate over willpower.

In the afternoon, as he took another wistful stroll, Nelyafinwë passed by his father’s study and was struck by the high-pitched trill in his mother’s anxious voice.

His steps faltered for it was not in Nerdanel’s stolid nature to sound so distressed and breathless, not even in the presence of her formidable husband.

“He’s almost reached the age—” she whispered urgently. “Soon…”

“I care nought about the fate of the world,” Fëanáro thundered. “We’ve gone away so far that none even remember him—surely, whatever destiny that hooded, skeletal soothsayer has foretold for my son, shall not come to pass.”

“You have seven sons,” Nerdanel bellowed. “And if the Kingdom, your Kingdom, falls—what is to become of them? I’m afeared, ‘Náro. Can we truly outrun fate once it has been spoken into the world?”

Nelyafinwë did not hear what answer, if any, his esteemed father made to that passionate exclamation, for he was already racing headlong across the atrium towards the gate, desperate to escape the familial country home and lose himself amongst the old groves surrounding their estate.

All his darkest, most torturous suspicions had been confirmed, and he tended to agree with his mother—nobody, not even his father, could circumvent destiny.

The olive trees loomed dark and fertile on a nearby hill, and he plunged into the blessed shadow as fast as his long, toned legs would carry him.

Nobody should witness him as he came to terms with the terrible doom hanging over his helpless head—even a wretched fool had his pride.

Soon, though, he resented himself for his irrational, puerile reaction. He hadn’t even ascertained the nature of the prophecy that had so distressed his parents, and he knew only too well that being aware of the impending danger was ever preferable if one sought to ward it off.

Nevertheless, he was certain that nothing less than unbearable, unacceptable misery could have made his proud father leave his hitherto unmentioned family to hide away in the countryside.

His head was spinning with the devastating answers to old questions and new contradictions; surely, Fëanáro could not be part of the Royal House, could he?

This absurd revelation conjured up a new avalanche of guilt and despair in the young man; if his mother had spoken true, his father would have deserted his duty and deprived the whole family of a luxurious life for the sake of his oldest son alone.

At once, Nelyafinwë understood the deeper meaning of Nerdanel’s harsh words, and his eyes filled with tears of self-loathing and impuissant rage.

“Cry not, little princeling.”

Nelyafinwë looked up sharply upon hearing the ingratiating tone and the mellow voice coming from deep within the shade of the ancient trees.

“Who goes there?” he called, getting back to his feet to meet any intruder or foe head-on.

“I mean you no harm,” the voice resounded once more, followed by the discreet rustling of leaves and crunching of dry earth underfoot.

A moment later, a tall, beautiful stranger appeared, his mouth curled into a friendly smile—Nelyafinwë shivered in vague prescience.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact matter of contention, but something about that man struck him as odd and eerily uncanny.

“Did you have a falling out with your parents?”

Slowly backing away, Nelyafinwë stared at the long-fingered, broad hand extended towards him as one hypnotised by a snake about to strike.

“You cannot outrun them—you cannot outrun me!” Springing forth suddenly, the stranger grabbed the prince’s shoulders and shook him lightly.

Darkness—asphyxiating and absolute—descended upon Nelyafinwë’s senses, and he fell, insensate, into the waiting embrace of his terrifyingly charming captor.

Visions of his severed hand—pointing now to the sky, now to the dark abyss below his dangling feet—haunted his restless unconsciousness, and he struggled through bone-breaking agony back to the cold, glassy surface of the waking world.

As soon as he opened his eyes, Nelyafinwë understood that, as per usual, his mother had been right—there had never been the slightest chance of escaping his fate.

Thus, he was much less horrified than he should have been when he realised that he was chained to the sheer flank of a small mountain by his treacherous hand.

Somewhere overhead, he thought he could hear someone laughing wildly—Nelyafinwë was far too tired and proud to rile against predestination.

He hung his head and waited.

Findekáno awoke bright and early.

“The time has nearly come,” his mother said mournfully as she slowly poured fresh water from an earthen carafe into his goblet.

“I shall be ready!” he assured her confidently. His bright eyes were drawn to a ridge of faraway hills which separated the city from the remote wilds of the countryside. “I feel the need to travel, alone, to gather my spirits and strengthen my flesh.”

Anairë’s gaze grew soft, and she bent over her beloved firstborn to breathe a devoted kiss onto the crown of braided hair tenderly. “So it shall be then,” she whispered, smiling wistfully.

When she’d been heavy with child, a soothsayer had been brought to her, foretelling great feats of valour and puissance for her yet unborn child, and Anairë had never deemed it necessary to subsequently hide that momentous prophecy from her joyous, optimistic son.

“He shall save the kingdom by his fortitude, and true love shall be granted to him as a boon.”

Even now, as she took a sip of her honeyed wine, she could hear the scratchy, unfathomable voice of the hooded stranger echoing through her weary mind.

Often, she had wondered whether she should have spared Findekáno the terrible knowledge of a vague trial awaiting him, especially upon seeing how single-mindedly and grimly he trained to be prepared for every gruesome eventuality.

“It’s almost time—I can sense it. My dreams have been increasingly troubling as of late,” he confessed under his breath.

“The red-haired maiden with the silver eyes again?” Anairë asked understandingly, yearning to lay her cool hand on the feverish brow of her child as she’d once done through seemingly endless nights of debilitating fear. He’d since grown so strong that she doubted he’d ever need her support and comfort again—the thought pained her, but her gentle smile never wavered.

“I cannot see her clearly,” Findekáno mumbled. “She’s always somewhere very high up, blurred by clouds and mist, and yet I know her.”

He stood abruptly. “Please tell father that I wish him well and kiss my siblings in my stead. I shall return soon. I must go at once!”

“May you be victorious, my darling son,” Anairë sighed as she watched him go. Since the day he’d left the protection of her body, she’d not felt so scared on his behalf, so she lifted her head and squared her shoulders resolutely.

She would not quail in the face of destiny—she’d prepare for her son’s triumphant return.

Findekáno set out without delay, a light pack slung across his back, and made for the distant horizon resolutely.

His mind was still entranced with the blurry vision of a person he’d never met and yet had known all his life—he could not recall when the long-limbed, red-haired stranger had first slipped into his most intimate and intense dreams, but he could not consciously remember her ever not having been part of his hopes and fears either.

Maybe, she’d always been there. Maybe, she was a part of himself. Either way, he was determined to find her, and—if possible—fulfil his mother’s tender hopes by courting her.

By the time he re-emerged from his distracted musings about things that belonged to the realm of potential and phantasms instead of careful planning and saving wisdom, Findekáno had left the city far behind him and was clambering over rocks and down virgin gorges.

Still, his heart did not despond, and so he pressed on indefatigably until he reached a bare, forbidding cliff, its jagged outcrops drawing menacing shadows onto the mossy forest floor.

As he turned his gaze upwards in search of he knew not what, Findekáno saw dark clouds gather ominously, and—a mere moment later—heavy rain started falling like passionate, angry tears from the marred sky.

Through the sudden downpour, he could make out a flash of red, glimmering like a defiant torch behind the curtain of shivering grey.

Momentarily, he considered his trusty bow, but he could not trust his aim in the present meteorological conditions, and he didn’t know how feeble his fated lover would be from her ordeal.

“You always knew that it wouldn’t be that easy,” he chided himself, casting off his pack and weapons and clawing his bare fingers into the slippery face of the wet rock.

The ascent was as perilous as it was arduous, but long years of devoted preparation and stubborn training had made Findekáno far stronger and more resilient than any random, benighted wanderer who might have chanced upon so strange and shocking a sight.

At last, he reached a narrow ledge on which he could stand and rest.

Tilting his face upward, he let his eyes travel along dirty, bare feet and long, shapely calves in captivated speechlessness.

This wretched captive, he knew instinctively, was the person of whom he’d been dreaming his whole life…only, those alluring calves melted into bony knees and seemingly endless thighs.

Impatient by nature, he let his gaze move across narrow hips and a taut, pale stomach hastily until it came to rest, astonished and aghast, on a well-defined but unmistakably flat chest.

Findekáno’s stomach somersaulted and his bleeding, aching fingers went numb; he’d found the love of his life, the person who’d right all the countless wrongs of their realm, the very embodiment of his own elusive fate at long last.

His impervious, bold heart stuttered in his heaving chest. Who was he to question fate? Destiny made no mistakes, and he’d risked too much and come too far to turn back now without at least trying to meet this last exquisite challenge head-on.

“You’re not what I expected,” he blurted out.

“I’m ever so sorry if my impersonation of a deviously beguiled and betrayed abductee is not to your liking,” the other rasped, grey eyes flashing in tandem with the churning sky behind him.

“No, I am sorry,” Findekáno replied courteously. “I…surmised that you’d be a woman, but no matter. I’ve been waiting, hoping, wishing for you. My name is Findekáno.”

“I’d shake your hand, but…” the literal hanger-on smiled sharply. “My name is Nelyafinwë. I’ve learned…was it today? Yesterday? A month ago? I know not…that I was a prince. Before I could fulfil my glorious purpose, though, I found myself…between a rock and a hard place, if you will forgive my grim sense of humour.”

Findekáno nodded feelingly; he’d not brought any crafting tools, and even if he was to climb down again to fetch his bow and his dwindling food supplies, he wasn’t confident that he’d then be better equipped to free what was, in all likelihood, his soulmate.

Already, he felt the eerie but irresistible pull of a power far beyond his understanding or control ensnare every fibre of his being.

Instinctively, he understood that the time of struggle and fight was at an end—he wholeheartedly yielded to the warm chains of a nascent bond taking hold of him and rooting him to the bare rock underfoot.

“Have you come to a conclusion?” he then asked cautiously, ready and willing to follow his fated lover’s wishes and commands.

“The hand has to go,” Nelyafinwë replied dryly. “Unfortunately, I seem to be unable to pull myself up for long enough to gnaw it off.”

Horrified, Findekáno patted his belt. “I have a knife if that is of any use to you?”

Like all people who spent their lives waiting for one very specific event to happen, he was thoroughly overwhelmed and discombobulated by the sheer speed and chaotic violence with which that monumental incident tore through his existence like an avalanche.

Unafraid even in the face of certain devastation, Findekáno straightened in a touching imitation of his mother’s steadfast stance of devoted resolution.

“Hand it over!” Nelyafinwë groaned, stretching out a blood-stained, long-fingered hand.

“Will you marry me?” Findekáno asked, holding the lethal blade out of reach.

He knew not why these words had burst from his lips so uncouthly—he’d always envisioned a long courtship full of peaceful walks and tense repasts in flowering meadows—but he couldn’t deny that it felt right.

Surely, Nelyafinwë also sensed their uncanny link. Didn’t he?

Imprudent and nonsensical as his paroxysm of desperate affection was, he stood firm under the bemused scrutiny of those gorgeous, stormy eyes.

“Is that a proposal? Once I’m out of here, I’ll literally give you my hand in marriage,” Nelyafinwë chuckled darkly.

“Don’t you have to consult your parents?”

“You have no idea how much they’ve hidden from me,” the other commented with an exasperated sigh. “Serves them well. I can’t shake the feeling that this, gruesome as it is, was meant to happen. So, may I have your knife as a token of your suit?”

Surrendering the weapon wordlessly, Findekáno felt his heart soar—he slung his strong arms around the cool, slick legs of his fiancé to steady him and keep him from plummeting to his death as soon as he’d escaped his bonds.

It was wrong, he knew, but—standing on the edge of disaster while blood and rain plastered his tunic to his heaving chest—he was perfectly happy.

Thank you for reading!

-> Masterlist

[ereardon]

The Back Seater and the Baker || Chapter 2 [Bob Floyd x f!OC]

Overview: Bob hasn't seen Haley Nichols since he was fifteen. But when Haley shows up out of the blue with one sentence that throws Bob for a loop – "I'm turning thirty in two weeks, are we still on?" – all of the feelings from their childhood return. Bob never thought that Haley would remember the marriage pact the two made when they were just kids, even if he never forgot. So what happens when Bob falls all over again for his childhood crush? And what will Bob do when he discovers the real reason she came back to capitalize on the pact is to secure her inheritance and save her bakery from bankruptcy? Will he believe Haley when she confesses that she loves him, too?

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x OC [Bakery owner Haley Nichols]

Tropes: Marriage pact

Chapter summary: Haley reminisces about how she met Bob as kids; Bob surprises Haley with an exhilarating first date; the two share a second first kiss

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol

Word count: 3.1K

Series masterlist here; previous chapter here

You were nine the first time you laid eyes on Bob Floyd. 

This time his family was new in town and he started three weeks into the fourth grade. 

“Class, we have a new joiner.” Your teacher, Mrs. Pebbles, put her hands on Bob’s thin shoulders. “This is Robert Floyd, he’s just moved here from. Where are you from, sweetpea?” 

Bob nudged the thick frames up his nose where they had slipped. “Mobile.”

“Alabama,” Mrs. Pebbles said. “OK honey, take a seat. Anywhere with a free desk.” 

Even back then, Bob was nervous looking. Almost anxious for a child. He paused at the front of the class, worry creasing his tiny face, shoulders hunched under the weight of his blue Jansport backpack. 

You looked up and smiled, eyes flicking to the empty desk to your left. Bob looked at you questioningly and you nodded. Finally, he started down the aisle, sliding into the empty seat near the window. 

“I’m Haley,” you said softly as Mrs. Pebbles gathered a stack of papers at the front of the room and started handing out a sheet with math equations. 

“Bob,” he whispered. 

“Not Robert?” 

“Not really.” 

“OK,” you said, smiling. “You can eat lunch with me, if you want.” 

“Really?”

You nodded. “I’ll meet you by the cafeteria doors after fourth period.” 

Bob cocked his head to one side. Mrs. Pebbles was closing in on the two of you and class would resume soon. “Why are you being nice to me?” 

“Everyone needs a friend,” you said quietly. 

Later that day, Bob walked, hunched over, through the busy hallway toward the cafeteria. He didn’t expect much. He had moved before, he knew what it was like to be the new kid. 

So when he looked up and saw you smiling at the cafeteria doors, his heart leapt in his chest. 

He fell in love with you a little, then and there. 

***

You learned that Bob had gone to school and then quickly enrolled in officer’s training and that he was something called a WSO. His family had never left Mount Pleasant. They still went to the Harris Teeter off of Long Grove Drive, and First Baptist by the waterfront. 

Bob listened with rapt attention as you told him about your time in undergrad and then at Wharton. How you had graduated with a MBA and moved to New York, but felt unfulfilled, spending night after night at an investment banking office in FiDi until three in the morning. How the only thing that you had enjoyed was going home to your Tribeca studio and cooking in the early hours of the morning when the rest of the city slept. That after a year you quit your job and enrolled in culinary school, where you met Calvin, and that together the two of you had moved back to Charleston where you ran a bakery near King Street. 

Before you realized, your plates had been cleared and your stomach was full but all you could remember were Bob’s piercing blue eyes as he watched you. You tossed your hands in the air, you had always been an animated talker, and he grinned. Suddenly you were fifteen again and somewhere deep in your stomach you felt a pang of guilt. 

The waiter swept by and before you could reach out, Bob had slipped him a credit card. 

“Hey,” you frowned. “Dinner was supposed to be on me, remember?” 

“Absolutely not, darlin’,” he said and you felt an ache between your legs at how good the small glimpses of Bob’s accent were. “Been waiting a long time to take you out on a proper date.” 

“I liked eating pralines by the water just as much as any expensive date.” 

“I know you did,” Bob said softly. “That’s what I love about you.” 

His words hovered in the air. Heavy. The waiter returned with the card folder and Bob busied himself signing the check. You watched his neat handwriting, the way his hand shook slightly as he put the pen down and smoothed the paper receipt. 

Bob looked up. “Shall we?” 

You nodded, standing up, Bob’s hand light against the small of your back as he guided you out of the restaurant into the dark street. Without thinking, you turned to him, slipping your hand into his. “I know I gave you a surprise, just showing up,” you whispered. “But I’m really glad I came.” 

Bob smiled. “Me, too.” 

“Doesn’t feel weird?” you asked. 

He shook his head. “Somehow, no. I think a part of me always hoped one day you’d show up out of the blue and ask me to marry you.” 

You laughed, head thrown back, and Bob grinned. His fingers were warm and solid in your hand. “I’d invite you over, but my hotel room isn’t very guest friendly.” 

“I’m pretty tired, Peanut,” Bob admitted. “And we have a test flight in the morning. But what are you doing tomorrow?” 

“I don’t know, what are we doing?” 

Bob’s eyes lit up. “I’ll text you where to meet me. Wear closed toe shoes.” 

You squinted. “What?” 

“Just go with it, darlin’,” he whispered and you felt goosebumps line your skin. Somewhere between 2007 and now, Bob had gotten sexy. There was a gravely nature to his voice, a dominance that hadn’t been there when the two of you were kids. He had filled out and even though you had yet to see him naked you just knew that there was muscle where before it had only been skin and bones. 

You leaned in and grazed your lips against his cheek, kissing him softly. “See you tomorrow, Bobby.” 

***

 You frowned at the GPS. This couldn’t be right. You were at the gates of Top Gun. Two men in full military gear stood with guns outside the imposing gates as you drove your rental car up. 

“Can we help you, miss?” the shorter one asked. 

“I uh, I’m meeting someone.” 

“Name?” 

“Haley Nichols.” 

“Their name.” 

“Oh, crap, sorry it’s Bob Floyd. Robert Floyd.” 

“Lieutenant Floyd.” He flicked through a page on his tablet. “That’s approved.” He nodded to the man next to him who pressed a button, opening the gate. “Have a nice day.” 

“Thanks.” You drove through the gate slowly, in awe. You had wondered what Bob would do as an adult. He had always been math and science oriented as a kid. You had thought maybe a chemist, a physicist, a professor. 

Never had you expected him to go into the navy. 

You pulled the car into a parking lot and stepped out, shielding your face from the late afternoon sun with one hand. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a figure emerge from a large white hangar, in a green outfit. As he drew nearer, you realized it was Bob. 

“Hey!” he said, slowing down his jog as he met you. Without even thinking, you tossed your arms around his neck, drawing him into a hug. He pulled back, smiling. “You ready?” 

“For what?” you asked. 

Bob grinned. “Time to suit up, darlin’.” 

“I, what?” 

He grabbed your hand, tugging you toward the white building. You couldn’t help but admire how he looked in his flight suit, hair combed back neatly, glasses perfectly balanced on his button nose. His hand was warm in yours and you followed him willingly into the shade of the hangar, out from the blinding sun. 

Looking around, you felt small. Jets towered above you. It felt illegal standing so close to them, practically brushing against the metal bellies that you knew were lethal weapons in the air. 

Bob smiled down at you. “Well?” 

“I can’t believe this is your job,” you whispered softly, in awe. “It’s just not what I predicted for you.” 

Bob squeezed your hand before letting it fall. “Come on, have a surprise for you.” 

“Floyd!” A few people from the bar entered the hangar, all wearing matching green flight suits. You recognized the tall one with the scars on his jaw. Chicken or something similar. 

“Rooster,” Bob said. “You remember Haley.” 

“The fiance.” Rooster smiled down at you. “I remember. Nice to see you again.” 

“Nice to see y’all.” 

“Is it take your girlfriend to work day?” The familiar blond with perfect features grinned from the back of the group. 

“Haley here is going on her first flight today,” Bob said and you looked up, astonished. He smiled widely. “Surprised?”

“Terrified,” you replied and Bob smoothed his hand over your back. 

“You’ll do fine.” 

“Are you taking me up?” 

He shook his head and your face fell. “Phoenix is. I trust her more than anyone.” He leaned in closer. “I wouldn’t trust you with anyone else. I promise.” 

“You’re Floyd’s girl, wouldn’t dare to try anything.” Phoenix appeared on the fringe of the group with a smirk. “Although I will say you look a lot like my ex-girlfriend, so no guarantees.” 

Bob flushed and you laughed. 

Phoenix handed you a flight suit and a helmet. “Bathroom is over there. Suit up babe, we’re heading up in a few.” 

The flight suit felt uncomfortable as you followed Phoenix out to the jet on the runway. Bob stopped as Phoenix started to do checks on the plane. “You can say no,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to force you into anything. I just thought it might be fun.” 

You gulped down your anxiety. “Can I talk to you on the headset?” 

He nodded. “I’ll be up there with Rooster so you can talk to me the whole time, OK?” 

You nodded and Bob leaned in, pressing his lips to your cheek, his fingers inching low on your back. “See you on the ground, Peanut.” 

The moment you were in the skies, your stomach was in your throat but as soon as you and Phoenix penetrated the clouds, it lifted. “On your left,” Phoenix said into the mic and you looked over, Bob and Bradley’s jet hovering in the space next to you. Bob waved enthusiastically and you waved back, beaming. “Ready to roll?” she asked. 

“What?” 

“Hold on,” Phoenix said, and the next second you were flattened, the jet slicing through the air at speeds you had never imagined before. It was like being on a rollercoaster but also on LSD. You let out a little yelp. 

“Doing OK, honey?” Bob’s voice was sweet in your ear. You had almost forgotten he was there. 

“I think so,” you gasped. 

“Phoenix, slow down,” Bob demanded. 

Phoenix laughed. “She’s fine, Floyd. You’re alright, aren’t you Hales?” 

You looked around. It was a layer of fluffy white clouds. In the jet next to you, even behind the helmet you could tell that Bob was worried. You nodded. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Bob pressed. 

“She’s a big girl, Floyd,” Phoenix said, pushing the jet faster. “Hold on, pumpkin.” 

The two of you shuttled forward into the abyss. After a few moments, you watched Bob’s jet catch up on your left. And suddenly, it wasn’t so scary anymore. There was an exhilaration. It was like nothing you had ever experienced. “Holy shit,” you whispered, completely forgetting the mic was turned on. 

Phoenix laughed. “See, she’s having fun.” 

“Peanut?” Bob’s voice over the mic was crinkly. 

You turned to your left and grinned. “Remember the third grade when Keith Atwater said he could beat me in a foot race?” 

Bob chuckled. “You wiped the floor with him.” 

“Think Phoenix and I can beat the two of you that bad now?” 

“Oh shit.” Rooster’s voice came over the mic. “I think we’re being challenged, Floyd. What do you say?” 

“Sure about that honey?” 

“She suggested it,” Phoenix said. “Or are you scared of losing, Floyd?” 

Bob’s voice was velvet over the mic. “Peanut?” 

“Be prepared to get your ass handed to you.” 

Rooster and Phoenix laughed in unison. “Count us down, Peanut,” Bob said. “Two minutes, on the clock.” 

“Losers buys the winners beer.” 

“Three, two, one.” 

You felt your head snap back as Phoenix kicked the plane forward, the two of you piercing through the air. You could barely see or breathe or think, and you had no idea how they did anything other than just fly when they were in the air, let alone make rational decisions, defend allies, action plans. 

It was over before you even knew it, Phoenix whooping in the seat in front of you as Bob and Rooster pulled up on your left, shaking their heads. 

“See you boys down there,” Phoenix said, dipping the nose of the jet gently toward land. 

“Nice job, Nix.” Bob’s voice floated through your headset. “Guess I owe you a drink, Peanut.” 

You grinned as Phoenix guided the plane down back to the runway. Once the jet had stopped, she opened the hatch and unclipped herself, turning around, helmet under her arm. “Listen, Floyd is my back seater. That means he trusts me with his life, and I trust him with mine.” Her gaze was hard. “I want to like you, Haley. Just don’t hurt him.” 

You stood up. “I won’t.” 

She nodded, climbing out of the jet and holding out a hand. “I’m going to hold you to that.” 

Bradley and Bob were down on the ground a moment later. You climbed out of the jet and down onto the ground, swiping your hair back from your face, waiting for the two to dismount. Bob climbed out first, bounding over and before you could even register the action in your mind you were reaching up, wrapping him in a hug. His arms came around your waist tightly, pulling you in closer. Once the two of you parted, you touched his sweaty face softly. “Best date ever.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded. Bradley approached from behind, clapping Bob on the back. “Think we owe these ladies some drinks.” 

“One drink,” Bob said, leading you back to the hangar, “but that’s it.”

You pouted. “One drink? That wasn’t the deal. I thought it was an all night offer.” 

Bob’s hand was heavy on your back as he leaned in. “One drink because I want you to myself the rest of the night.” 

You looked up at him with a grin. 

***

Bob’s house was small and charming. You had seen only the kitchen and foyer that first night that you showed up. He drove you back in your car, leaving his truck at the base. You took a shower, emerging from the bathroom to find that Bob had laid out a pair of boxers and one of his old sweatshirts for you to wear on the bed. 

When you emerged from the bedroom, Bob was standing in the living room with his flight suit tied around his waist, black t-shirt clinging to his abdomen. He spotted you and hung up the phone. “Perfect, thanks.” Bob slid the phone into his pocket. “I ordered a pizza, hope that’s OK. Thought we might want to stay in and all I have in the fridge is some old cheese and a decaying apple.” 

“Pizza sounds great.” You wanted to step closer, tear the shirt from Bob’s sweaty muscles where it clung to him, feel the hardness of his abdomen beneath your fingertips. You were surprised at the level of attraction you had to Bob. Even after all this time. Even after everything. 

“I’m going to shower,” he said softly. “Be right out, I promise.” 

You nodded and Bob disappeared down the hall. He was only gone a minute when your phone buzzed. You pulled it out of your bag on the ground and groaned. 

Peterson wedding wants to cancel the mini cupcake order. That’s $800. What should I do?

“Fucking hell,” you muttered, dialing Calvin. He picked up immediately. “No.” 

“Well I know it’s a no, but how do I say no?” 

“You just say no,” you repeated, pacing around the small living room. “They signed a contract. So they can either have the cupcakes or not, either way they’re paying the price.” 

Calvin sighed. “Alright, fine, I’ll call bridezilla.” 

“Thank you.” You slumped down onto the sofa. 

“How’s it going?” he asked. “How’s the fake boyfriend?” 

“His name is Bob,” you corrected. “And he’s actually amazing.” 

“Oh sweetie.” Calvin’s voice was dripping with pity. “Don’t go falling in love with him. Did you tell him about Grandma Lee and the clause?” 

“No,” you snapped, eyes wide, but the shower was still running. “And he’s not going to find out.” 

“Everything bites you in the ass sooner or later.” 

“He’s a good person,” you said gently. “Nice. Kind. Handsome.” 

“Handsome? What does Mr. Perfect do?” 

“He’s a Navy pilot.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

You grinned. “You’d be in heaven. All of his friends are gorgeous.” 

“If I didn’t have to make sixteen cakes tomorrow I’d be on the first flight to California.” 

The water in the bathroom stopped. “Listen, Cal, I gotta run. Text me with any issues, OK?” 

“You got it boss.” Calvin paused. Then, “And Haley?” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s going to come out eventually,” he said. “So don’t get too attached.” 

Bob walked out into the hallway, wet hair combed back neatly, wearing a pair of joggers and a t-shirt. You stood up, smiling. “Too late. I’ll talk to you later.” You ended the call. 

“Everything OK?” Bob asked, crossing the room. He looked like he wanted to touch you, put a hand on your waist, slide his hand against yours. But he held back. 

You nodded. “Yeah. You’re here, so everything is fine.” 

Bob stepped closer. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body. It made your skin tingle with the sheer anticipation. “The last thing I expected was to open my door and find you,” he whispered, voice deep and sultry and it skimmed over your curves in waves. “And here you are, fifteen years later. Still the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

“Oh, Bobby,” you sighed. 

“I mean it, Peanut,” he said and you knew he did. Truth was laced into every single world falling out of his mouth. “Not a day goes by where I didn’t wish that things could have been different. That you could have stayed. That we had tried harder to make things work. That I had tracked you down sooner.” 

“Things happen for a reason,” you murmured, closing the gap between the two of you, looping your arms around Bob’s neck, his blue eyes glued on yours. 

“Maybe.” 

“I think this is our second chance,” you said as Bob’s fingers reached out, ghosting over your waist. 

“I can't waste a second chance,” Bob said, leaning down, free hand cupping the back of your neck as his lips landed on yours, consuming you in a kiss that you felt might never end. 

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[iboatedhere]

I saw the word "farmhouse" in the Henry POV chapter and promptly lost it. Thanks @rmd-writes @pragmatic-optimist and @welcometololaland for all the hand-holding you've done and will continue to do.

Tagging @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @lemonlyman-dotcom @beautifulhigh @basilsunrise @ramblingdisaster73

--

It takes two trips to unload everything he bought. The stairs are one challenge and David is another, twirling around his feet, happy to see him even though he was only gone for a short time. 

He changes into his designated work jeans, already  broken in and comfortable with a tear at the left knee and a stubborn leather polish stain on the thigh, and one of Alex’s old t-shirts, so old and threadbare he’s surprised it surprised the journey from Brooklyn. 

He takes off his wedding ring and leaves it in the gold keepsakes box on the top of their dresser, not willing to take any chances after losing it in the barn. They had found both their rings almost side by side the morning after with the metal detector. Alex had started waxing lyrical about how it must have been fate and Henry, who was so thankful to have the ring back tucked both rings safely into the front pocket of his shirt then hauled Alex into the tack room then dropped to his knees to thank him. 

In his office he pushes all the boxes out of the way then lays the drop cloths over everything. He tapes off the baseboard and around the ceiling and all the electrical outlets and switches. 

He sits back on the floor and surveys the work he’s already done, knowing he hasn’t even done the hard part yet. 

Primer, Matt had said, was an important first step. 

Henry puts the first coat on too thick and it drips off the roller onto the cloth, immediately proving their worth. 

He learns from his mistakes and gets the proper coating of primer on the wall, stopping halfway to throw the windows open and fetch a fan from downstairs to cut down on drying time and help ventilate the fumes. 

He’d never hear the end of it from Alex if he’s almost passed out again. 

While the primer dries he takes a break for lunch and takes David on a walk. Back upstairs he cracks open the bucket of Oak Grove, a moss green that reminds him of early spring at Balmoral. 

He’s halfway through the second coat when Alex arrives, stepping through the front door with a loud “honey, I’m home,” greeting. 

“Upstairs,” Henry calls. 

“Still?” Alex hollers, followed by the sound of him climbing the stairs taking them two at a time. “Did you pass out from the fumes?”

“Not once,” Henry promises as Alex slides into the doorway and huffs. 

“Holy fuck.”

“Do you like it?” Henry asks, stepping back and admiring his work. “I can’t believe how many colors there are to choose from. Do you know that there are one hundred seventy seven different shades of white?”

“Does it remind you of looking at your family tree?”

“Need I remind you you’re now a part of that tree? A little dash connects me to you forever.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that everyone else is beige to extra beige and that’s not what I was talking about.”

“But do you like the color? I thought maybe it was too dark but there’s plenty of light from the windows—.”

“I wasn’t talking about the color I was talking about you. Jesus tits, look at you.”

Henry looks down at his paint splattered outfit. “What about it?”

“What about—what about it? It’s everything. It’s unlocking a very specific fantasy that I never knew I needed. It’s like you’re the hot handyman and I’m the overworked, under-sexed—.”

“You have never once been under-sexed your entire adult life.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Handyman Henry, or I'll...dock your pay? No, that’s a douchebag move, I would never do that and depending on the contract you signed–illegal. Are you in a union? What am I talking about, this is my sexual fantasy, of course you’re in a union.”

“My god. You’re worried about my contract but not the legality of propositioning your employee? 

“Who said I was going to be the one propositioning you? Nah, you’re gonna come onto me.” 

“Am I now?” 

Alex hums and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m gonna be in the kitchen making my dinner for one and you’re gonna come downstairs with a wound that needs to be tended to.”

“How do I wound myself?”

“I don’t know…opening a paint can? Don’t you have to shove a little thing under the rim and pop it out?”

“These cans actually have a very convenient pour spout. Matt, the clerk at the hardware store said it was a new feature. He's a nice kid. I thought he had a bit of a crush on me.”

“Of course he did, look at you.”

“Turns out he’s a fan of both of us.”

“Of course he is, look at me.”

“I am looking at you. I’m looking at you leaning against wet paint.”

“Oh shit,” Alex says as he pulls himself away from the wall.

[alpydk]

Nothing Right

Shhh... It's not just Gale I'm capable of hurting.

Escorting the tieflings and Wulbren from Moonrise Prisons had been an almost pleasant experience. You saw how relieved Lakrissa was to be back with Alfira, saw how happy Barcus was to see his prick of a friend, saw how worried Cal and Lia… The bar lay empty, only the children cleaning tankards behind the oak barrier met your gaze.

You’d left their older sibling drinking more than his fill before you’d gone off to rescue the taken refugees, his complaints and misery a little too much combined with the shadow curse that plagued the lands. It was one thing to be out amongst the darkness that ebbed at your soul, but another to be in a place of rest, experiencing the same suffering. He’d blamed you for what had happened, how if you’d never been involved, they would have made it to the city by now and you’d tried to explain how you were more than willing to help only for your words to fall on deaf ears. He’d continued to raise the pungent smelling liquor to his lips, his words slurring, and you’d gone on your way, hoping that the amount he was drinking would mean for little strength to get from the inn, let alone out of the makeshift town.

Cal looked at you first in puzzlement and then in fear. Maybe Rolan had just passed out in one of the inn’s bedrooms. Maybe he’d gone to berate the craftsmanship of Dammon’s weapons that had not been enough to save everyone. You could only hope he hadn’t gone and done what he’d threatened to, taking the rescue of his siblings into his own poorly equipped hands. You recognised he was skilled, you’d seen that during the attack on The Emerald Grove, but the shadow creatures of this area were an entirely different kind of enemy, and if he’d gone alone, he would stand little chance before even getting into the territory of Kethric Thorm.

Lia searched the rooms, shouting down from the balcony that there was no sign of him, her red fingertips tapping anxiously on the wooden railing in front of her. Cal yelled from outside that a harper had spotted Rolan leaving some time ago and, despite their arguments, he’d paid little attention, his stubborn nature and arrogance leading him to an almost certain death. They wanted to come with you, weak and bruised from their journey, and you objected, telling them you would bring him back alive, that you would find him and escort him back to safety, that their family would be reunited once again.

---

The pixie’s blessing kept the curse at bay around you, but it didn’t increase the temperature and you still felt the way your bones felt the cold, a mild shiver coming from beneath your leather armour. You could hear the distant groans of the victims which had succumbed to the blackened tendrils that plagued the earth, their noises coming from all directions, keeping you on your toes. Obstacles seemed to jut from the ground every few feet, either abandoned wagons, or the corpses of those fortunate enough to have died rather than become the spectres that roamed.

As the distance from the inn increased, your hopes for finding the tiefling wizard alive began to falter. You kept your head held high, hiding the doubts from the friends which had agreed to help you in the search. Karlach led the pack, her axe at the ready, the glowing flames licking her hairline a welcome beacon a few feet from you. Gale kept close to you in the middle of the group, his calm nature bringing calm to your pacing heart, his silence unusual but needed. Shadowheart held the rear, the shadow curse thankfully having no effect on her. You didn’t know whether to thank or curse Shar for her involvement and so chose to just savour the knowledge that at least one member of your party would be safe should you all become separated.

It was the lit torch lying on the twisted vines a few meters away, which was the first sign to make your blood run cold and the icy grip to bring itself to your throat. You saw the surrounding footprints, scattered and disorganised, as if there had been a struggle, the ripples in the earth which could only signal a Thunderwave spell hitting a target. There was, however, no sign of the caster, no red and blue-robed wizard there to gloat of his abilities, no regal voice to chastise you for your involvement. There was only the creeping darkness on your location, and your slowly eroding optimism.

Your party continued a little further, the gates to Moonrise emerging in the distance, the dimmed torchlights giving off their subtle blue glow, guiding adventurers through to their fate. Wooden spikes had been set up as impromptu barricades, from the armies that descended upon the area, or to protect from the creatures that had soon followed; you knew not which.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood, your muscles tensing as you felt the eyes on you. You dared not look up at them as you heard the rasped hiss aimed in your direction, a sound that caused your heart to ache and breath to catch. Lifting your gaze confirmed your suspicions; Rolan, who once stood proud and confident, now dragged his feet along the ground, his firm body wrapped in shadowed weave. His once golden eyes that had swept up a storm within you now glowed the piercing white of the curse. All life had gone from him. Auburn tones of a skin you wished to touch now appeared ashen and distorted, his feature warped by blackened magic that had taken so many others.

If only you had been quicker, if only someone close to you had stayed and kept tabs on him, if only you’d been better, then maybe this would not have been his outcome. His arm raised held out towards you, his robes torn and ragged hanging from his frame. “Rolan, it’s me…” You knew your words were hopeless, that he had been lost, not only to you, but to Cal and Lia; ones you would have to return to empty-handed. His guttural growl forced Karlach in front of you, her axe raised, ready for the inevitable attack that was to come.

You stood frozen as you watched him, as his body shambled towards you, arms outstretched, eyes soulless. Rolan had been lost to the shadow curse, and it was all your fault. As the axe came down on him, you could only stand and stare, his blood no longer the warm red you expected, but a black sticky tar that oozed from the wound. You had no tears, no wailings of grief you could express. As the group leader, it was your responsibility to take care of this. You stepped forward as his body convulsed under the injury, his hand still reaching for you, and you heard the strained whispers emerge from the soft lips you’d once longed to kiss. Were the noises that of his last breaths escaping the monster, or a desperate wish to be put out of his misery as the last of his soul was beaten down by the curse? It mattered little as you plunged the dagger into his neck; the silence falling suddenly and heavily over your ears.

You checked over the body, your mind a million realms away as you searched through the robes for anything that would need to be returned to the soon to be distraught siblings. There was only one item you found on the corpse, a golden locket that you dared not to open. The only memento left of Rolan and the family he had once loved.

[lorena12me]

Almost every kid gets married or promises to marry someone on the school playground, but only Bernard does that promise come back to bite his ass 13 years later.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ok so this just wouldn't get out of my mind and I had to draw it to rest.

Well, I figured something like Bernard had a best friend in elementary school, who he used to play with at recess, used to go to the little grove at the end of the yard and share his lunch box and legos with him, they were the best friends. They promised to get married when they turned twenty so they could be together forever and when Bernard stopped seeing Tim, he "realized" that he was just an imaginary friend.

After all, no one else could see it and the bright blue wings and skin were indicative of Bernard's childish mind working at 100%. It had been fun, though, for as long as it lasted. Tim told him incredible stories about being the prince of a country, with a dragon for a father and a variety of brothers who were also magical creatures and according to him, Bernard had snuck into his castle. He played along because it was fun and Tim was very cute. The weird thing was that even though he grew up, his memories of Tim never faded like imaginary friends in children's minds do, he still remembered him and his stories perfectly.

On the other hand, Tim finds this intruder fascinating. No one has ever been brave enough to sneak into Bruce and his brothers' castle grounds just to play with Tim, show him such weird and funny things. When in the middle of one of his games the subject of marriage comes up (he doesn't know if it was Bernard or Tim who brought it up) he thinks it's a good idea. So they both promise, but then Bernard doesn't come back and Tim is sad for a while, but then he meets more friends (Kon, Bart and Cassie) and little by little Bernard becomes a nice memory in his memory.

Bruce found the fairy circle on his property and made sure to destroy it well enough that it would never grow again. He checked the territory to make sure that no unfortunate human was lost in the fairy realm or none of his subjects or his beloved children had gone to the human world unintentionally.

The promise is forgotten.

Tim becomes an ambassador for the Bruce kingdom and Bernard is making his way as an ER nurse.

And then Bernard comes home from a long shift to find an incredibly attractive stranger in his apartment playing with his cat.

"Hi Bern" The boy says with a dangerous smile "Do you remember me?"

From then on it would be a drama/comedy of the boys trying to break their promise, which obviously includes a trip/kidnapping of Bernard to the fairy realm, meeting the family, Ra's al Ghul trying to get rid of Bernard so that Tim he can marry one of his many daughters and have her join his family and work for him, more drama, and Tim and Bernard falling in love.

There are misunderstandings because they think that Bernard locked Tim in the promise to take advantage of him, and Bernard only knows that fairies are evil to humans and thinks that Tim is like that.

[dynjas]

Fighting for you (beta read version from the lovely healthyeyes (who I can't tag 😆))

Halsin X f!OC, slight Astarion X m!Tav, hurt/comfort, Druid!OC, Bard!Tav

---------

"[...] Halsin makes the perfect shield!"

Before Astarion could finish his snickering, a fist sent him flying on his ass.

Totally shocked, he held his swelling cheek and looked up only to find Serafina standing over him.

The druid wood elf woman was huffing in rage, and he could swear he saw her teeth sharpening. Her eyes were glowing silver, indicating she was shortly before her transformation into a white bear.

"If you dare to say that again, I'll rip your teeth out, you fu-!"

Before she could continue to enrage herself and turn into a bear to rip the vampire apart, Halsin grabbed Serafina and flung her over his shoulder. All air was punched from her lungs and the large druid saw his chance and ran into the treeline, should she still transform.

Meanwhile Saphira went to kneel beside Astarion to heal his boyfriend's cheek.

"You've gone too far, here. I hope you apologize to Halsin later. He's a living being and not an object, you know..." Saphira said.

"Your sister punched me!" Astarion protested.

"Yes, that she did. Halsin is really important to her and you should know that." Saphira said as his blue eyes roamed over Astarion so he could check for other injuries. When he found none, he got back up and pulled the vampire up with him. Astarion was still trying to process that the otherwise kind and caring woman just tried to fucking kill him.

------

A good ways away from camp Halsin finally sat a still raging Serafina on her feet.

"This fucking-!"

"Stop! Serafina, breathe! Control yourself! We went over that a year ago already!" Halsin's booming voice and his golden glowing eyes shook her out of it. He was ready to fight her bear with his own, and it wouldn't have been the first time.

When he first found her wounded from a fight with a pack of wolves and brought her back to the grove, over a year ago, she had trouble controlling her wildshape because she didn't have her emotions under control. After living in the woods for over fifty years on her own, being around so many people had been overwhelming, and she had transformed daily for the first few days.

Halsin, with his godlike patience, took time for her and practiced to calm herself down and getting used to living with others again - if she wished so.

And she did.

She didn't want to be alone anymore and Halsin welcomed her with open arms and a big smile into his grove and family. She was thanking Silvanus every day for leading Halsin to her.

So, she did as Halsin told her - she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself down. Before she even thought about opening her eyes again, she felt a big and warm hand on her wet cheek that had been stained with tears.

"Why are you crying, little one?" Halsin's soft and caring voice rang in Serafinas ears and she opened her green eyes to look at his brown grayish ones. She gave him a wry smile.

"I just can't tolerate how people are talking to you. I mean... you already jump ahead in battle to protect us!" She grabbed at his camp shirt and shook her head in disbelief. "You give so much to others, never asking for anything in return! You don't deserve to have people talk so badly about you!"

Halsin grabbed her hands and let his thumbs run over the backsides, "Calm down. You know how Astarion is. It's just -"

"No! Not even him! He doesn't have an excuse! No one does!"

Serafinas eyes were overflowing with tears again, so Halsin pulled her into his lap.

"My dear, calm down..."

She shook her head again and locked her determined wet eyes at him.

"No. I can't be calm. Someone has to fight for you. You don't do it yourself, but I will!”

"But why would you? It doesn't matter when someone says something mean to me. It doesn't have anything to do with you?" he questioned.

Halsin gently pushed a strand of her soft white hair behind her ear and stroked her wet cheek with his calloused thumb while looking utterly confused. Why would she take the burden to fight for him, when he himself didn't see the point? he wondered.

"Because you're worth it! Because you deserve it! Gods Halsin, you're giving everything for others. You're the kindest person I've met in my whole life! And I can't stand when people are cruel to the person I love the most! There is no reason to be cruel to you! Most just want to see how far they can poke you and I see how it breaks you every time inside while you smile politely!! I just can't stand there and watch anymore!"

While Serafina was gasping for air between her words and her tears, Halsin took in everything she said.

"You....love me?" He stared at the woman in his lap dumbfounded.

Serafina stopped rubbing her face and stared at Halsin. Did that really slip out? Nervously she reached for one of her long braids and toyed with one of the wooden ducks attached to the rope that holds her hair. Halsin once whittled two of them for her, so she had a cute little accessory. Those were her most precious possessions and she always had them in her braids.

"I...yes. How could I not?" Her face took a deep shade of red, and even though the night air chilled her skin, she felt really hot at the confession.

Halsin continued to just stare at her for a moment but then Serafina was suddenly pulled into a bone crushing hug. Just when she wanted to ask what was wrong, Serafina felt her shoulder getting wet. Her eyes widened in shock.

"Halsin?" She tried to look at him but he just shook his head into her neck and pulled her impossibly closer, silent. She settled for letting her hands run down his broad back to try and soothe him a little.

Before she knew it herself, she hummed a soft and soothing tune her mother used to sing when she and Saphira were upset to calm them down. She felt Halsin trembling in her arms and she could have sworn she heard some sobs escaping his lips. It broke her heart to see, feel and hear this otherwise strong man so broken.

Her hands continued to run over his back until she tangled her fingers of one hand into the hairs at the nape of his neck. She carefully threaded her fingers through some of the knots to detangle them while her other arm pulled him a little closer.

After a while Halsin calmed down and let Serafina look at him. She was now the one stroking his wet cheeks and smiling reassuringly at him.

"Better?" She asked, giving him a kiss on one of his cheeks, and he nodded.

"I- I'm sorry." Halsin's voice sounded rough from crying. "I'm not used to someone who gets mad for me, wanting to defend me. And then you tell me you...love me."

His voice broke again and he closed his eyes - trying to collect himself.

"Serafina, that's more than I could ever ask for. You're more than I could ever wish for."

Serafina was smiling up at him and took his hands in hers to squeeze them. They stared at each other for a long time - like they were communicating with their eyes.

"Now, should we go back to camp? I promise I won't tear Astarion apart, but I sure hope Saphira gets an apology out of him..." Reluctantly she rose to her feet and pulled Halsin with her.

Just when she wanted to turn her back to Halsin and make her way back to camp, the other druid whirled her around and kissed her softly.

"I'm right behind you, my heart."

Serafinas blush rose again but she couldn't fight the smile.

"I'm always here for you. No matter what."

-------

They walked back to camp hand in hand only to find a stern looking Saphira staring at a grumbling Astarion. When her brother noticed them, he smiled fondly.

"I'm glad you're both back. I think someone needs to tell you something, Halsin," Saphira said.

Serafina grinned beside the big druid, and he squeezed her hand in an attempt to still her malicious joy. He looked at Astarion who rose to his feet, not looking quite as amused. Halsin still didn't need an apology, but Saphira had gone through the trouble to get the vampire to make one.

Astarion let his eyes flicker to Saphira to send him a nasty look. Then he sighed dramatically and looked somewhat at Halsin. He didn't dare to meet the druids eyes.

"I'm... sorry for what I said. You're a living being, a good friend and not someone we can hold before us to shield us," Astarion said.

Halsin was shocked he got such a good apology from the vampire, and it made him even more happy.

"Thank you Astarion. I'm really happy that you put this much effort into this." He smiled down at the other.

Astarion made a "tch" sound and looked at Saphira.

"I'll remember this, darling!"

And then he stomped off into the woods. Most likely to hunt. Saphira just shrugged it off and smiled at Halsin and his sister.

"The apology wasn't that bad, was it?"

Halsin laughed loudly at that and Serafina squeezed the druids middle, pulling him into an embrace.

"I need to apologize to Astarion later too. The punch was deserved but he didn't deserve the threatening of the bear," she admitted.

"Ohhh he can wait until tomorrow." Saphira waved her off and looked at her and Halsin's newly linked hands. "But I think I'll let you two be. You need to discuss some things, I assume."

He dramatically bowed to them and winked at Serafina while retreating to the tent he shared with Astarion.

Serafina and Halsin looked at each other for a while until Halsin led the woman to his tent so they could retreat for the night. His heart felt light like never before - knowing he had found someone who would fight for him.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

God of Ambivalence

A tiefling Artificer splits a large stone on a beach to discover a one handed-wizard inside.

Pairing - Male OC/Gale (and some Shadowheart/Lae'zel which I mention because as of chapter fourteen there are more scenes of the two of them together than my main couple, but that's because I love me a slow burn and full disclaimer this is like an actual novel)

Chapter fourteen spoiler - A tiefling, a wizard, a githyanki monk and a cambion in disguise run into a fey creature who is interested in acquiring a new warlock.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Read Chapter Eight on Ao3

Read Chapter Nine on Ao3

Read Chapter Ten on Ao3

Read Chapter Eleven on Ao3

Read Chapter Twelve on Ao3

Read Chapter Thirteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fourteen on Ao3

Or read Chapter Fourteen below

There was probably only a hair of difference between Erakis and Elion when it came to height—Elion’s horns helped. All the same, it seemed like Erakis had longer legs and could outstrip all of them with humiliating ease. He was far ahead, finding paths that Elion’s eyes couldn’t see, and guiding them through the underbrush with no small amount of impatience. The journey to meet with his ranger friend and to use her portal was only meant to take a day—but was that according to his personal pace? If so, they’d have to make camp well before they got there.

Gale was predictably in the rear of the group, still recovering, in spite of what he said, and in spite of what the cleric had insisted. At certain times there might be a full quarter mile between Erakis and Gale, with Elion and Xan hovering in between to keep the group from splitting completely.

They talked, mostly of the wilderness around them and what they were seeing. Elion could feel the subject of their poor pace bubbling closer to the surface as each of them took it in turns to let their anxiety get the best of them and glance back over their shoulders at the wizard.

“Seems like your family is close with Arabella. Has she always stayed in this area?”

“Not at all,” Xan shook his head. “I understand that my moms met her in that druid’s grove near Moonhaven, but she’s nomadic. I’ve known her my whole life, but only for a few days at a time, and never in the same place twice.”

“Your whole life? I thought she was younger than me when I first laid eyes on her.”

“Something to do with her nature. Chosen of someone. Of something. We can only speculate. She started as a normal tiefling. Then changed. Rolan’s the same.”

Being a tiefling on its own was complicated. People were already frightened of them on sight—of the implications. Rolan and Arabella had the power to isolate themselves as needed. It was hard not to be intrigued by that. “You traveled around a lot too?”

“Had to,” Xan admitted, a little grim quirk lifted one side of his thin mouth. “When on Toril, I’m something of a novelty. That’s fine for a short time, but a novelty in one place too long becomes a pariah. On other planes, the same became true, and this world held me all the more.”

“I know that feeling,” said Elion, “not really belonging anywhere.”

“In spite of insistences.”

“Constant,” Elion groaned. “I can hear my mother’s voice now. She was always telling me I belong anywhere I stand. I wanted to believe it.”

“You’ll go see them, while in Baldur’s Gate? Your parents?” Xan asked.

“I think I must,” Elion both looked forward to it and dreaded it. Six months was the longest he’d ever gone without seeing his family, but the circumstances of the present reunion were not ideal. They hadn’t parted on the best terms and he would have deeply preferred to return with something more impressive to show for his time away than a few new muscles and a very disappointed master. “They’ll be a little insufferable.”

“They’ll want you to stay.”

“Yes.”

“Will you?”

“I don’t know,” Elion paused a moment to spare a glance back at Gale, but was reassured to notice that the wizard seemed to be improving his pace, gradually. Perhaps he’d gotten a second wind. “What do you think? When did you leave home? Really leave?”

“In a sense, I never did,” Xan admitted. “And in another sense, I never really had a permanent home to begin with, in the Faerûn tradition. The little cottage where my grandfather lives would be close. But, I have spare memories of living there with him, and both my mothers—more distantly, my grandmother. The githyanki may never know peace and independence, but it won’t be for lack of effort. That effort has taken me from one plane to another at frequent intervals, since I was old enough to remember,” Xan admitted, frowning. That much, Elion had surmised, but hearing Xan say it with all the weight of his life behind those memories made Elion appreciate that he’d had a relatively eventless upbringing, it also made him feel very young. He supposed he was, but it was easy to forget that, being a member of a species with such a short lifespan to begin with. He’d felt ancient ever since he realized his life was a quarter over, at best, and he felt it had barely started.

Xan smirked, “It seems like the first time I left home I must’ve been very young. Just the day before my mother had been chasing me around the garden in play,” he stroked his little beard and recalled with a note of laughter, “she used to remove her false eye and hold it out in front to frighten me. I’m still not sure if she can actually use it to peer around corners like that, but she always acted like she could.”

Up ahead, Erakis had stopped walking, but Elion had the sinking feeling it was not because he was waiting for them to catch up. The man’s massive back bent as he crouched low. He seemed tense, and Elion quieted his footfalls. Xan was sure-footed, but seemed to follow suit, turning to swiftly and silently throw a gesture at Gale.

It could be any manner of beast, or an ambush, or some spectacle. Not for the first time, Elion thought how foolish it was that they ever thought that they might make it to their destination in a single day, without any upsets, detours or disasters. That simply wasn’t how these things worked. Erakis wrapped one large hand around the polearm of his spear, which did nothing to assuage Elion’s concerns. “Should we wait?” He caught Xan’s arm.

“You stay here, keep out of sight. I’ll make sure he doesn't need help.”

Xan moved like a scuttling reptile, silent and so fast it made Elion feel a little dizzy to imagine moving under his own power that way. The Monk reached Erakis so quickly that Elion had to privately acknowledge, somewhat sheepish, that if Xan and Erakis had traveled on their own, they probably would have reached their destination already. The two exchanged a word, seemed to be arguing. Xan gestured in front of them and gave a shrug. Erakis rolled his entire head and beckoned for the other two to approach. It was safe, apparently.

When he reached them, he saw that the hold up was just a small group of travelers ahead on the road. They were in some distress, having broken a cartwheel. They appeared to be nothing more than a little human family, with two young children and an old granny snoozing in the back of the lopsided cart. A man was trying to dig beneath the cart, perhaps hoping to get under it enough to put a new wheel on, but where they’d get a new wheel, Elion couldn’t say.

“Just some travelers in need of aid.”

“I could probably fix the broken wheel—or if not, I’m sure Gale could conjure a new one,” Elion suggested.

Erakis looked like he wanted to protest, but didn’t seem to be able to form the argument. Sensing his unease, Xan said, “They don’t really look dangerous. And it won’t take long to give them a hand.”

“Do as you like,” Erakis’ mouth, jaw and throat were all tight as he turned away.

For the life of him, Elion couldn’t discern what the problem could be. He suspected that Erakis was already annoyed with them for taking longer than expected, but maybe he could alleviate some of that irritation if he just showed off how simple it was to repair the cart with the tiniest bit of magic—or even just basic engineering. Elion had both skills at his disposal. 

The family hadn’t noticed them yet. They were still far enough back and mostly veiled by the brush. The mother looked to be close to tears as she distantly begged her children not to wander far from the cart. It may be a simple enough thing for Elion to fix, but they were clearly out of their depth, and probably exhausted from travel. No reason not to lend a hand when it cost them so little. He might even be able to have it all sorted before Gale caught up with them.

He raised his hand to call to them, when suddenly Xan grabbed him by the arm to stop him. “Wait!” he hissed. “Where’s the wizard?”

Elion whirled around, but Xan’s concern was well founded. Gale was gone. He’d been back a ways—but not far enough for them to get split up naturally. There was now no trace of him at all on the trail.

“Godsdammit,” murmured Erakis and he let out the deepest of sighs.

“Godsdammit,” Xan echoed with marked more enthusiasm.

Elion saw a moment later that they were both facing the direction of the road ahead again. The family had vanished, along with their cart and the tracks Elion was sure had marked the mud behind it. All of it had been an illusion, and a powerful one.

#

The first thing Gale became aware of was that he was missing time. That thought struck him before he even knew where he was, before he fully took in the view, floral and herb scent, and humid weight of the muggy air around him. It was dark, but not in an ominous or underground way, more like a well insulated chamber with the curtains drawn over what few windows it had. There was a little candlelight for convenience, but the glowing embers in the fireplace were about as much extra warmth as one could stand during these summer months. The chamber, wherever it was, would serve better in winter. Gale was setted at a low table, his knees jutting up to his chest. He held a cup of tea in his good hand, his new prosthetic listing to repeatedly tap the side of the tin cup with a faint chiming song. It was the ringing in his ear that seemed to draw him to his senses.

Something was very wrong. The last thing he remembered clearly was walking along that narrow pathway out under the blazing sun. Elion and Xan had been ahead of him, Erakis shaming them all, far ahead. Then.

Lilac? Did he recall the strong scent of lilac? And a laughing voice.

He looked around the small chamber for some anchor of reality, but there was nothing familiar, and nothing to pin his location.

He wasn’t alone, however.

The woman was busying herself, arranging something on a plate. She appeared young at first glance, though her movements were a bit too smooth, a bit too poised. She delicately stroked a variety of nuts, simple biscuits and dried fruit into place with the deliberate and thoughtless movements of someone who had long ago learned to disguise their lack of vigor with a touch of maturity and grace. Her face though, turned to the side, was youthful, and her skin was clear and perfect, what of it he could see. Down her back she had a braid knotted at even intervals and adorned with silver trinkets that matched an overbright sheen in the corner of her eye.

He felt like he’d been here for some time. The acrid hum of fey magic buzzed in the air, more apparent than when Arabella had unfolded herself from nowhere. Whatever he’d gotten himself into, and however it had happened, he needed to be careful. And, probably not drink the tea in his hand.

“I’m afraid my offerings are rather meager today,” the woman apologized as she set the plate before him on the table and stroked crumbs off her apron before sitting down beside him. Her voice didn’t sound like a woman of nineteen either, but the glamor was very good. He couldn’t find the edges of it. Couldn’t begin to guess what she really was. “It’s this time of year, nothing has quite sprung to life yet, and the winter larder and pantry are all but spent. Give it a few days and the whole of the land will start to awaken.”

An anxiety gripped him as Gale had to suppress the urge to ask about the others. It was grim arithmetic, but he did it in an instant, had to think of it. If he’d been taken by some fey creature, which seemed confirmed by his present situation, then it was all but impossible she’d simply left his companions out on the road, unbothered, where they might yet come search for him. In all likelihood, she had them in some kind of confinement, intending to use them for leverage.

But, leverage to do what? What did she want with him?

He wasn’t above sacrificing a moment’s peace and decorum to demand answers, but she spared him by addressing his unasked question with the smallest of smirks on her too pretty, and too predatory face. “Now, I’ll be quite honest with you, lad. I’ve  interviewed likely candidates for a pact before, but I’m well out of practice. I hope you’ll go easy on me.” Her violet eyes had an undulating warmth to them, more like the embers in her fire than sunlight, but with the smallest hint of blinding fury.

“A pact?” Gale’s concern ebbed, then redoubled. A fey creature soliciting a warlock was it? Interesting. “I’ll admit, I’ve never seriously considered a warlock’s pact.”

“That word seriously does quite a lot of work in that statement though, doesn't it?” she teased, and her chiding wasn’t a shot in the dark. There was such confidence behind it that Gale had to narrow his guesses about her true nature down to fey creatures with some natural divination ability. She could see a portion of his past, in all likelihood, maybe even pick up traces of dark things from his mind and private memory. Alternatively, there was the time he couldn’t remember. Had she drawn some secrets from him while he was entranced?

“I’m sure you’ve heard it all before, all their trembling warnings about the intoxication of power. Wizards like you pursue it as a life’s work. It’s an obsession. Those are the highlights of the lecture, are they not?” the woman rolled those purple eyes as she took a sip of tea from her own cup. “Oh! And the self destruction and misery that it leads to, of course.”

“Of course,” Gale had indeed heard this lecture—in a number of different languages, in fact. “But there are marked differences between what drives one to dedicate themselves to the study of magic as a wizard, as opposed to what drives a warlock to pursue power.”

“True,” the woman conceded, “I have my own understanding of those differences—but what do you think they are?”

“The effect of mastering magic is part of the appeal, part of what drives the obsession,” Gale didn’t like to follow this thought to its logical conclusion, because it had some rather bleak implications for his melancholic disposition, but it was also observably true. It wasn’t just magic that was his obsession, it was the continual pursuit of the unobtainable. “I would never describe myself as a patient man, but a warlock’s pact is certainly something of a shortcut, and one that doesn't appeal to me. I’ll take the long road, thank you.”

The woman let out a quick bark of laughter that turned into a giggle behind her hand, “the long road? You could cast fireball by the time you were eight.”

“True enough. That’s an unnerving little trick, you know? Peering into my past.”

“I am well aware,” the woman smirked, “but it's as natural as breathing to someone like me. How considerate are you, when it comes to suppressing all the things you know so that the people around you feel more comfortable?”

She had him there, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

“The truth is, you are remarkable, and under better circumstances, I don’t think you could be tempted by even the most reasonable of pacts. But. Your circumstances,” she gestured to him, one long finger nearly brushing across his prosthetic. “If left entirely to your own devices, perhaps you could have overcome the frequent pitfalls of power’s endless pursuit. You might’ve been the exception, and not just another Karsus. But, you do have such circumstances, don’t you? You were interfered with at every turn, one might even say that you were pushed to ruin. Dragged there.”

“One might,” he’d had those thoughts himself, during the darkest nights alone in his tower, when he felt fragility and mortality most keenly. When time seemed to gush rather than seep, and he feared he’d face an ignominious end before he ever got another chance at greatness, or redemption. “But, it hardly follows that I should—”“—oh, I think it does follow.” The woman’s flare of excitement gave him pause. “I think it’s the most natural thing in the world to recognize that even with a shortcut, you still might face inevitable defeat by your own ambitions. As natural as death itself. You are no ordinary dreamer. The unobtainable heights you seek require every scraping advantage you can grab onto, while you still have hands.” She shrugged, “Or, while you still have one left.”