#I mean like it doesn’t even have to be baldurs gate au

[neon-danger]

my baldurs gate hyperfixation is getting bad enough that I’m thinking about bard!alex and rogue!jack on an illithid adventure

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

Click My Heels But I Am Stuck Here - Chapter Three

Pairing: Rolan x Tav

Work Summary:

Rolan is battered, beaten and exhausted. After everything he’s been through to get to Baldur’s Gate, he still has no reprieve from violence and prejudice.

But wouldn’t it just be so sweet to fuck his master’s pretty little wife?

AU where Tav is Lorroakan’s wife.

Chapter Summary:

Lorroakan is out of town, and Rolan finally gets to spend some time alone with Tav.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Epilogue

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5980

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist info

Previous Chapter

Notes:

warnings for allusions to domestic violence and sexual abuse

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Rolan was wearing his best robes, his hair neatly combed and tied back in its usual style. He had been incredibly liberal with his use of healing potions, to ensure there were no traces of cuts or bruises on his face. Normally, he would’ve considered this wasteful, but tonight, it was important.

Lorroakan was away on a trip, which meant that Rolan finally had the opportunity to see Cal and Lia again. According to their most recent sending conversation, Lia had befriended some Harpers who were willing to help her and Cal sneak into the city for the evening, and then get them back to the refugee camp safe and sound.

Rolan felt himself on the verge of heart palpitations. It had been two months since he’d last seen either of them in person. Sending spells and scribbled notes delivered by pigeon weren’t the same. And he was seeing them today.

The tower was a breath of fresh air now that Lorroakan wasn’t here. It felt good not to have to tiptoe around. Myshka was taking full advantage of this, sprawling out in the middle of the library. When Rolan walked in, the cat looked up and started purring at once.

Rolan bent down and scratched him under the chin, and the cat responded by jumping up onto his shoulder. Rolan gave a feeble protest – he was going to get fur all over his robes – but gave up when the cat lay himself across his shoulders.

“You’re in a good mood today,” came Tavya’s voice from behind him, and he spun around so fast that he almost lost his balance. She was smiling at him. He took a deep breath to calm himself. She wasn’t Lorroakan.

“I’m seeing my siblings at the Elfsong Tavern tonight,” he said, unable to keep the smile from spreading across his face.

She beamed back at him. She was wearing an oversized jumper and loose-fitting trousers, her hair messily tied back into a ponytail rather than its usual braids, and still, she was exceptionally pretty.

“I’m glad to hear that. You must miss them. Did you come all the way from Elturel together?”

Rolan nodded jerkily, surprised that she had remembered where he was from. “Yes. It was a long and perilous journey but we made it. I’m lucky to have them.”

“Well… I hope you have a good evening.” She took a step towards him, reaching out, and for an irrational moment, he thought she was going to touch his face, but she scratched Myshka under the chin instead.

Standing this close, he could smell her perfume. He could count the freckles on her nose. It was a wonder she couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asked. The words were out of his mouth before he’d had a chance to process what he was saying.

She looked up at him, mouth falling open in surprise. “Oh. I wouldn’t want to intrude-”

“You wouldn’t be intruding.”

She closed her mouth, tilting her head to the side contemplatively. “This old tower does get pretty lonely,” she said. “It’s not like I have many opportunities to make new friends. Lorroakan doesn’t like me going out in the evenings.”

He gave her a questioning look, and she faltered.

“I mean… He’s just worried about my safety, is all,” she clarified, stumbling over her words a little.

“Of course,” he said.

“Did you really mean it? I don’t have to come. I don’t want to interrupt a reunion with your siblings.”

“They’d be happy to meet you,” he said, “and hopefully soon they’ll be let into the city proper, and I won’t have to spend months apart from them.”

Tavya nodded. “It’s a shame they can’t live here. Lorroakan is…” She looked as though she was choosing her words very carefully. “…particular about his space.”

“As is his right,” said Rolan, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

“Of course,” she said cautiously. “I need to change into something more appropriate for an evening out. Do I have time to bathe?”

Rolan blinked, trying not to focus on the image that her words had brought up in his mind. “I’m leaving in an hour.”

“Okay, good, I’ll be back.”

She gave Myshka one last scritch and then headed towards her bedroom.

*

Rolan was warned of Tav’s approach by the sound of her high-heeled boots clicking against the stairs.

“Does this look alright?” she asked, and he turned to face her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been out in the evening.”

In Rolan’s opinion, she looked a hell of a lot more than ‘alright’. Her dark brown hair fell in loose curls down to her mid-back. She was wearing dark lipstick that stood out against her pale skin. She’d opted for a dark green dress with a modest neckline, that nonetheless clung to her curves.

Rolan realised that he was staring. She was looking at him expectantly, and he remembered that she’d asked him a question.

“Uh… You look…” He searched for a word that was complimentary, but not too complimentary. “Nice.” Her face fell a little, so he quickly said, “The dress is lovely, the green really suits you.”

“Thank you, Rolan.”

She gave Myshka a kiss goodbye and then the two of them set off. The cobblestones weren’t all that friendly to her boots, so he offered her an arm, which she accepted gratefully.

He wondered if he should be nervous to be seen like this, arm in arm with his master’s wife. Did the people of Baldur’s Gate know her face? Would anyone tell Lorroakan?

But Tav didn’t seem too concerned, and he was sure she knew better than he did, so he tried to relax.

The Elfsong wasn’t too crowded when they arrived, so Rolan immediately spotted his siblings sitting at a table in the corner. He made eye contact with Lia from across the room and she practically leapt to her feet.

Rolan met her in the middle and she threw her arms around his neck.

“Rolan!” she gasped, squeezing him tight. She wasn’t usually so physically affectionate with him, but this was situation was far from usual. They hadn’t been apart for so long since their parents had taken him in.

He felt Cal’s arm wrap around him, so he pulled one arm free of Lia’s grip to embrace his brother as well.

“We made it,” said Cal. “Baldur’s Gate.”

Neither of them seemed too keen on letting him go, but eventually he had to pull back, albeit reluctantly. It had been so long since he’d been held.

He stood with them at arms’ length, taking them both in. Cal’s hair was growing out. Lia’s, on the contrary, had been roughly chopped to just longer than chin length. They both looked thinner than the last time he’d seen them, with clothes that looked a little more threadbare, although they were smiling at him.

He was suddenly very aware of the fineness of his own robe. It was one of the few things Lorroakan had given him. He couldn’t have his apprentice looking scruffy.

Rolan must’ve frowned at the thought, because Lia’s face fell. She cocked her head to the side, looking him up and down. For a moment, he was worried that there was some injury he had missed. She was worryingly perceptive.

“You’re looking well,” she said, and he felt the tightness in his chest loosen. “Come, we’ve got a table, let’s sit down.”

He turned, and found himself almost running right into Tav. That brought him up short. For the briefest of moments, he had completely forgotten that he’d brought her. He looked down at her guiltily.  

She didn’t seem all that upset to have been ignored. Instead, she held up a bottle of wine.

“I got red, I hope that’s okay,” she said.

Rolan could feel the eyes of his siblings on him, so he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Cal, Lia, I hope you don’t mind that I invited Tavya tonight.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she said, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Tavya,” said Lia. “Charmed.” There was a glint in her eye that Rolan didn’t like, and he was determined to snuff it out before she said anything to embarrass him.

“Tavya is a friend of mine. She is Master Lorroakan’s wife,” he said. Lia raised an eyebrow at that.

“Please, call me Tav,” said Tav.

The four of them sat down at the table and Tav immediately set to pouring the wine. Rolan tried to offer to pay her back for what she’d paid for it, but she waved him away. He felt a little guilty, but it wasn’t like she was lacking for money.

It was a good thing, too. Seeing his siblings like this made him realise that he should be sending them more of his meagre paycheque. It wasn’t like he had much to spend his own money on, as room and board were provided.

Tonight, he would treat them to a good meal, and tomorrow he would start saving more to ensure that they weren’t going hungry.

“Are you both well?” he asked, eyeing the way his sister was taking a deep swig of wine. “Perhaps we should get some food in us before we get too deep into festivities.”

“You’re no fun,” said Lia, but didn’t protest as Rolan stood up to go and order at the bar. Tavya reached for her pouch of gold, but Rolan pretended he didn’t see. It was one thing to accept drinks from her but he didn’t want him thinking that he’d invited her here purely to mooch off her kindness.

When he returned to the table, Tav seemed to be in deep conversation with his siblings. Lia was giggling. That surely couldn’t be a good sign.

“What are you laughing about?” Rolan asked as he sat down in the chair beside Tav.

“We hear you’ve befriended a cat, Rolan,” said Cal, a teasing note in his tone.

“Well, Lorroakan ensures I have a lot of work to do, so I hardly have time to befriend anyone else. Myshka enjoys the relative comfort and, uh, peace of my bedroom.” He glanced at Tav. He wondered if he’d said too much. Even alluding to Lorroakan’s violent nature seemed risky.

“I’m not surprised your bedroom is peaceful, it’s not like you get any action,” said Lia, and Rolan’s jaw dropped. The wine must’ve been going to her head already.

“Lia,” Cal admonished, but he was laughing too. Rolan snuck a look at Tav, and found that she was grinning. Zurgan. This was embarrassing.

Lia reached for the bottle of wine but Rolan was faster, deftly sliding it out of reach. “I think perhaps we should slow down on the wine until we’ve eaten something.”

“Boooo,” said Lia, trying to swipe the bottle from his hands, but Rolan held it away from her.

“So, I hear the two of you have made friends with some Harpers,” said Tav, and Rolan was grateful at the subject change. “Do you know Jaheira?”

“We met her in the Shadow-Cursed Lands,” said Cal. “She put us in touch with some people to help us once we got here. The Harpers have been a real help around the refugee camp, making sure everyone gets fed.”

Not well enough, thought Rolan, eyeing his siblings.

Tav took a sip of her drink and nodded. “That sounds like the Harpers.”

“You’re familiar with them?” asked Lia.

“Oh yeah. I met Jaheira when I was just a little girl. I wanted desperately to be a Harper but my father never would’ve allowed it,” she said wistfully. “I heard them described as a band of bards and rogues who do their best to help people, and I thought I’d fit right in.”

“So which are you?” asked Lia.

“Hm?”

“A bard or a rogue?”

Tav chuckled. “A little of both, I think.”

Rolan opened his mouth, wanting to know more, but at that moment, their food arrived. The man was just setting down a plate of Rothé ribs in front of Tav when he did a double take.

“Well, I’ll be! If it isn’t Miss Tav!” he said bombastically.

Tav let out an awkward giggle. “Good evening Alan.”

“It is you! It’s been an awfully long time, Miss. Something must be keeping you busy these days.”

“My husband,” she said, and didn’t clarify any further.

Alan shook his head. “Such a shame. The old regulars still ask about you sometimes. You used to light up this place.”

Cal and Lia were looking at Tav with curiosity, but Rolan was just confused. At the look on his face, Tav said, “I used to play here sometimes.”

“She’s being modest,” said Alan. “She’s the finest violinist I’ve ever heard, and a dab hand at the lute as well. Beautiful voice too.” The violinist part Rolan could vouch for, but he’d never heard her play the lute or sing. She was blushing now. “Why don’t you give us a song? For old times’ sake? Business hasn’t been the same without you.”

“I’d certainly like to hear you sing,” said Cal.

“Me too,” Lia agreed.

Tav looked at Rolan then. “What about you, Rolan? What do you think?”

Rolan couldn’t deny that he was intrigued, but the idea of saying so was mortifying. “I think that you are an excellent musician, and you should only perform if you want to.” Alan was still hovering beside them, expectantly.

“Would you at least let me finish my ribs first?” she said, mock-angrily.

“Of course, of course. And the food is on the house. Anything for an old friend.”

Tav groaned. “Fine, I’ll perform for you. Will you bring my friends here some bread? And perhaps some sweet buns for dessert?” She gestured at Cal and Lia. “They need fattening up.”

Cal let out a startled laugh. Rolan watched Lia, eyes wide. She had a bit of a temper, and he wasn’t sure if she’d take that as an insult. To his relief, she just snorted and raised her goblet of wine.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said.

Ribs were difficult to eat in a ladylike manner. Tav tucked a napkin into the front of her dress to protect it and then she dug in.

It was hard for Rolan not to stare. Tav didn’t eat much at the tower, and the food she did eat was eaten daintily with cutlery. Right now, she was digging into her Rothé ribs like she hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Sauce coated her lips, so she ran her tongue over them to clean them off. Rolan felt a stirring deep inside him, and quickly looked away.

He found himself making eye contact with Lia, who, again, just raised her eyebrows at him. He glared at her, hoping she’d get the message.

Fortunately, she quickly became distracted by her own meal. Rolan was sure he’d been right that his siblings hadn’t been eating well, and their reactions to the food in front of them only reinforced that belief.

He would’ve been embarrassed by their table manners if Tav didn’t have sauce dripping down her chin right now.

Rolan himself couldn’t bring himself to eat with such reckless abandon. He ate his dinner slowly, trying to make a good impression.

None of them spoke much while eating. When Tav was done, she wiped her mouth with her napkin.

As if he’d been watching them, Alan appeared by their table once more, looming over Tav with an expectant look on his face.

“Let me go wash up,” she said, indicating her sticky hands and face.

“Excellent,” said Alan. “One of our regular bards has offered to lend you her lute. It’s a shame I couldn’t find a violin at such short notice.”

“I’m rusty with the lute, but I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as Tav was out of sight, Rolan turned his attention back to his siblings, and found them both watching him intently.

“You know…” said Lia, and Rolan already knew that he wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to say. “She looks a little bit like Louisa.”

Rolan felt his stomach do a flip. He hadn’t heard that name in a long time.

Cal tilted his head to the side. “Oh, I can kinda see it,” he said.

“Be quiet, both of you,” Rolan hissed. His cheeks were hot. Louisa had been a human girl back in Elturel that his siblings had often teased him about having a crush on. She certainly had long dark curls like Tav’s, and the same petite frame, but that was where the similarities ended.

It didn’t matter anyway. Louisa had been polite to him, but she clearly wasn’t interested, and he hadn’t seen her since Elturel fell. He hadn’t thought about her in almost as long, since his focus had been keeping his family safe. He didn’t even know if she was still alive.

“Whatever you think is happening, isn’t,” he said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

“I know,” said Lia. “But please be careful, alright? She’s Lorroakan’s wife.”

“I’m very aware of that fact, thank you,” he snapped.

“She’s coming back,” warned Cal, and Rolan sat up a little straighter.

Indeed, Tav was heading back to their table, but she was waylaid by Alan, who handed her the lute and ushered her over to the little raised platform that served as a stage. There was a stool waiting for her, which she hopped up onto.

The crowd grew quiet. It was a strange thing. Perhaps the audience were old fans of her from her days before Lorroakan, and they’d been anticipating this day. Or perhaps they just saw a beautiful woman holding an instrument and wanted to know if she was any good.

She plucked a pretty little melody on the lute, and the crowd’s silence deepened. It was like she was casting some kind of spell on them. Rolan wondered if she was. He hadn’t studied bardic magic – he had never considered it worth his time – but he knew that there were some who could cast powerful spells with the aid of music.

Tav opened her mouth and started to sing. Her voice was high and sweet and clear and Rolan couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He wasn’t the only one. He had no idea that it was possible for a room full of drunks to be so rapt.

Her song was unfamiliar. The lyrics told the story of a bird being kept in a golden cage, and eventually losing its voice. At the end, the bird gained its freedom, but only in death. Its spirit flew through the skies of the city, singing beautiful songs.

As Tav’s final notes played out, there was a moment of silence before the crowd erupted into rapturous applause.

“Rolan,” said Lia softly, and he turned to look at her. “Are you alright?”

Rolan cleared his throat, realising that his eyes were watering. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” He glanced between his siblings again. “I am… sorry. For bringing Tav without asking you two. I’m sure you were hoping to catch up with me alone.”

Cal shook his head. “Don’t apologise. She’s lovely. And it’s good for us to get a sense of what your life in the tower is like.”

“Of course,” said Rolan, feeling a little uncomfortable at the fact that he had been lying to his siblings about the reality of his situation with Lorroakan. He didn’t want them to worry about him.

“And besides, if the Harpers let me join officially then we’ll be able to come visit a lot more often,” said Lia.

That cheered Rolan a little, but he couldn’t help but feel nervous. As much as he missed his siblings, keeping that at a distance meant it was easier to keep them in the dark about the way Lorroakan treated him. Would they lose respect for him if they knew he couldn’t stand up for himself?

Of course not, a small voice in the back of his mind murmured. They love you.

Still. Distance from Lorroakan kept them safe. Would Lia be safe with the Harpers?

Before he could think about it any further, Tav started up playing again, this time strumming a far more upbeat tune. There was a roar of appreciation from the crowd, so he assumed that they must’ve known the song, even if he didn’t.

From what he could piece together over the sounds of the crowd, it was a bawdy tale about a young noble woman going out into the world and making all sorts of trouble for herself. He couldn’t help but smile at that.

He reached across the table and took one of Lia’s hands in his own. She looked slightly bemused at this uncharacteristic display of affection, but squeezed his hand back.

“Tell me about the refugee camp. Is everything alright there?” Rolan asked.

“It’s lively,” said Lia. “Lot of people coming and going. It’s not exactly… peaceful.”

Again, Rolan felt a stab of guilt that he hadn’t been able to get his siblings lodgings in the tower. At the tower, they would be safe and well-fed and always have a bed to sleep in. Well. As long as they stayed out of Lorroakan’s way.

“It’s not so bad,” said Cal. “There are lots of orphans, though. It makes me sad. You see all these families torn apart. It reminds me of how lucky we are to still have each other.”

“I’ve missed you,” said Rolan, reaching out a hand to Cal now too, who grasped it immediately. “It’s lonely without you. The only people I interact with on a daily basis are Lorroakan and Tav.”

“What about customers?” asked Lia.

“Ugh. Customers.”

“Please,” said Cal, “You know how Rolan feels about the general public.” Lia let out a guffaw.

Rolan just rolled his eyes. “I think we need more wine.”

All in all, it was a good night. He drank and talked with his siblings. Tav would occasionally pop up between songs for a drink and a brief chat before she would get dragged back onto stage by her adoring audience.

At around a midnight, a young half-elf man – a Harper, as Rolan understood it – with long dark hair came over to their table and apologetically informed Cal and Lia that it was time to head back to the camp.

As they gathered up their things, Lia gave Rolan a hug and whispered in his ear. “That’s Geraldus. Cal fancies him.”

Rolan looked Geraldus up and down, and then looked at his brother. He had chalked it up to the alcohol before, but now that he was really looking, he could see that Cal was blushing a little as Geraldus set a hand on his arm. Rolan raised his eyebrows at his brother, but Cal quickly looked away.

“I think I’ve sung more than enough to cover my supper.” Tav’s voice broke out over the hubbub. She was pressing the lute back into Alan’s hands, although he seemed very keen for her to keep playing. “My friends are leaving, so I think it’s time for me to head home.”

She wouldn’t be swayed. Although she had only just met them, she gave both Cal and Lia hugs before they left. They came back to embrace Rolan one more time, and then they were gone, being swept away out into the night air of Baldur’s Gate.

Rolan had a funny, tight feeling in his chest. He missed them already. He had no idea when he’d next see them.

“Are you alright?” asked Tav.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” His tone was clipped, trying to keep the emotion at bay.

“One more drink for the road?” she suggested, and he agreed, if only to quiet the burning feeling in his chest.

As they settled back at their table with a final goblet of wine each, Tav said, “That must’ve been hard for you. Saying goodbye again, I mean.”

Rolan didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone the way you love your brother and sister. It’s so nice to see.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No one?”

“I have no siblings,” she said.

“Your parents?”

“My mother died when I was very young. I don’t remember her at all. And my father…” She grimaced, swirling her drink around in her goblet. “Well, let’s just say I don’t have warm feelings towards him.”

“… Lorroakan?” Rolan’s tone was cautious.

Tav looked back at him, disbelieving. “You think I love Lorroakan?”

“Well, you did marry him.”

“Not by choice.” She took a deep swig of her drink. “Well, not my choice, anyway.”

Rolan sat frozen, staring back her. She looked suddenly very tired. They were both drunk and she was clearly exhausted. He should take her home before she could say something she’d regret. Still, he was rooted to the spot, in expectation of what she might say next.

“I’ve never been loved the way you love your siblings either. My father loves me the way he’d love a particularly shiny gold piece. Lorroakan would be happier if I were some kind of life-size doll that cooked his meals and kept his bed warm. He’d sew my mouth shut if he didn’t love hearing me call him Master while he’s bending me over his desk.”

Rolan’s face heated up. Tav grimaced, as if her words had only just caught up with her. Her ears had gone completely pink.

“Ignore me,” she said. “I’m drunk. I shouldn’t say such things. It’s unbecoming of a lady.”

“Myshka loves you,” Rolan interjected.

She looked at him, a smile spreading across her face. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“These patrons love you.” He gestured around the bar.

“They hardly know me.”

“Still. You had them hanging on your every word tonight.”

She finished off her drink, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then gave a small burp. Laughter bubbled up in his chest.

“And what about you, Rolan?” She planted her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. “Would you miss me if I died?”

“I… Uh… You’re kind to me,” he stammered, feeling his cheeks heat up again.

“Oh, I see. You’d miss the things I could do for you,” she said. Rolan couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or not.

“No, I mean…” He sighed. “I enjoy your company, Tav.”

A smile flickered across her lips. “I enjoy your company too, Rolan. Now…” She put her hands on the table and unsteadily pushed herself to her feet. “I should get home before I embarrass myself any further.”

“You haven’t-”

“My tongue has been far too loose tonight. If my husband heard what I’d been saying…” She shook her head, lips pressed together in a tight line.

“He won’t,” he reassured her.

“I know.”

Rolan drained his goblet and stood up as well. She took hold of his arm to steady herself. He let her lean on him as they walked out of the inn.

“I never asked,” he started, feeling a little awkward. “How did you know about my healing potions?”

Tav gave a wry smile. “Myshka saw you sneaking out the empty bottles. He didn’t understand what you were doing, of course, but I did. I figured that since Lorroakan is my husband, I should try to help you if I could. I may not have chosen him, but I do feel somewhat responsible for his behaviour.”

Rolan furrowed his brow. “Why?”

She pursed her lips. “Lorroakan is a simple man. As his wife, I have certain… methods of influencing him. It wasn’t always easy, but I’ve been married to him for five years now. I can foretell the changing of his moods, most of the time at least. I know when to simper and fawn, I know when to ask him for things I want, and I know when to hide.”

He stopped in his tracks. Tav stumbled, the heel of her boot catching between two cobblestones. She would’ve fallen had he not caught her, a firm arm wrapping around her waist to hold her still.

“Tav,” he said, his tone serious.

Tav grimaced, not meeting his eye. “Sorry. These bloody boots. They’re not great on cobblestones.”

“Tav,” Rolan repeated. “Why do you need to hide from Lorroakan?” She just blinked at him, her eyes wide. He sighed. “Has he hurt you?”

She forced a smile onto her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It was an expression he was familiar with. It was the same one he wore when serving customers in Sorcerous Sundries. She was shutting him out, and he hated it.

He was still supporting most of her weight. Her hands were clutching at his upper arms for balance.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I know how to handle him.”

“Tav…”

“We should get home.” She patted his shoulders, and he reluctantly released her. “I’m tired.”

“… Of course.”

Because who did he think he was? It wasn’t his place to intervene in his master’s marriage. So what if he hurt her? That wasn’t any of Rolan’s business.

The image of Tav, beaten and bloody, flashed across his mind. He blinked it away.

Tav was fine. She was uninjured, right in front of him, fussing over the heel of her boot.

“It broke off,” she said, holding up the broken piece of heel. “Shit.”

It wasn’t all that far to Sorcerous Sundries, but Tav had already been unsteady before her shoe had broken.

“I could carry you,” he offered.

Tav blinked up at him. “It’s alright. I can just go barefoot.”

“And get your feet cut up on broken glass and Gods-know-what?” He scoffed. “Come on. You can climb up on my back. I may be a wizard, but I’m stronger than I look.”

“Okay,” said Tav. “Can you bend down?”

Feeling nowhere near as awkward as he should’ve, Rolan squatted, allowing Tav to clamber up onto his back. As her arms wrapped around his neck from behind, he had to suppress a shiver.

He hooked his hands underneath her knees, and once he was sure she was secure, he stood up.

“Woah,” Tav breathed. Her mouth was far closer to his ear than he anticipated, and he felt a twitching in his groin. It didn’t help that the smell of her perfume was everywhere. “I don’t normally see things from this high up. Is this what it’s like to be tall?” She rested her chin on his shoulder.

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re drunk,” he said.

“So are you!”

“Let’s get you home.” He started to walk.

“Onwards, good sir,” she said, and then descended into a fit of laughter. She had a lovely laugh. He didn’t think he would ever tire of hearing it.

If he had been sober, perhaps he might have considered how the two of them would appear from the outside. His master’s wife was on his back, her chin on his shoulder, giggling breathlessly. Perhaps he might’ve worried what the neighbours would think if they saw them. As it stood, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Your hair is coming loose,” she said suddenly.

“Oh.”

“I rather like it. You should wear your hair down.”

He laughed nervously. “I find it gets in the way.”

She touched the knot he’d tied it into earlier, and a shiver went down his spine. He could indeed feel the loose strands sticking to the back of his neck with sweat.

“May I?” she asked.

“Go ahead.”

Deftly, she untied his hair, letting it fall down to his shoulders. She didn’t stop there, though. She mussed it, detangling and straightening it out, until it was as though it had never been tied back.

If he hadn’t been walking, Rolan would’ve closed his eyes, leaning into the sensation of having his hair played with. It was a weakness of his.

“I like your hair down too,” he said. “It suits you.”

“Really?” She laughed again. “Lorroakan hates it. It gets everywhere. He says it makes me look scruffy.”

“He’s an idiot.”

She giggled, wrapping her arms back around his neck. “He is. In so many ways.”

“Only Lorroakan could be married to a woman as beautiful as you and still find reasons to complain.”

Tav inhaled sharply. Rolan’s brain caught up to his mouth a moment too late, and he bit his tongue hard. Before she could respond, they rounded the corner onto the square that housed Sorcerous Sundries, and he cleared his throat loudly.

“Here we are,” he announced, entirely unnecessarily. “Almost home.”

“…Mhm.”

Neither of them spoke as they crossed the square. He didn’t set her down until they were standing under the awning of the shop. As he unlocked the doors, Tav pulled off her boots.

Barefoot, the height difference between them was even more apparent. He pulled back the heavy door and held it open for her.

“Thank you, Rolan,” she said, walking into the shop. “You really saved me from the peril of stepping on glass shards, or a twisted ankle.”

He followed her inside, pulling the door shut behind him. He locked it and checked the wards were all still in place. It was a fairly involved process, so he was surprised to find that she was still standing there when he was done. He had expected her to head straight for the portal.

The two of them walked together up the staircase, close but not touching. Rolan let her lead the way through the portal. It was dark in Ramazith’s tower when they made it inside.

The hallway that led to the master bedroom went past Rolan’s room, so the two of them continued walking together. When he stopped outside his bedroom door, she stopped too.

“Rolan,” she said. “I wanted to thank you for inviting me out tonight. It was nice to meet your siblings. They seem lovely. I was going out of my mind with boredom in this place.”

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Hearing you perform was…” He searched for the right word: complimentary, but not effusive. The only one he could think of was, “Incredible.” It was accurate, at least.

She laughed a little shyly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. The light was low, but because of his darkvision, he could still see her clearly. She was blushing.

A very stupid part of his brain told him to kiss her. She looked up at him, her pretty eyes finding his. Her lips looked so soft. She looked as though she was expecting him to do something, or say something. He wanted more than anything to pull her into his room, peel her out of that dress and make her scream his name.

But she was his master’s wife. If Lorroakan found out, he’d probably kill both of them.

And besides, why would a woman like her ever want a man like him? If she let him kiss her, it would be because he was the only man available who wasn’t her husband. It wouldn’t be because she actually wanted him. Not really.

“Goodnight, Tav,” he said.

She stared at him for a few seconds more. “Goodnight, Rolan.”

She disappeared down the corridor towards her own room. Rolan couldn’t help but watch her go, wondering if it was a mistake. As soon as she was out of sight, he opened his bedroom door and slipped inside.

He didn’t bother to change into pyjamas, simply stripping naked and climbing into bed. He took his rapidly hardening cock into his hand, his mind conjuring images of what could have been if he’d been a weaker man.

---

Notes:

in case you missed it last chapter, you can see what Tavya looks like here

Next Chapter

[slothquisitor]

Invisible String: Chapter Ten

A Baldur’s Gate III Modern AU.

Chapter Summary: Liv returns home from Neverwinter, but not everything is the same.

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

____________________________________________________________

It is surprising how relieved Liv feels to be leaving Neverwinter. She had ended up skipping the afterparty and going home with Erin, grateful that her sister’s partner seemed to need peace and quiet nearly as much as she did. This morning, the three of them had gone out for a late brunch, and it’s been a pleasant enough day, and it’s been good to see her sister…but it feels like they’ve been running down the clock all day. She’s feeling an odd jumble of feelings.

Talking with Astarion hadn’t made any of them more clear, but it had been nice to be understood, to be reminded that she’s not alone in all this. Now she’s in the car, but she’s wishing for the train, for the quiet solitude of listening to her own music, staring out the window without anyone needing anything from her at all. 

“You’ve been quiet, everything good?” Brelia asks from the driver’s seat. They’re on their way to the train station, and she feels as though she’s been looking forward to this moment all day. 

Liv nods. “Oh yeah, of course. Just…thinking.”

“Care to share?” 

Liv wasn’t planning on saying anything about last night. That’s the Vires way, after all. But she doesn’t do that anymore, and she doesn’t want to do that with her sister anymore. “I just..I didn’t realize you’d told all your friends about our family.” She works hard to keep her tone light, non-judgemental. This isn’t an attack; she’s just looking to understand. 

Brelia laughs and looks a bit confused. “Why wouldn’t I tell them? They’re my friends.” 

“I haven’t told anyone…except Astarion.”

Her sister turns down the music, as though she senses that this is a bigger conversation coming. Something about it feels ominous to Liv. “I spent twenty-three years in our parents' house being told to be quiet and to make myself smaller to appease them. When I got out, I decided I was going to be unapologetically myself. That means not hiding pieces of myself or my story, even the ones that hurt. My friends know about our family because I never hid it from them. It’s not something I necessarily lead out with, but it’s part of me.”

But to her, Brelia had never seemed cowed by her parents and their impossible expectations. It is…unnerving to consider that Brelia had felt just as trapped as she had. “And everyone just understood?”

Her sister sighs. “Oh gods no, but the ones who were assholes about it I’m just not friends with. At least I know everyone who is in my life is there for the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

“That’s…commendable,” Liv replies. Her sister’s outlook is admirable, but she’s never been quite that settled in her own skin. Maybe someday she’ll get there. 

“Look, I’ve been on my own for a long time. After going no contact, I felt so disconnected. Family means something to most people. They’re always going to prioritize their own families, and there was a moment when I realized that in cutting off mine I’d also given up the chance of being anyone else’s top priority. And it felt deeply lonely…until I found a new one. I know that all this is still fresh for you, but you’ve got to let people see you first.” 

Liv stares out the window, trying to find the words to explain how this all feels. Some part of her still wonders if she had been different in some way if her parents would have decided she deserved to know the truth of her life at the same time as the rest of her siblings. “Telling people still feels so embarrassing to me…like there’s something wrong with me .”

“You’re not the one who should be embarrassed, Liv. Our parents should be. You did nothing wrong.”

And some logical part of her knows that, but it’s nice to hear it anyway. “You should have just told everyone on your way out. Really flipped them the bird as you left.”

Brelia smiles sadly. “Yeah? I considered it. But then I was so jealous of the rest of you.”

“Jealous of what?”

She sighs. “That you didn’t know. That you didn’t have to question everything in your life the way I was. It was a shitty illusion you were living in but nicer than my reality. I was afraid that you’d hate me for shattering it.”

And Liv understands. There was a moment after her mother had told her everything that she wished she didn’t know at all. Because that single revelation had rewritten her entire past. Suddenly every disagreement, every frustrated comment, and look from her mother made her wonder if she had ever looked at her and wished for the son she’d given away. But once you know something like that, there’s no unknowing it. 

“You shouldn’t have ever been in that position. It wasn’t fair.”

The train station comes into view. “No, but I think the most insidious part of the way our parents raised us was that they made us believe that in order to be loved we also had to somehow be perfect. That if anyone ever saw our flaws we weren’t deserving of anything. And it was wrong. You know that, right?”

Her sister has summed up their upbringing rather succinctly, but Liv doesn’t necessarily disagree. And of course, she knows that being a flawed and imperfect person doesn’t keep her from being deserving of love and having value, but she’s forever looking for something to offer people anyway. As if she could somehow do enough to finally feel secure and that the love or friendship they offer won’t suddenly be withheld because she’s disappointed them. 

“Knowing it and knowing it are different things, but yeah.”

Brelia pulls over into the drop-off zone. They’ve talked about so much this weekend, and somehow she feels like by bringing this up now, she’s robbed them of something. Her sister puts the car in park and looks over at her. “I don’t know that it’ll ever get easier, but I promise it will get better.”

And she wants to believe her, so she nods and gets out of the car. Brelia gets out too, meets her at the trunk, and pulls her into a hug. “It was so good to see you,” she says. “It means so much that you came to support me.”

“It was good to see you too,” Liv replies. It’s not a lie, but she’s still ready to go. 

Her sister releases her, helps her take her bag and suitcase. “Text me when you get into Baldur’s Gate?” 

“I promise.”

Her sister smiles. “Okay then, I should let you go catch your train.”

She’s got plenty of time to get to the platform. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Brelia reaches for her then, a hand resting lightly on her arm. “Love you.”

It takes her by surprise, the words. Growing up, their family didn’t say them. Not often, not even on the phone. It wasn’t something she’d thought much of until a friend in high school commented on the lack. She’d tried for a bit to make those words a common occurrence in her family, and it had never worked. She knows now that it wouldn’t have mattered much, words are just words, empty without action. And yet… 

“Love you too.” The words come out quiet, a little strained but her sister beams and then nods understandingly. Liv doesn’t need to explain any of this to her. 

She waves as her sister’s little car pulls away from the curb, and then she walks inside the train station. Her train is waiting like a promise. She settles in, music on, book open, and it isn’t long before Neverwinter begins to slip away behind her. 

She’s still not sure how she feels about the whole weekend. Seeing her sister, being with her again had been good, but hard too. Will there ever be a time when family isn’t so fucking complicated? 

As the train rushes towards Baldur’s Gate, it’s like a weight has lifted off of her. She’s going home, and she’ll have time and space to figure this weekend out. Maybe someday distance won’t feel easier, but for today, it’s okay that it is. Or at least she tells herself that. 

She distracts herself with reading until her phone buzzes. 

FangtasticLover: I hope your weekend went well.

Books>People: It was alright. Sorry I didn’t send many pictures, kind of got caught up in the whole visit. 

FangtasticLover: It’s alright. I’ve been sort of meaning to tell you something anyway. I started seeing someone…off app. I feel like we shouldn’t talk anymore. I want you to know I’ve really enjoyed our messages, and I hope you find everything you’re looking for. 

Her heart starts racing and she types and then deletes several responses. They’re at first full of surprise, of demands for explanations she isn’t owed…but in the end none of them feel right. And then suddenly the ability to type a message disappears. 

Mystra: Connection severed. You cannot reply to FangtasticLover , but you continue to have access to your chat history. 

Liv stares at the message in shock. It hurts, the pain white hot and raw. Gods, she’s not even important enough to some random internet stranger to warrant more than a ‘see ya round’ message? It’s at least better than ghosting her, she supposes. And she is glad that he’s not messaging her behind someone else’s back, but it still hurts. Which is ridiculous since she didn’t even know what she wanted out of their communication anyway. They certainly hadn’t ever broached the idea of meeting…it had become a sort of unspoken agreement. 

It’s the mystery of it all that bothers her the most. Now she’ll never know who he was where they passed by each other in life to get matched up. And with that, she deletes the app. It was a nice experiment for a moment, but if she’s being honest she’d mostly just kept it to talk to him. She’s glad that happened now, while she can sit on the train and watch the landscape and feel bad for herself because as she leaves the train, she’s going to do her best to leave this behind too. 

When the lights of Baldur’s Gate finally come into view, Liv is surprised by the sense of homecoming she feels. The familiarity is comforting. Yes, this is her city, her home. It hasn’t been hers for very long, but it’s a relief all the same. She collects her things and steps onto the platform, but just past the ticket gates she realizes someone is waiting for her. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks, unable to banish the smile that stretches across her face. 

Astarion shrugs. “Thought I’d carry a bag or something.”

It was only a couple of days, but seeing him waiting for her makes her want to do ridiculous things like hug him. She doesn’t. 

“You really must have missed me, but I’d been led to believe you’d be sporting mourning black,” she says, passing him her suitcase. Surprisingly, he takes it without complaint and falls into step beside her.

“While I do look very good in black-”

“Naturally.”

He smiles. “Naturally. But you’re home now, so there’s nothing to mourn.” He’s dressed in what passes for casual for Astarion: a gray sweater and designer jeans. As always, he looks very good. 

Liv can’t help but laugh. “So this a celebration then?”

Astarion nods. “Why not? Come on, let’s go home.”

And it sounds really good coming from him. 

***

Astarion has to admit that realizing he has feelings for Liv has been inconvenient, but it has put a few things into perspective. Namely, he realized he had exactly two options when it came to dealing with FangtasticLover. Option one was simply coming clean to Liv about all of it. Option two was deleting, severing the connection and moving on from the whole thing without saying a word. She doesn’t know and doesn’t ever need to. Option two is the safest and the one least likely to end poorly for him, so obviously, he went with that.

It had felt bad to do it that way, to cut things off without giving her the chance to say anything at all, but it’s better this way. More honest. He misses the messaging, the opportunity to get an insight into her mood or her day, but he just reminds himself that she’s still right here.

A few days slip by, quickly and quietly. Astarion has spent most of his time looking for a way to talk to Liv, for the words to tell her…what he’s not sure exactly. He cares for her and he wants them to be something , but he can’t quite figure out exactly what he wants them to be. He’s never done this before, and well, there are still pieces of this he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready for. 

And is that fair to someone like her? He told her once that being a vampire spawn is a half-life. Is that what he’s asking of her too? Half of something, bits and pieces, it’s all he can offer. He hopes that it’s not forever, but he’s not sure. And he’s not sure where it will leave him if she says no. 

Still, he spends more time with her than ever. Even keeping her company while she cooks dinner now he no longer has to hide the fact he doesn’t eat. In fact, he swirls a bit of blood in his wine glass while he watches her work. 

“And then Gale was able to track down a note that had been buried in one of the old archivist's books that said we had an uncatalogued first edition of the book. And sure enough, it was on the shelf the note said it was and not in the digital system at all. It’s wild that we can have our own library and still not be entirely sure of everything inside of it because we’re just relying on the people who came before to have cataloged correctly.”

“Do you think there are more books like that? Things lost to time?” Astarion asks with genuine interest. He loves listening to Liv talk about her work. The way she speaks about it, the library feels like it’s actually magic. It’s old enough it probably is. 

She shrugs at the stove, stirring the vegetables in the pan for her dinner. “It wouldn’t surprise me. I’m not sure what their protocol was when they digitized everything, but people always make errors.”

“You’d think using magic the way they did to track things would have made it easier.”

“You’d think, but even that’s not foolproof.”

He watches her for a moment. She’s pulled her long hair up in a bun, but there are tendrils escaping. As usual, she’s immediately changed into sweats upon coming home, and he likes her like this. Armor off, comfortable. She’s beautiful. “You know, I’ve never been in the library.”

“Really?” she asks, glancing back at him. “Not even on a tour?”

“They don’t often hold tours late enough for me to attend.”

“Well, any time you want to go, I’ll give you a private tour. Perks of being an archivist. I’ve got keys to go anywhere I want.”

He absolutely shouldn’t, but he can’t quite help himself. He lowers his voice and asks, “What exactly would a private tour with you entail?” It’s the most overt he’s been with her, and he’s wondering how it will be received. 

She pulls the pan she’s been cooking from the heat, setting it on a trivet on the island and looking him directly in the eye. “What would you like it to entail?” 

This is a dangerous sort of game, but it’s clear she’s down to play it and he wants nothing more than to keep it going. But then the door to his bedroom bursts open, and Petras emerges from Astarion’s bedroom dressed for the Elfsong. “What do we think?” he asks, showing off his newest clothing acquisition. 

Liv recovers first. “It’s…uh…very sheer,” she offers. 

The cut of the shirt is fine enough, but it is made out of a cheap semi-metallic fabric that rather undercuts the whole thing. And as Liv deftly pointed out, it’s totally sheer. Petras might as well be topless. Astarion sighs. “This could work, I suppose. But you need a suit jacket with it.”

“It’s a nightclub, not a corporate job,” Petras replies, clearly offended. 

“Trust me, no one will mistake you for working a corporate job in that getup, but you’re still working . Put a jacket with it and it will read like a tease instead of an invitation. Come here, I think I have one that will fit your stupidly broad shoulders.” He rolls his eyes in Liv’s direction and she laughs as they both disappear into his room. 

He has to admit, he is very good at what he does. Five minutes later, Petras looks much improved. He parades him out to Liv. 

“Oh, that does look really good, Petras,” she says, the surprise clear on her face. It’s amazing what a single well-fitting suit jacket can do. 

Petras toys with the sleeve of the jacket. “Now I look like I might be a VIP instead of just babysitting them.”

“And no one will wonder if you’re supposed to be at a very different club down the block,” Astarion adds. 

“Try not to have too much fun without me,” Petras says walking to the door. “I need to go before I’m late.” 

“Have a good shift,” Liv calls. 

Petras gives them both a wave before disappearing out the door leaving Astarion and Liv alone again. Astarion slowly approaches the island, trying to figure out some comment or quip that might get them back to where they were before Petras so rudely interrupted. 

“You’re good at that,” Liv says, startling him from his thoughts. 

“I’m good at everything. What are you referring to though?”

Liv gestures at the door Petras had left through. “The fashion stuff. He looked really good and it was clear he also felt good.”

“Oh, well, yes. That’s my job.”

She smiles. “And you didn’t have to help him.”

“I could hardly let him walk out of the apartment dressed as he was. No one is that cruel.”

Her smile is softer then. “Sure. It’s not so bad having him around.”

“He’s supposed to be hearing about an apartment this week, so don’t get attached.” It can’t come soon enough. Astarion is ready to get back to his routines and life without the other vampire constantly underfoot. Also, he hates sharing a bathroom. 

“You haven’t hated it as much as you pretend.”

“I, for one, cannot wait to have my space back. Also, he uses all of my hair products.”

“I’m sure they’re very expensive.” Liv takes a bite of her dinner. 

He glares at her. “They are. Imported from Amn.”

“Well, godsdamn. Good thing there’s no pesky invitation magic keeping me from breaking into your bathroom and stealing some.”

He grins. “Actually your ends do look a little dry now that you mention it -” She throws a napkin at him as they both dissolve into laughter. 

He wonders if this is the moment. Is this when he seizes it? Tells her how he feels? Tries to find the words? 

“I’ve got to put the finishing touches on my exhibition proposal, but let’s watch something after?” she asks. 

And just like that, the moment dissolves, slips right through his fingers. “Yes, of course.”

***

“We’re going to hit send together?” Gale asks, laptop propped on his knees as they’ve both squished into her cubicle. 

“Yeah, hang on, are you ready to send already?” Liv has moved more slowly, more carefully through the exhibition application than Gale. In fairness, he’s done this before and she hasn’t. 

“Yes, but take your time!” he insists.

She focuses on reading through the last lines of her application. “It would just be a serious downer if I submit this whole massive proposal only to have an embarrassing typo in the application cover page.”

“Now you’re making me nervous. Want to swap?” he asks. 

And so they do, handing over their laptops so that they can both read through the cover letter for one another. They’ve been trading everything else, both know each other’s proposals nearly as well as their own. Gale’s Kafka proposal is a thing of beauty, empathetic and sharp, showcasing who Kafka was as well as highlighting his work. She’s going to be just as proud even if her own proposal doesn’t get chosen, though she does believe her own is quite good. 

Perhaps predictably, they don’t find errors in each other’s work, and so they swap back their laptops. “You ready?”

Gale smiles. “Very. Three, two, one…”

She presses send and the familiar weight of expectation slides away. She feels rather like she did in college every time she submitted a big essay. Now it’s out of her hands; she’s done everything she can. 

Gale lets out a satisfied sigh. “We did it.”

“We did it!” she cheers. 

Rolan appears, leaning over her cubicle. “That means celebratory drinks tonight at The Merchant, right?”

Gale looks at her. “Well?”

“Lae’zel, celebratory drinks?” she calls loudly. 

“Tchk, you didn’t need to yell, I could hear you perfectly fine. Yes, drinks.”

“Seven o’clock!” Rolan calls as he turns away, probably mostly to spite Lae’zel. 

Gale stays seated for another moment. “No matter what happens with all this, I just want you to know I really enjoyed working on this with you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Her eyes burn a little suspiciously, and she glowers at him but isn’t serious at all. “You make it really hard to want to beat you at anything, you know that, right?”

“You know, you could just respond with something equally as sentimental instead of a joke.”

“I’m glad we got to do this together too, Gale. Your proposal is beautiful.”

He smiles. “There it is. Though it does ruin a bit of the effect since I had to ask for it.”

She shrugs. “Next time.”

Liv spends the rest of her workday processing a box of books gifted to the university, sorting them for storage, preservation, and surplus. She definitely doesn’t habitually refresh her email despite knowing that no decision will be made for another two weeks. It’s fine. And then she heads home, coat pulled tight against the freezing wind. In the last week, Baldur’s Gate has shifted from true autumn to just the hint of winter in the air. 

When she arrives at the apartment, she’s not surprised to see Astarion sitting in the living room. Petras is working tonight, and it seems she’s missed him. 

“Welcome home,” Astarion says after she deposits her coat on the hook by the door. 

“For a little while, anyway,” she says walking through the kitchen towards her bedroom. “I’m meeting up with everyone from work for drinks.”

She’s already taking off her shoes as Astarion trails her to her room. “But that wasn’t on the calendar.”

“You mean the one you don’t ever use?” she asks, glancing up at him. It’s a familiar refrain. He clearly checks it but doesn’t ever schedule a damn thing. 

“If I put something on the calendar…would you go?” he asks. He sounds thoughtful, words more careful than usual. 

“Sure.”

He’s already on his phone, thumbs tapping away, and Liv walks to the dresser to change out her earrings. 

“There.”

Her phone buzzes. 

She picks it up, staring at the notification uncomprehendingly: Date with Astarion . He’s scheduled it for tomorrow night. 

“Is this a joke?” she asks, holding up her phone. If it is, it’s not funny to her. Not after that kiss anyway. 

He looks rather put off by the question. “Only if you find it funny.”

“I don’t.” She sets her phone down and turns her attention back to the mirror. 

It is quiet in her room for a moment, and then Astarion speaks, words quiet. “I didn’t forget, you know.”

She turns to look at him, and he’s looking at her not as if he’s managed a funny joke or a silly pun, but very seriously. There’s only one thing he could mean, but she’s going to need him to say it, to see if they really are having this conversation. “Forget what?”

“The kiss.”

There’s a thrill that passes through her until she’s reminded of all the reasons this is a terrible idea. “Astarion…I…we live together.”

“So! Who cares? It’s just more convenient to spend time together this way.” 

“If this goes south, it also means that we’ve nuked our living situation,” she says, exasperation leaking into her words. Of course, she’s interested in him, and of course, she can’t be. She’s done a pretty good job of trying to ignore those feelings since that kiss…mostly anyway. 

“Does it have to mean that? We’re adults…and…is that the only reason?” He’s looking at her so lost, so unsure, and she knows why he’d have to ask. Wishes that he didn’t. 

She steps closer to him. “If you weren’t my roommate, it would be an easy yes.” She’s not entirely sure that without this forced proximity he’d even be looking at her twice, but there’s something rather earnest about his asking. And what’s the point in lying about how she feels now?

He smiles a softness in his eyes she’s not sure she’s ever seen before. “Is that so?”

There’s no part of her that wants to banish that softness, that hope. And they are both adults, and they do live together, but what had Brelia said? That she needed to let people see her? Astarion is the only person in her new life she’s allowed to do so, the only one who knows the truth about her family. But it’s more than that too. He’s already seen her before coffee in the morning and when she’s grumpy in the evenings after a long day. He knows her and he’s still asking, and maybe it is a bad idea, but she’s started over before and it didn’t kill her. She can do it again if she has to. 

“I want a promise,” she says. “That we take this slow, that we make sure we’re both serious. That we protect this.”She gestures between them encompassing this friendship and understanding they’ve found that’s become so important to her. 

“That seems…reasonable…besides…I’ve never done this before,” he admits, eyes focused on the carpet. 

She picks up her phone and opens the calendar invite. She knows what he really means by his comment, but she gives him an out anyway. “I’ve never been on a date with my roommate before either.”

He smiles. “Is the offer to show me the library still on the table?”

“Always.”

“I’ll meet you there then. Just after sunset?”

“Alright. Now get the hells out of my room, I need to change before going out for drinks.”

His eyes light up with mischief. “Is that supposed to convince me to want to leave?”

She picks up a pillow from her bed and tosses it at him. She’s already going for another while he seeks the shelter of the closing door. As her door clicks shut, she opens her phone up again, stares at the calendar invite and smiles. 

They’re going on a date.

[thefallenangelsgang]

BALDUR'S GATE 3 x MAMMA MIA! AU

CHARACTERS

[YOU HAVE PERMISSION TO USE MY IDEA FOR ANYTHING YOU WANT, I ONLY ASK YOU CREDIT ME]

(break to save your dash)

Now, not every character is going to fit cleanly into character slots (there are too many characters to fill the main cast) so some of our Baldur's Gate loves will be sharing character traits and plot devices amongst each other.

Let’s start with Donna: She will be played by Tav obviously. I mean there really is no other choice here. We need someone who has gotten romantically entangled with multiple if not all the companions. The one unfortunate snag is that Tav has to carry or otherwise create the child of dubious parentage without the other parent knowing. That does pigeonhole the characterization a bit unless you want to go the magic route with it (which opens a line of ethical questioning beyond not telling the Parent of your child about the existence of said child)

For the purposes of this thought experiment, I'm operating under Tav being AFAB and having a womb to carry the baby. I’m also operating under the idea that all the companions have the reproductive organs of the gender they present as in game. If anyone wants to actually do something with this they are free to do whatever the fuck they want and use whatever headcanons they want. 

Sophie is going to be played by Tav’s kid. This one doesn’t have a hard and fast gender rule (TIL Sophus is the masculine version of Sophie) but they have to want to know who their other sire is and be generally chaotic which is not hard when they’ve grown up with the Tadfools as their role models. It is important that they display mostly Tav’s traits with others that could be any one of their other parent’s. (think Amanda Siefried and Meryl Streep are both blonde and similarly built. Sophie draws like Sam and sings and plays like Harry and has Bill’s adventurous spunk)

For ease of writing Tav’s Kid will be referred to as Soph from here on out.

Speaking of Sires, the Dads:

Sam: I waffled a LOT on who to choose out of the Baldur’s Boys because I wanted to keep it to just the traditional three and to just companions. You can obviously shuffle around people (I'm sure the Rolan girlies (gender neutral) would love putting him in this AU) and expand the possible dad list (though I don’t know how to split the characteristics like the Donna’s Friends). I chose to go with Gale here. I think he fits the very no nonsense and very anxious vibes from Sam in the show/movie. Instead of a business person who “went home to get married” perhaps Gale got called upon by Mystra as her Chosen and left to focus on his Wizardry. He is definitely the kind to break Tav’s heart over duty and be so ashamed he doesn’t really speak to them for 20 years. 

Bill: This one was damn near a no brainer once I was considering it. It’s Halsin. Who better to be the Hippie, fun-loving, sex god and travel writer? He retains all his Baldur’s Gate characteristics. His experience with Tav is truly just a bit of fun before they both go their separate ways. Their relationship is HEAPS less frigid than Gale and Tav’s. 

Now this is where you can go two ways with this. You could give Halsin is canon good ending (Reithwin with the kids) BUT we miss Bill being scared shitless at the prospect of having a child which I always loved as a characterization (Skarsgard plays it like a champ in the film, he looks like he’s gonna have a heart attack lmao). I feel like Clan Dad Halsin after 20 years is way too open to the idea of having something permanent like a kid. Wandering Arch Druid Halsin might be a little more scared shitless at the idea. That one is a personal preference, I think I’d prefer Reithwin Halsin even though I miss the majesty of an internal conflict.

Harry: Now this one also was a no-brainer but needs to be explained with some tact. It’s Astarion. It is not because Astarion is the most effeminate of the group. For those that don’t know, Harry is canonically gay. The companions are all pan. I chose Astarion because there is an opportunity to do something else transformative with Astarion and Tav’s tryst. 

In Mamma Mia, Harry talks about how Donna is the last and only woman he’s loved and their time together helped him accept his sexuality. In the stage show he’s in a committed relationship (his partner's name is fully escaping me atm). It always stuck out to me that Donna changed Harry and that’s why he still loves her after all these years. Sam obviously regrets leaving to do what was expected of him because he didn’t love his first wife. Bill sees the life of adventure and companionship he could have had with Donna but acknowledges that that time is behind them and still loves her anyways. And Harry loves that Donna made him see himself clearly for the first time in his life and loves her for it. You can see why Astarion came to mind I hope. 

Astarion’s night with Tav was him figuring out what intimacy meant to him after finally closing the Cazador Chapter of his life. The encounter was brief but it changed him for the better and allowed him to start healing.

EDIT: I realized I didn’t cover Astarion’s Vampirism at all. For story purposes assume he has some kind of temporary solution to the sun issue because I need his ass to be present when this is set on a fantasy Greek island. The Dhampir issue is… something. I sludged through some further thought experiments. Tav and the kid being Tieflings hides the fang coloration issue. Explaining away that the characteristics haven’t presented yet because the kid is still quite young by nearly all standards (20 is just barely of age for humans, and though they are full grown biologically they are still children in Elven society) and also have been largely sheltered from danger their whole life also works.

But to be honest, despite what the second movie and its director want you to believe, I think Harry is the least likely father of the three. I am comfortable extending this to Astarion. 

Okay now we are into the Dynamos! Fuck yes! Rosie and Tanya are my favorites (it helps that they are PERFECTLY casted in the movie oh my god). I have split their characteristics across the girls. There are some of the companions that are obviously one or the other (Karlach is the most Rosie coded while Minthara SCREAMS Tanya) while others send mixed signals (Shadowheart is the most even, skewing towards Tanya slightly while Lae’zel has Tanya’s bitchy attitude and Rosie’s  “lone wolf” outlook) SO I’m going to make a chart

Like Astarion, for story purposes, assume Karlach’s heart issue has been solved.

Graphic design is my passion

ANYWAYS you may have noticed three of our friends are missing from this line up. Our intrepid Folk Hero Formally Known As The Blade of Frontiers, Wyll, Pack Mother, Jaheria, and her trusty ride or die Rashamen, Minsc (and don’t forget Boo!). 

I had some trouble with these nerds because initially I was playing with making Wyll the second half of Sam, he would have usurped the businessman and maybe the gone home to get married bit while Gale was the heartbreaker and took something from Bill’s characterization, but I was having trouble with losing character motivations. Plus Wyll is canonically not the type for flings. So I am having him be a good family friend invited to the wedding but not involved in the parentage. He essentially is a more involved part of the Greek Chorus. He could take Sam entirely if you are not the type for Gale but you will see why I did this when I get into the songs (yes I am that fucking insane about this.) 

Jaheira does have the countenance to be a Dynamo BUT there is this minor character that I think about way too often that I wanted her to take. She is only mentioned in the first movie and the stage show in one line and seen a little in the second movie (which is a fever dream and convolutes the “lore” but I love it anyways). It’s Bill’s Great Aunt Sophia that left Donna the money to start Villa Donna. OBVIOUSLY she isn’t directly going to be playing Halsin’s Great Aunt or be dead (though she will be ancient by then) but she’s going to fill the mentor role for Tav and help out with Soph. She is the only one who knows that Gale Halsin and Astarion are the possible fathers until the beginning of the shenanigans.

Minsc, like Wyll, doesn’t have a direct parallel. He is also a part of the more involved Greek Chorus. He is Soph’s crazy uncle. He got them into all kinds of trouble and still does to this day. He gives a less emotional and personal version of Sam’s “are you sure you want to do this, you are so young” speech that essentially is offering to run off and be warriors (His plan does not get them away from anyone, he’s unanimously elected that the entire tadfool group is coming with them). But he does it after Gale gives the original speech that severely upsets Soph so it serves as a cheer up speech (“Minsc is unsure if the Wizard should come along seeing as he has upset the little warrior so, but Boo says he is very useful and Minsc agrees. So he can come with, but he does not get to pet Boo’s furry little bottom!”). 

The rest of our Greek Chorus and people like Sky and Sophie’s Friends are filled out by various NPCs. Pepper is played by Mol. Ali and Lisa are open to OCs to be honest but the idea of Yenna and Arabella hearing the saucy details of a story they were partly involved in is really funny to me so they are listed in the song list as the backup singers. Sky is an OC because I wasn’t fully comfortable using any of the child NPCs. He’s referred to as Soph’s partner.

[ghostkingart]

WIP Whenever

In the spirit of this post that ended up inspiring people, I'll post my own little snippet that follows the prompt. Or two. I'll post two. Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion x male! demigod! OC (Valeriy) Words: 932 AU explanation: no tadpoles, mind flayers fucked off somewhere somehow and don't cause the whole thing AU (so Astarion is still bound to Cazador and, in this story, he is trying to seduce my OC for Cazador) OC explanation: Valeriy is a demigod, son of Morana (goddess of winter and death in Slavic folklore) and a mortal man, he was originally created for my original fantasy novel, but I saw the potential in pairing him up with Astarion so now he's in BG3 also (with few changes)

“I wish you would tell me something that was true,” Valeriy said wistfully.

“What do you mean?” Astarion asked.

“I can tell when people are lying to me. I’m afraid you’ve been lying ever since we met.”

Dread pooled in Astarion’s gut. Something was telling him that Valeriy wasn’t bluffing. He needed to find a way to get out of this predicament. “Has it ever occurred to you that you might be wrong?”

“It has. Unfortunately for you, I am rarely wrong about it.”

Astarion went quiet. He wasn’t sure where to go from here.

“It isn’t impossible, but it’s difficult to fake closeness. I imagine you know that and… you seem like someone who knows how to do so. But I’m sorry to disappoint. If you want something with me, it has to be real.”

Real, huh? Well, Astarion still couldn’t tell him the truth, but there was a part of it he could try to present, even if he’d have to twist it a bit. When he sighed, his chest hurt. “I am not… actually looking for love or connection. I don’t expect it. I stopped believing in it a long time ago.”

“Then what was all this for?” Valeriy asked softly.

Astarion expected that question. “Trying to fill the void, I suppose. One left behind by those who sought out to hurt me.

Valeriy was quiet for a while. Astarion didn’t dare look at him, even though he knew Valeriy wouldn’t be able to see him look.

“Aren’t we all?” He said at last.

“Who was it that hurt you?” Astarion asked.

Valeriy chuckled. “Astarion, please. You tell me one truth since we met and you expect me to cave in so easily?”

“I suppose you’re right.” Astarion stared ahead of himself. This was his last chance to seal the deal. He needed to try somehow. “One other thing is true.” He turned his head to look at Valeriy, who, of course, wasn’t looking back at him. “You’re beautiful.”

Valeriy smiled. “You think so?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve forgotten what I look like.”

Astarion thought he’d be sick. The two of them had more in common than he’d ever cared to find out. Of course, he couldn’t mention that he related without also mentioning that he was a vampire spawn, so he said nothing about it. “You weren’t born blind, then?”

“No,” was all Valeriy said.

Astarion tried again, “I see you aren’t in the mood for talking. But I can think of something we can do that doesn’t require any words…” Astarion leaned over and reached out.

Before he managed to make contact, however, Valeriy caught his wrist. “Is that what you really want?” He asked sternly.

To the Hells with it.

At that point Astarion simply closed the remaining gap between them and kissed him.

Valeriy was quick to respond. He let go of Astarion’s wrist in favor of wrapping his arms around Astarion’s waist. That was more like it.

This was something Astarion knew how to do. He could simply fake it all throughout and he’d have Valeriy in his clutches. It helped that Valeriy was genuinely beautiful, but Astarion doubted anything would be different just because it was Valeriy he was supposed to fuck.

Valeriy was gentle, while Astarion was trying to get things moving. Valeriy seemed to be really into simple slow kissing, with tender touches and slow movements.

He was taking the lead. Astarion didn’t like this. He needed to be in control. He pushed against Valeriy’s chest and his back hit the sand. Astarion straddled his hips. Better.

But when he went in for another kiss, Valeriy was the one with his hand on Astarion’s chest, pushing him back.

“You’re rushing it,” Valeriy said in a neutral tone that drove Astarion insane. No judgment, but no emotion either. “You don’t want this.”

“Of course I do,” Astarion said cheekily. “It was my idea, silly.”

Valeriy’s eyes landed on Astarion’s face and for a split second it appeared as though he could see, not just Astarion’s being, but all the way to his very soul.

But then that moment passed and Valeriy was once more looking through Astarion rather than at him. It was a relief.

“You wanted to know about me,” Valeriy said.

Nine Hells, what a talker.

“I used to fuck people for money,” Valeriy said bluntly. “So I can tell when someone isn’t enjoying it.”

Well, shit. That certainly complicated things.

“I’m sorry. If you’re looking for a cheap thrill or to hurt yourself, you’ve got the wrong guy,” Valeriy said gently.

Astarion sighed and got off of him, sitting on the sand beside him instead. “You are infuriatingly kind.”

“That’s one I haven’t been called before.”

Astarion stared ahead.

“Why do you—”

Astarion promptly cut off Valeriy’s attempt at even more talking, “Can you, for once, just be quiet?”

“Alright,” Valeriy said. “I know something else we can do that doesn’t require any talking.”

Astarion frowned. “Like what?”

Valeriy’s hand closed around Astarion’s wrist and he pulled him in. Then he… simply held him. Astarion’s head rested on Valeriy’s chest, listening to the beating of his heart.

Astarion wanted to scream. He wanted to cry and hit the man, but any of that was hardly on the table.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring Valeriy to Cazador. He truly was out of his depth.

He didn’t want to move. He knew he should have, he should have told Valeriy to piss off and stop wasting his time. But, for the time being at least, he allowed himself to be held.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Horace

Prompt fill for "a last minute emergency means they have to bring someone else with them on the date (e.g. child, little sibling, pet)" from here featuring Modern AU Beatrice and Zevlor...and Horace the corgi. SFW.

Special shoutout to @notyournhaama for continued support and choosing the prompt!

Beatrice: Hey Zev, turns out my roommate fucked off for the weekend and since my mum is away, I’ll need to bring Horace on our date. Is that okay? If not, that’s totally understandable and we can reschedule for another time.

Zevlor: No problem at all. See you tomorrow. <3

Beatrice: Thank you so much! See you then <3

***

“Ah, so that’s the famous Horace.” Zevlor teased as Beatrice and her corgi Horace approached him at the entrance to Bloomridge Park. This was their fifth date, for which he planned a romantic picnic in what he discovered to be her favorite park in Baldur’s Gate. My goodness, she looks stunning. What a pretty lavender sundress she’s wearing that shows off all her…assets. He glanced at the corgi and offered his hand for the dog to sniff. I see I meet with his approval. Good, good. I do so very much like your mistress, Horace.

Beatrice was beaming at the two. “Aw, you two are adorable! I’m sorry about—”

He met her gaze and smiled affectionately. She’s blushing! She’s truly the sweetest. “I told you---it’s not a problem, my dear. I even packed a treat or two for a certain good boy.”

Her brown eyes widened as she took the arm he offered her. “You didn’t have to! Now I feel bad. I can reimburse you, if you want.”

Like Hells you will, darling. “Bea, please. A few treats and a tennis ball didn’t put me out that much. My army pension and work at the bakery are more than enough, so please don’t worry.” She’s been open and honest with me about her anxiety…I do not wish to add to it.

“Okay, Zev.”

My gods, my heart is going to beat through my chest. The way she said my name. That sweet little smile. How…why…does she want me? Finding a bench under the shade of a large tree, he unpacked their picnic while she poured some water in a portable bowl for Horace. “Granted, I know little of how to train pet therapy dogs, but I’d say you’re doing famously with him, darling.”

Taking a bite of the salad he made, she smiled, her freckled cheeks flushing. “Oh thank you! Honestly, he makes it really easy. Horace has always been very chill, doesn’t go crazy barking at everything…anyways, I’m glad you like him. Or at least, tolerate him.” She took another bite and leaned back against the bench, chewing thoughtfully. “I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t like him.” Beatrice turned her head, her gaze meeting his.

Lathander’s light, is she—

Zevlor swallowed. “Am I that someone?” Please, let it be me.

“If you want to be.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and he thought at first, he did not hear her correctly. Before he could respond, she continued and began to ramble adorably. “I know you’re older than me. You’re a tiefling. I’m a half-drow. You’re from Elturel. I’m from the Gate. But…” Her nose scrunched a little as she pouted even more adorably. Good gods, I’m not going to be able to say no to her, am I? “I like you, Zevlor. I’ve not had the best time dating,” Give me names, darling. “But with you? It’s been lovely so far, and I hope we…we…um…” She had neglected to notice Zevlor’s face inching closer to hers until their lips almost touched. “We could date? If that’s something you want? I—”

As his lips touched hers, he quite deftly removed the container of salad from her hands and placed it behind her. His hands then settled on her ample waist as he inched closer to her. “There’s nothing I want more, sweetheart.”

“Oh thank fuck for that, because I was so worried—”

He hummed softly as he kissed her again, and this time, he tugged on her lower lip ever so slightly. “You needn’t worry. Not anymore.”

Zevlor was not sure why those particular words resonated with his lady.

All he knew was that after he said that she blushed more, squealed, wrapping her long arms around his neck, and kissed him passionately, moaning into his mouth.

Which was interrupted by Beatrice yelping when Horace licked her leg.

Horace, I thought you were on my side here!

“You naughty boy!” She laughed and picked up the corgi who began to lick him as well as her. “Mummy getting too much attention from Zev? Well too bad, Horace, because he’s going to be spending a lot more time with us.”

Those words resonated with Zevlor for all too familiar reasons. Since their first date (though if I’m being honest with myself, from the moment I saw her walk into Bex’s with her friend), he imagined them spending time together. However, he surprised himself with how domestic most of his fantasies were---cuddling, planning dates together, stealing kisses, holding her hand. Those were the fantasies that made him feel happy. And then there are the less than wholesome fantasies that make me feel like an old lecher.

She rubbed Horace’s head before placing him back on the blanket at her and Zevlor’s feet. “Maybe spending more time together…today?” Beatrice grinned. “With Nadia gone, I have the entire loft to myself. I could give you the grand tour,” Gods, you have the sweetest laugh. “And maybe watch a movie? Sit out on the deck? Whatever you want, Zev.”

Where have you been all my life? All the hardship and heartbreak…the horrors of war…being forced to leave Elturel…starting over in Baldur’s Gate…it’s all led me to you. Reaching for his beer, he sipped as he leaned back and with his other arm, wrapped it around her. “That sounds lovely, darling.”

She grabbed the container of salad and continued to eat. “Don’t worry---I’ll make sure to lock my bedroom door, so we don’t have Horace barging—OH.” Hilariously, she froze, her brown eyes wide. “What I mean is…umm…”

Alright, Zevlor. Let’s see if you still have it.

“As wonderful as Horace is, dear, the only tongue I want near me in your bedroom is yours.” He quipped, sipping his beer and smirking upon seeing her face blush darker than he had ever seen it.

Still got it.

[12thhouse-sun]

you came back with gravity

Chapter 2: i hate you for what you did and i miss you like a little kid (AO3)

Chapter 1 AO3, Tumblr

Gale x female!Tav

4.7k words

Mature

On one Waterdhavian spring day a chance encounter brings two old friends back together for the first time in almost ten years. Gale Dekarios is the last person Poppy wants to see but when confronted with his affliction, Poppy is forced to make a decision that will define both of them for the rest of their lives. – A Canon-Divergent AU where Gale still has the orb but the events of BG3 don’t happen.

Tags: Angst, Grief, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Discussions of Death, Discussions of Suicide

banner from @firefly-graphics

“What the fuck do you mean you’re staying with him? Taking care of him? That fucker doesn’t deserve even a second of your time why—”

The Sending cuts short at the word limit and Poppy restarts a new one with “Go on”, anticipating Holly’s barrage to continue and doesn’t want to interrupt her more than that.

“Fucking spell. Why are you even bothering? Let him fucking rot for all I care, for all you should care. Fucking piece of shit wizard—”

Casting another sending and another “go on,” she lets Holly rant until she’s done. Choosing her words carefully, Poppy finally responds. “Hols, you didn’t see him. Tara was desperate. I couldn’t leave him like that.��

“So where’s Morena? A godsdamned cleric? Literally anyone else. Come on, I thought you were the reasonable one out of the two of us.”

Poppy takes a steadying breath, trying to walk the line of what to tell Holly and what to keep from her but she can’t help her voice cracking at her response. “He’s dying, Hols. It’s too much for a Sending. I’m sorry. I’ll be back in Baldur’s Gate another time. I’ll write.”

“Fucking hells.” Silence. “You better. Love you. Talk soon.”

She drops her head into her hands, exhausted. Holly has always been fiery, the sun and spark to Poppy’s icy, grounded nature, which has admittedly been melting as of late. It took a tenday before she could pluck up the courage to Send her best friend, anticipating exactly what just occurred. Holly is right, she normally is the reasonable one: ice and stone and holding firm. But in this situation, Poppy is finding it hard to do just that. 

In these first few days, Gale moves around her like a skittish animal and Tara is constantly underfoot, battering Poppy with questions about her life and travels since they last saw each other. This is fine when Poppy is merely trying to settle in, but what makes this difficult is when it comes to tending to Gale. Just this morning the orb needed to be fed again and he didn’t tell her, not wanting to bother her. She told him off again, pleading with him to just accept her help, but he can be just as stubborn as her.

After using so much magic already today, she feels as though she needs another cup of coffee. Upon exiting her room, she finds Tara on the landing, giving her a look.

“Having fun listening?” Poppy needles tiredly. 

“I know this has not been easy for you, but your effort hasn’t gone unnoticed. Miss Smith will understand eventually. She is not entirely unreasonable once she calms down.”

Poppy can’t help but snort as she starts down the stairs, Tara joining her. “Does she ever?”

“Now I wouldn’t deign to comment on that, Miss Lyons, she is your friend after all.”

Poppy sighs. “Love you, Tara.”

“I love you, too.”

—

A month goes by, and things improve gradually. Every few days the orb gets hungry and so she feeds it, having to ensure she rations her magic so that it can be fed something suitable that day. On the occasional very bad day when feeding the orb doesn’t cause immediate relief in the other side effects, Poppy casts a Lesser Restoration over him which does seem to help. Gale is nothing but gracious but continues to shrink himself around her, never asking for spells to ease his pain even when she can tell he needs it.

Feeding the orb makes Gale more physically mobile but it doesn’t clear his mind. He’s spent a year locked in his tower with just Tara for intermittent company and thus has turned into himself. Poppy is fortunately or unfortunately familiar with the feeling; she is prone to bouts of melancholy herself, but navigating how Gale would prefer to be treated when like this is new for both of them. Poppy tries to offer assistance in any direct or indirect way, looking to distract, solve, or listen to whatever he needs, but the second she offers up even that kind of assistance Gale brushes her off, saying he can manage on his own. She gets it. But it’s hard. 

So she helps in other ways, food being one of them. She visits the markets a few times a week and becomes one with Gale’s kitchen, cooking up foods that will hopefully fill him out. That is, if he even eats. When he’s asleep (or pretending to when she walks in, hard to tell) she’ll leave him a bowl but it’ll be untouched come morning. To prevent this, Poppy has taken to getting him meals whenever he’s awake and eating with him. 

The first time she did it, he froze up and refused to look at her, but eventually did begin eating. And as the days went on, Poppy insists on eating with him at every meal, Gale finally taking the hint and eating whenever she arrives with food. It takes two tendays, but eventually he starts making his way down to the kitchen to eat whenever he can smell Poppy cooking.

Conversation comes more slowly. They don’t talk much during meals but one day Gale is curious to his core and actually asks Poppy about her recent travels, the shock of the moment making Poppy drop her spoon. It’s while she focuses on stumbling through an answer that she doesn’t notice how her heart soars at him opening up.

—

Poppy isn’t quite sure she trusts this fishmonger. That should be enough for her to ignore his wares but unfortunately he’s the only one selling littleneck clams today and she needs a quart of them for dinner. Combine that with the fact that she’s pretending to look like she knows what to look for in good clams has resulted in her standing at this stall for far too long. 

Just when she’s about to say “fuck it” and pick something else for dinner, she can grill Gale when she gets home on how to identify quality shellfish, she hears her name called out to her in a desperate and familiar voice.

Oh shit, Poppy thinks right as Morena Dekarios rushes up to her and pulls her into a suffocating hug. 

Poppy is ashamed to admit to herself that she had not forgotten to visit Morena in the few weeks she’s been in Waterdeep, but has in fact been purposefully avoiding her. That first day in the tower she had begged Tara to not tell Morena that she was even in town, let alone living with Gale, and the tressym reluctantly has been keeping her word. All that left Poppy to do was avoid Morena as best she could in the largest city on the Sword Coast.

Apparently Waterdeep isn’t big enough. Her and Gale had always joked that his mother was “inevitable” but it held more truth that one would think.

Morena shudders in her arms, overcome with emotion at seeing who is essentially the daughter she never had for the first time in years. Poppy doesn’t usually avoid Morena when she comes through Waterdeep, knowing that if Morena ever found she was there without visiting her, Poppy would be dead in a ditch less than a day later. But she tried to keep those past visits short as Morena would always push her about forgiving Gale.

It’s something that had always baffled Poppy; the only other person more upset than Poppy and Holly that he had missed her mother’s funeral was Morena, her mother’s best friend. While Poppy wasn’t there for it, she knows that Morena laid into him about it after the fact. But the baffling part is years later when Morena came to her to ask her if she would consider forgiving her son. That he’s truly sorry and that she hates seeing the both of them no longer on good terms. It always left a bad taste in Poppy’s mouth. 

And so it’s more than embarrassing to run into her when Poppy is clearly running errands as if she’s staying a while instead of just passing through.

“Gods, darling it’s been so long how are you? You’re looking so well–ah, are you staying a while?” she asks, gesturing to Poppy’s bags. 

Always gets right to it, Morena. It’s something Poppy always appreciated about her but right now she wishes she could misty step away and crawl into a hole.

“Yeah, I am. It’s great to see you, too.”

“Incredible! Tell me, where are you staying? You don’t need to rent a room, you know you can always stay with me, all the empty space I have and whatnot.”

Another gut punch. 

She braces herself. Poppy can’t lie to Morena. Can’t and won’t. Can’t, because Morena knows all of her tells–given that Poppy inherited them from her mother–and won’t because she can’t bear to. But not everything.

“I’m…staying with Gale,” she replies hesitantly. 

A wash of emotions spread over her face: shock, pain, excitement, grief. Grief that Poppy hasn’t seen on Morena’s face since her mother passed. Fuck.

“You’re staying with him? Tell me, is he alright? Please tell me what’s wrong with my baby boy.  I haven’t heard hide nor hair of him, Tara has been especially tight-lipped which is so unlike her—she kept you a secret, too! Oh, but you two have made up haven’t you? If you’re staying with him that must be true, oh that warms my heart but I wish I could just see him too…” 

The bombardment of questions overwhelms Poppy and so she guides Morena over to a spot between two stalls for a semblance of privacy. When Poppy looks back up at her once they’ve stopped she sees tears streaming down Morena’s face and her resolve shatters, her own tears falling freely now.

“I’m sorry, I—” Poppy takes Morena’s hands in her own and gathers herself. “We have made up.” Not a complete lie. “I’m helping him at the moment. I can’t say much more unfortunately, but I will be staying in Waterdeep for the foreseeable future. I’m so sorry I didn’t come see you sooner.” She feels so ashamed and afraid, like a child about to be scolded. Poppy loves Morena with her whole heart and she could have handled this better. Should have handled this better. Then she wouldn’t be crying with her in the middle of the Markets. 

Morena pulls her into another bracing hug and they cry together, the older woman rubbing soothing circles into Poppy’s back. She’s missed being comforted and being held and she drops her bags and clings to the back of Morena’s dress like a toddler.

After a few minutes they break apart, Morena handing her an extra handkerchief to dry her face. “You truly can tell me nothing more?”

Poppy can only plead another apology and hope it’s enough. 

“Well, what are you doing the rest of the day, my love? I’m out running errands myself and we can take a stroll together. Maybe take tea in the garden after? You can fill me in on all you’ve been up to.”

Poppy smiles a little at the thought, wiping her tears. “I’d love that. Actually, could you help me with something?” She pulls Morena over to the fishmonger whispering the questions she would have asked Gale once she returned to the tower.

Upon returning home hours later, Poppy drops all of her bags onto the kitchen table, feeling completely wrung out. The rest of the morning and early afternoon with Morena had truly been a pleasure but she had to continue dodging questions left and right about Gale, his mother doing everything she could to try and get even a smidgen of information out of her. In the end, Poppy held firm, but agreed to a weekly tea with her every Seventhday and the occasional market run together.

It’s at that moment that Gale pops into the kitchen, finding Poppy hunched over the table. “Oh! You’re back! Did you happen to acquire the—”

“I ran into your mother today,” she interrupts, wanting to get this over with.

That stops him short and he pales. “Oh?” he replies weakly.

“I didn’t lie to her. But I withheld so much and you know how much I fucking hate doing that to her.” She feels the tears coming on again, that feeling of being so very small. “She misses you. She wishes you’d at least write.”

“Poppy I can’t…”

“I know why you say you can’t I know! I know it hurts, it’s what I’ve felt all day today having to withhold from her. I did everything I could to not hurt her more at the reveal of your condition. Everything. I don’t know how Tara does it.” Gods, the tears. She turns her head away from Gale, scrunching her eyes closed and willing the tears to stop their assault. 

She hears Gale shuffle forward and lay a gentle hand on her back, the first touch he’s initiated between them since she’s lived there. Poppy recalls Morena’s hug from earlier and finds herself yearning for that comfort again, yearning for Gale of all people to wrap her in his arms and let her cry but she’s still so mad at him and both thoughts living together in her mind are so confusing.

“Your efforts are most appreciated, and if you’d like to leave I’d understand…”

“Gods, not that shit again, Gale,” she sniffs, wiping the snot off her nose with the handkerchief Morena gave her. Through her tears she looks to Gale and finds him looking bereft and ashamed. “For the last time, I’m not leaving you alone here—”

“I have Tara—”

“Who leaves for days at a time to find you magical items! That’s not a life to live. We’re managing it, Gale. You and I, together.”

“But this is hurting you, too and I will never forgive myself for hurting you again.”

The elephant in the room. They haven’t talked about it yet and she doesn’t want to now. All it’ll result in is her getting mad and him retreating into himself, anyway. 

“Gale, is your worry about me that much more painful than the long days you go in between items?”

“It’s what I deserve,” he states a little too resolutely for her liking.

“Fuck that, and fuck Mystra for all I care. Just because this is difficult it doesn’t mean I’m going to leave for fuck’s sake.”

Gale is quiet for a moment, taking in her words, still looking more than a little shame-faced. She can’t look at him, can’t be in the same room as him.

“I’ll get started on dinner shortly,” she says, turning to the bags on the table and focusing on putting them away and only that.

After a moment, she hears the shuffle of Gale exiting the kitchen and walking upstairs.

An hour later, everything is put away and dinner is ready. Poppy is anticipating another quiet and uncomfortable dinner tonight. Maybe she’ll grab a bottle of wine for herself later, to take her mind off everything. She would rather get high but has yet to find a reliable seller of halfling weed in the city, her old connection long moved on.

Bracing herself outside of his door, she takes a deep breath and enters his room, but Gale is nowhere to be seen. Not in his bed, or in the armchair by the window. She wonders if he’s up in his study when she sees that his ensuite bathroom is shut, which is only ever shut when it’s in use. Poppy sets his bowl on his bedside table and sits in the armchair, digging in. 

Minutes pass, and Poppy has finished her dinner, and Gale hasn’t appeared. Tired of waiting, she approaches the bathroom door and knocks. 

“Gale? Everything alright?” she calls. She presses her ears to the door and hears a quiet groan, not the usual kind you’d hear in a bathroom. “Gale?” she calls again, worried now.

He doesn’t respond. Poppy declares she’s coming in and casts Knock on the door, only to find Gale crumpled on the bathroom tile in his bathrobe, arm clutching his chest as the orb glows menacingly. She rushes to him, pulling his head in her lap and pouring her magic into the orb, begging for it to stabilize. It takes a few moments, but the orb finally quiets, and Poppy rests her hand on his chest above the orb, confirming that it is no longer roiling.

She feels movement against her other hand and craning her neck more she sees her other hand clutching Gale’s cheek, not remembering having done so. He looks up at her tired and pained. His eyes are too much for her so she looks elsewhere, inspecting his head for any sign of injury but finds nothing. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, barely a whisper.

It’s a loaded apology. It is like Gale to apologize for things he doesn’t need to, like needing her help after a fall. But Poppy knows this is more than that, it’s an apology for something else and many other things all at once. She’s still so mad at him, but she also can’t bear to see him in pain, the conflicting emotions inside her making her nauseous. So she ignores it, focusing instead on helping him.

“You didn’t hit your head, did you?” she chokes out, struggling to keep her voice even.

“No, fortunately,” he whispers weakly. “Thank you, again. You didn’t have to.”

“Don’t mention it,” she forces out. “Your dinner’s in your room but it’s gone cold, I can reheat it for you if you’d like.”

Gale looks up at her and she anticipates the usual “oh don’t worry” or “you don’t have to” but he seems to catch himself, considering her. “That would be most appreciated. Thank you, Poppy.” He shakily raises one hand and places it on top of the one that holds his face, 

She smiles down at him, easier than expected given everything. “Come on, let’s get you on your feet.”

—

“Oh! There you are, I was—”

Poppy shushes him and beckons him over to where she kneels on the balcony. She’s currently ducked behind the railing and doesn’t want Gale to draw attention to her quarry.

Gale crouches next to her, wincing at his knees. Grabbing a cushion off the bench, she pulls it over for him to kneel on. 

“We’re going to be here a while,” she whispers conspiratorially. Grabbing the bottle of wine and glass she brought with her, she pours Gale a hearty glassful and takes a swig straight from the bottle. 

“What is this about?”

“Do you see that couple in the dinghy in the harbor over there?” she asks, gesturing towards the water with her head. Gale peaks over the railing with her to see exactly that: a young couple in a dinghy. What Poppy did not describe that Gale sees is a veritable garden of flowers filling the boat. “I think he’s going to propose.”

“At this time of day?” Gale says, a little too loudly. Poppy shushes him and he continues, quieter. “It’s supposed to be a cloudless summer day today, and quite hot at that; something that could have been seen with a simple divination spell from a cleric or druid. Neither of them are wearing hats, they could burn! She is also clearly dressed for something much nicer than a dinghy ride, that one doesn’t even look particularly clean! Oh how uncomfortable she must be. He clearly did not take her comfort into consideration. Does he even like her?”

Poppy can’t help but snort at Gale’s indignation, happy to see he’s immediately invested.

“I guess we’re going to find out. If she says yes, we can call out and congratulate them. But if she says no…” she turns to Gale and flashes him an impish grin. “I think that will be a different kind of enjoyable.”

Gale looks back over the railing. “Oh! They’ve stopped. Drat, I wish I had my binoculars at hand, they’re usually out here…”

Poppy wordlessly hands him the aforementioned binoculars she had taken with her when she originally crouched behind the railing and he takes them excitedly. Taking a sip of wine, he pokes back over the railing and begins narrating what he can see.

“He’s terribly out of breath…oh her arms are crossed she is not amused by this little excursion he’s concocted. Blimey, half the flowers are wilted. I wonder how long the boat sat in the sun…”

Looking over the railing herself she sees them sitting in the little boat but can’t make out much else. “Are they talking?”

“Indeed they are. I wish I had learned to read lips that would have been perfect for this very mom—OH! He’s getting down on one knee!”

The man does indeed get down on one knee and rocks the boat in his effort, the woman trying to stabilize herself and her squeal of her surprise and panic echoes across the water. Poppy swallows down another glug of wine but doesn’t take her eyes off of the trash fire she’s surely about to witness. 

“He’s speaking…” Gale continues. “Oh!” He exclaims and slaps a hand over his mouth in excitement, the binoculars almost slipping out of his grasp into the water. Poppy grabs the strap but she doesn’t need him to finish, she sees it clear as the day they’re sitting in: the woman has slapped the man square across the face.

“Oh my gods,” she effuses. 

Replacing the binoculars at his eyes, Gale replies, “Normally I’d hate to laugh at other people's suffering, but he could have done better. She can do better.”

They strain their ears for any taste of what they’re fighting about but they can only catch a word here or there as their volume increases and the fight continues. 

“...never cared..”

“...always…your mother!”

“...never supported me…”

“...and you’re still unemployed!”

“... at least I’m not a—”

The last few words are cut off by the woman slapping the man across the face one more time before turning around in her seat and pointedly not looking at him, thoroughly icing him out.

Both Gale and Poppy wince and “Ooooh” at the slap, this one apparently hard enough to make the man shut up. He pulls out a dagger, cutting off the blooms and ribbons to sink into the harbor, before taking up the oars once more and rowing back to shore. 

Turning so that her back is against the railing, Gale joins her, gulping down half his glass. He takes a refill without question even though she’s been drinking straight out of the bottle. Meeting the other’s gaze, the tension is broken and they both break out into a fit of giggles. Doubled over and clutching their sides, it’s a few moments before Poppy speaks. “You–you were so angry for her!”

“It seems like she needs someone in her corner! Besides, he clearly did not know her well or put in the needed consideration for a proposal. Anyone with eyes can tell that it was a rushed job.”

“How would you have done it? A mid-harbor proposal in a dinghy?”

“Well, to start,” he points his finger in the air, “I would check the weather, as I previously stated. The flowers would be fresh and in season, and their favorite. Though not so many as to affect the seaworthiness of the vessel. I would make sure they’re dressed appropriately and comfortably. I would row us out there to a programmed illusion I would have prepared earlier in the day, if I had my magic of course…” the last of his words draw off as he stares into the middle-distance. 

Poppy nudges him with his foot, not allowing him to bury himself in a hole of self-loathing. “And then what?”

“And then I would confess my never-dying love for them, which they would already be aware of. But more poetically—I would have prepared something for that very moment. And if they say yes, we’d enjoy a small picnic which I would have packed and stowed in the boat beforehand. Only their favorite foods of course.”

“Of course,” she smiles. 

“Oh but then there would be the dinner afterwards with family back at the tower, a sumptuous meal cooked by yours truly.”

“Nothing done by halves, here.”

“Never,” he grins, eyes twinkling.

“Cheers to that,” she says, holding her bottle out to him. 

“Cheers indeed.” Gale clinks his glass against her bottle and they both drink their fill. Poppy smiles into her drink at the feeling that something has finally dissolved between the two of them.

—

“These just aren’t doing it for me,” she grumbles, tossing another cookbook to the side. She’s trying to figure out what to make for meals the next few nights and for some reason everything Gale’s cookbooks had to offer are uninspiring. Getting up from the table and leaving Gale to his breakfast and tea, she goes over to the shelves where he keeps the cookbooks and pulls out a recipe box she hasn’t perused yet in her weeks staying at the tower. 

Popping the lid off, she starts flipping through them, begging the gods to show her something interesting. Most of the cards are written in Gale’s hand with plenty in his mother’s as well. But one card for Chicken Piccata has her stop in her tracks.  

She thought she knew every existing piece of her writing. It took ages to go through all of her things, Poppy finding herself reading and re-reading her mother’s journals, notes, recipes, even to-do lists, just to feel closer to her. Taking in the literal marks she left on this world. She has most of them memorized at this point and as a result is intimately familiar with her mother’s handwriting. The swoop of the first leg of her capital A’s, the flicks of the dots of every i and j, and the looping swirls of every o into the following letter. 

¼ cp capers. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen her mother’s handwriting make that specific string of letters before. The s is a little wonky here, a tiny loop at the top where her pen changed directions. 

It’s been ten years and everyone had been right; the grief never goes away, never shrinks, but your love and your life grows around it. Poppy has learned to live without her mother and learned to live around the grief. The pain used to be constant until it wasn’t. Until she could go months sometimes without feeling the wrenching stab of grief cut her open once more. 

It doesn’t happen slowly but suddenly, Poppy hacking out a sob that unleashes a torrential downpour of salty tears down her face.

Gale is upon her instantly, pulling her into his chest and hugging her tightly. The card is trapped between them in one of her hands but she doesn’t let go, she can’t let go. The headrush makes her feel like she’s swaying but Gale keeps her upright. One of his hands is cupping the back of her head and he’s whispering, “I’m here, I’m here. It’s okay,” like a mantra. She feels her shoulder moisten from his own tears.

“Why weren’t you there?” she wails, the pain of his absence from her mother’s funeral pouring over her. “You were sup–posed to be th–there,” she blubbers.

“I have no excuses. I was impossibly stupid, Poppy. My reasons aren’t worth repeating because you’re right, I should have been there. And you had every right to shut me out afterwards. I am so, so very sorry. From the deepest depths of my heart and my soul I am sorry for all the pain that I caused you. You are my closest and dearest friend and I am so sorry that I ever made you think otherwise.” 

Pulling her trapped arm from out in between them she hugs him back, clinging to him like a lifeline. This is what she needed when her mother passed, this is what she needed at her funeral, for him to hold her and for her to hold him back. Adrianne Lyons was like a second mother to him and in the days they both needed each other he wasn’t there. But he’s here now. And these minutes they hold each other and cry together in his kitchen heal something inside of her that she thought was going to stay broken forever.

[megidonitram]

Everyone's Running From Something

(ch. 6)

A Baldur's Gate 3 University Professor AU

Rating: M

Quick Summary: Astarion and Gale are two University English professors precariously mentoring a troubled 19-year-old and falling in love.

💖Main Pairing : BloodWeave,(Astarion/Gale) 💕Side Pairings: Shadowheart/Nocturne, Karlach/Dammon, Wyll/The Dark Urge, Tav/Tav 💔Past Pairings: Gale/Mystra, Astarion/Sebastian, Astarion/Tav

<=Previous Chapter | Master List | Ao3 | Next Chapter =>

**Please see Master List Entry for Full Content Warnings**

⏰Chapter Warning⏰

none

Gale stepped into the administration office on the second floor to find a severe woman with slicked-back auburn hair typing away furiously at her computer. Her attention immediately snapped to Gale when the door swung shut.

“May I help you?” She sounded pleasant enough, but Gale couldn’t shake the feeling that he was annoying her.

“Yes, I, uh, I’ve locked myself out of my office, I was told to come find…” Gale looked back down at his phone for the name “Mizora?”

The woman smiled like she had scented blood and rested her chin on her hand. “Speaking.”

“Oh, excellent. Can you help me then?”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” she slammed one of her desk drawers open and pulled out a ledger. “Name and office number?”

“Um… Gale Dekarios, office B126.”

Mizora gave him a dubious look as she flipped rather leisurely through the yellowed pages of her ledger. “Hmm… That name doesn’t sound familiar. What subject do you teach exactly?”

“English?”

Mizora nodded, skimming down a line of office numbers with her finger. “…B1 is the English office block, but I can’t say I recognize you.”

“Well, I just started this semester…”

"Likely story." Mizora looked up from her sheet with narrowed eyes. “I’ll need your faculty ID card.”

“I’m, uh, afraid that’s with my office keys…” Gale admitted sheepishly. He held up his briefcase. “I’ve still got a few syllabi with my name on them, that should prove-“

“As an employee of Balduran University, you are required to keep employee identification on you at all times.” She snapped. “I have to assume all other forms of ID are fabrications.”

“I clearly didn’t mean to leave it in my office.” Gale let out an exasperated sigh. “What if you came with me, and I showed you my ID once you left me in my office?”

Mizora put a hand over her chest as Gale had just said something absolutely precious. “Dr. Dekarios… If that is your real name-“

“It is.”

“We’ll see.” Mizora flicked her wrist dismissively. “But if you are who you say you are, then surely you understand the particular faculty member you're sharing a space with is… shall we say, rather prone to turbulent romantic entanglements.” Her eyes shined with strange glee. “Surely you understand that I can’t just let a stranger into his office- That could be incredibly improper.”

Gale flushed an indignant shade of red. His heart jittered with some strange emotion. He didn’t much appreciate hearing these kinds of things about Astarion behind his back- it felt indecent. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accuse me of exactly, but I assure you we are just coworkers.”

“Not that it’s stopped him before… but you’re right, I suspect you’re not much of his type.” Mizora looked him up and down with appraising eyes that made Gale feel wholly undressed. “… You seem a bit old.”

A strange pit formed in Gale’s stomach, something like shame. “I don’t see how any of this is appropriate or relevant to the matter at hand.” He huffed. “Can’t you just-”

The office door swung open, and a young man with neatly laid braids cautiously stepped into the room, a manilla folder in one hand and a coffee cup carrier in the other. Mizora’s demeanor somehow got even more foul at the sight of him- a feat Gale wouldn't think her capable of if he didn't see it happen.

The young man glanced over at Gale. “Am I interrupting?”

“Oh, no-”

“Well, you’ve already barged in, Wyll. You might as well get it over with.” Mizora snapped.

He held out the manila folder, and Gale spied a sticky note stuck to the top of it that said, ‘Distribute to ALL liberal arts department chairs.’ “Dr. Silverwarden just wanted me to drop off the schedule for the athletics study hall-”

Mizora curled her nose like Wyll had offered her a dead squirrel. “Oh, is that harlot making students do her busy work for her now? Had a baby, and now she’s too good to walk to another building?”

“I was just- I offered-” Wyll opened his mouth to stammer out an answer, but Gale stepped in between the two of them before he could chicken out.

“That’s hardly an appropriate tone to take with a student.”

Mizora’s eyes flashed incandescent, and she fixed Gale with a look that probably should have turned him into a pile of ash. “Oh, are you going to tell me how to do my job now ‘Dr. Dekarios’? After you locked your keys in your office like an utter moron.” She snatched the folder out of Wyll’s hand and tossed it on a surface behind her. “Why don’t you leave before I call security and tell them that a strange man is trying to get into a department chair’s office?”

Gale threw his hands in the air like he was being held at gunpoint. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave.” He exited the office with Wyll hot on his heels.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, daunted by the prospect that he would have to track down Astarion somehow when Wyll tapped him on the shoulder. Gale startled like a trapped hare.

“I’m sorry, but are you trying to get into a locked room?” Wyll asked a trimmer of something tentative and excited in his voice. “Because I can help with that!”

Gale raised an eyebrow. He probably shouldn’t be asking a student to break the school code for him, but it wasn’t like he had any other options. “Alright, do you have a spare key?”

Wyll smiled precociously. “Something like that.”

Ominous. But Gale led him back down to his office nonetheless.

“So, you’re the new English professor?” Wyll asked. He handed his tray of coffee to Gale as they reached the office door so he could rummage around for something in his backpack. “If I’d known I was going to run into you, I would have gotten you a coffee too!”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can’t, with good conscience, ask a student to pay for my coffee.”

“I don’t pay for it!” Wyll assured him as he pulled a small nail file and a mangled bobby pin out of a side pocket. “I worked at the campus coffee house a couple of semesters ago, and the manager never deactivated my free drink code.”

Wyll wiggled the bobby pin into the lock, and Gale looked around frantically as he realized what was happening.

“Wyll, are you sure about this?” Gale muttered as a random student waiting in the hall glanced at them curiously.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Dr. Ancunín's the one who taught me how to do this!” Wyll stabbed the nail file into the lock and turned. There was a loud pop as the lock disengaged. “If you ask, he’ll probably teach you too. He says all the locks on campus were bought in bulk, so they all have a similar flaw that makes them easy to pick.”

“Why does Dr. Ancunín know how to pick locks?”

“He wouldn’t say.” He dropped his lock-pick tools back in their side pocket and pushed himself off his knees, brushing his pants off. “But it keeps me from having to ask Mizora when I need to get into a classroom.”

“She’s charming, isn’t she?” Gale handed the coffees back to Wyll. “Does she talk to everyone like that?”

A bitter laugh escaped Wyll’s lips. “No, I’m just her favorite, I guess.” He checked his watch and started a little bit. “Oh, I’m going to be late!” He slung his backpack over his shoulder and half-jogged back down the hallway. He paused before he stepped into the stairwell. “It was nice to meet you, Dr. Dekarios!”

***

G: What the fuck is her problem?

Astarion had to stifle a bark of laughter in front of the students trickling in. Xenia had slipped in at some point, settling in her usual spot: The back corner of the classroom, far from the notice of her peers or teachers. She was trying to skirt around Astarion’s notice too.

A: Did you get back in the office, at least? G: No thanks to Mizora.

Wyll stepped into the room with a sheepish smile and handed him a lukewarm to-go cup of coffee. “Sorry, I’m late.” He whispered.

Astarion took a long sip of his coffee. It was a blonde roast with a splash of milk -he wouldn’t usually bother with the milk, but the teenage baristas tended to burn their shots. “I suppose I can forgive you this once.”

Wyll laughed, but he was already scanning the classroom for someone else. Xenia looked up from the notebook she was pretending to scribble in and gave Wyll a little wave, a tentative smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Ah, so that was it.

Wyll sidled past the students in the front row to hand Xenia the second cup in his Coffee tray. They beamed at each other the way only school kids could as they talked about something mundane, like the weather or the walk-up from the dorms. Xenia toyed with the end of her braid while Wyll leaned closer and closer over the desk.

He would be good for her.

Better than the crowd Astarion had thrown himself into the instant he got out from under his dearest father’s thumb, at any rate.

Astarion conspicuously cleared his throat and motioned for Wyll to take his spot at the front of the classroom. “This is 1204 Sophomore Survey of Modern British Literature.” He fixed Xenia with a hard stare that she desperately tried to ignore. “If that is not the class you are expecting to be in, I highly suggest you make a swift exit now.”

A different student dozing off in the back of the class startled and ran out of the room.

There was always one every semester.

Astarion went through the same monolog he did at the beginning of every class. The rhythm and cadence were as familiar as a hymn. He grew up in London and graduated from Cambridge. His office hours were posted on the syllabus, but please try to schedule appointments beforehand. This course required a textbook, but most of the readings could be found online for free.

He turned the floor over to Wyll for about five minutes so he could explain what a supplemental instructor was, then closed out by letting a few students speak on what British literature they were familiar with, and as usual, most of them grumbled about how they had to read Shakespeare in high school and how much they hated it because they couldn’t understand the language. One girl threw up her hands in despair when he informed her that she would have to read Romeo and Juliet for a second time, but she was placated when he promised her there wouldn’t be any Chaucer (He wondered what sadist of a world lit teacher she had in high school that made 16-year-olds read middle English). One boy had a Welsh grandmother who loved T.S. Eliot and read him Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats when he visited in the summer. Astarion refrained from informing him that T.S. Eliot was actually an American.

But for the most part, the class had very little love for British authors—which wasn’t much of a surprise for a mixed major intro-level course—and nearly everyone was here because they had a humanities credit to fill. Really, the only one who wasn’t was probably Xenia… who was here because Wyll was here.

Astarion closed the class by assigning a short reading on the importance of literature studies that he already knew no one would read and dismissed the class. Xenia went for her usual speedy exit from the room, but Astarion headed her off at the pass.

“Just a moment Ms. Bellona, I need a quick word.”

She froze like a statue, and the football player behind her nearly tripped over her.

“I really don’t think I have the time,” she said smoothly. She was learning that she didn’t have to yield to her professors the way she did her high school teachers, but she didn't quite have the courage to openly disobey him yet. Ah, sophomores were his favorite.

“I won’t take up too much of your time.”

Xenia’s shoulders slumped, and she skulked over to his lectern, grumbling something under her breath.

“Oh, don’t be so sour.” Astarion scoffed. “You’re not in trouble.”

“Then why do you make it sound like I am?”

“That’s just his accent,” Wyll explained as he organized his stack of availability surveys to stick in his bag. “It makes everything sound more severe.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “I will see you tomorrow, Mr. Ravengard.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Wyll made his way out of the room and paused at the door. “By the way, Lydia wanted me to let you know the study hall schedule is posted.” He said before disappearing into the hallway.

“Since when is he on a first-name basis with Dr. Silverwarden?” Astarion mused.

Xenia shrugged. “He calls Professor Cliffgate by her first name, too.”

“Yes, well, they’re technically colleagues now- It’s no matter.” He switched gears. “Xenia, dearest, why are you in another Sophomore literature class? You technically haven’t completed the first one.”

She went steely. “I’ve been thinking about picking up an English minor. My advisor said that it would go well with my current degree plan.”

“The advising office might be fighting over a singular brain cell, but I’m almost certain they would have told you to take a technical writing minor for a psychology degree.”

“What if I took up a literature minor because I like literature?”

“Then I’d tell you you shouldn’t waste your time.”

“Isn’t that a little hypocritical of you?”

“No, because I was already independently wealthy outside of my education choices. You should focus on a field where you can get a job.”

“Aren’t professors supposed to encourage students to follow their passions?”

“If you’re trying to follow your passions, my dear, there are easier ways to spend time with Wyll.”

Xenia turned red from her neck to the tips of her ears. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She huffed, zipping up her jacket as if Astarion could literally see into her heart. “We’re just friends- He’s helping me get back on the fencing team in the fall, that’s all!”

Astarion raised his coffee cup to his lips, swallowing back the dregs at the bottom. “Does he buy coffee for all his friends, then?”

Something vexed and nervous swam in Xenia’s dark eyes, and she hurriedly tossed her cup into a nearby trashcan. “He bought you coffee too, by that logic-”

Astarion held up a hand to silence her. “Don’t even imply that.” He scolded. “Wyll brings me coffee because I’m technically his boss, and he likes going above and beyond. I suspect he brings you coffee because he likes to see you happy.”

“I think you’re just reaching.” Her voice wavered in a way that made Astarion feel a little guilty for pushing.

“Maybe, but I’ve watched a lot of students catch crushes in my tenure.”

Her jaw tensed, and her gaze drifted out the window for a brief moment. “Is this all you wanted to talk about?”

“You’re already in a precarious situation regarding your student finances. I just thought I should say something.” Astarion shrugged. “I’m not trying to upset you.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I can take care of myself.” Xenia’s voice was flat and irritated. She slipped her finger under the pad of her messenger bag’s strap and adjusted it into a more comfortable position on her shoulder. “I guess I’ll email you if I have any questions about my work.”

“Alright, have a good afternoon.” Astarion let her leave, then let out a deep sigh.

Idiot kid.

He went to gather his lecture notes when Gale called. He thought about letting it go to voicemail -whatever it was could probably wait the 5 minutes it would take to get back to their office- but something about the situation nagged him a little bit.

He picked up.

“Do you miss the sound of my voice this much?”

“I- uh, what?” Gale sounded panicked on the other end.

“Is something wrong?”

“The faculty lounge is flooding.”

Shit.

[courtana]

i don’t want to out myself completely cuz i was raging over this, but it is really similar to what you said a couple months ago about how the people loudest about the game on tumblr are also those who don’t play the game or understand the characters for some reason… i thought it would get better too and they would move to something like baldurs gate 3 but they haven’t. the worst thing i saw recently was someone who only reblogged x reader aus, which i don’t care about that much tbh, talking about how the characters aren’t emotional and how they don’t wear their trauma which is INSANEEEE. especially because ghost exists along with many other scenes in modern warfare and even the smaller games that tumblr doesn’t care about… mind you, this person reblogs hybrid au fics but is complaining about how cod characters aren’t emotional and how they don’t wear their trauma and how it’s unrealistic for fic writers to include that in their fics (lowkey not my business tho, letting the cod fic writers eat eachother alive would be beneficial)

it’s kind of like they don’t view the characters as characters that are complex (for cod standards) and instead just look at them as sex toys for them to masturbate to. it’s literally insane. you were ahead of the game on noticing this.

Like the campaigns for COD, in comparison with other games, are so short that of course we're not going to see every emotional facet of a character. They're very fast-paced campaigns. But we definitely do see them portray emotions. Just because it's not romantic angst doesn't mean that they're not actual emotional responses from the characters. Bro, one of the most iconic memes from COD through these last twenty years is literally Price crying out in emotional agony seeing Soap die. These girls just have the media literacy of a fucking fruitfly and don't see characters' emotions written in a story's subtext lol.

Definitely, I could see that they just viewed them all as interchangeable sex toys and objects. Which sucks because the Modern Warfare storyline, which began in '07, is dear to a lot of gamers' hearts, even for people who have stopped playing COD before the reboots. Like, Captain Price [and arguably Soap] was considered a huge icon/name in video games prior to the reboots. Yet, these "fans" sort of just bastardize the characters and the stories to write glorified porn, ignoring sort of the cultural weight a lot of these names have attached to them among gaming circles.

What annoys me most, too, is that a video game subculture, a space on the internet for gamers (men and women alike) who do love these characters, got totally ransacked and raided by airheads who outright state they have no care for video games, for gaming subcultures, for the stories of the games itself. Unless you go to somewhere like r/girlgamers and search for a Warzone or Multiplayer LFG there, it's hard to find other people in female COD spaces nowadays who, like, would actually want to play matches with you. Like, people have forgotten entirely that COD is a video game and its characters are from a video game, not just an empty, decontextualized sandbox of dolls and faceclaims for their edgy, try-hard, and unrealistic smut fics.

Anyway, it's nice to be recognized for when I am right, even if at times I lost my cool and it felt like a waste of time. Thanks anon.

[hauntedjpegcollection]

baldur's hero

wc: 3253 au: baldurs gate au ch: xavier, benji

Xavier rarely goes to the courtyard without purpose.

It’s too noisy with too many people and never enough room to breathe—the restoration to the gate had been beautiful to witness. To be a part of, even. But years since the destruction and the noise has returned, like birds returning to the skies or brooks bubbling once more. It was in full swing everywhere but especially in The Heroes Yard. Blooming gardens surround marble statues, lovingly tended by a circle of druids that helped Baldur’s Gate and then never left the city. Their constant humming—occassional singing, even chanting—was the undercurrent to people.

He dodges a throng of young mages in electric colored robes, as they’re lead through a trail by a wizened teacher. She knocks her cane against a statue here and there, imparting wisdom to the sleepy group who follow dutifully. Xavier deftly bends and snags a scroll thats slipped free of one pupil. When he winks to her, she blushes all the way to pointed blue ears and covers her smile with a clawed hand. There’s not a hint of recognition about her silver eyes, just amusement and maybe embarrassment as she tucks herself back in with her group.

It’s nice not to be known. There is no statue of Xavier in this yard. But—he does find the one he’s looking for.

It’s only just past a lovely fountain. A popular spot, where people gather to idle free time. It is rarely empty. Sometimes, Xavier wishes he could have been part of the decision making process that went into this particular statue’s placement. It feels only right, after all, that maybe he should have been able to direct the artist who’d captured his husbands likeness.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Xavier says to the life sized rendition, taller than him only because it sits atop a pedestal. Benji’s pose is hilariously stiff, not just because he’s made of marble. Whoever had been commissioned to fill The Heroes Yard must have spent at least some time with Benji. They’d gotten the heavy set to his brow, the uncomfortable placement of crossed arms, his grimacing (but gorgeous) mouth. A stranger might look at him and find his stance confident, boastful. Strong in the face of adversary. Chin tilted back to survey the very city he’d saved.

Only, there has been an addition to the statue. A fuzzy black mustache made of felt has been taped to it, covering the natural stones rendition of Benji’s actual facial hair. It’s a bit lopsided, admittedly silly looking. Makes Xavier grin staring up at it. But it’s hard not to grin at Benji, even if this isn’t actually Benji.

He sits down at the edge of the pedestal, rustling through his coat pocket for the mutton sandwich he’d brought himself. It’s been hastily wrapped in yesterdays news paper, oil making it translucent here and there in little dots. They have too many copies, because Benji cannot stop himself from purchasing a page from every young busker on the street. So they mill about their home, hoping not just for a glimpse of the hero, but some of his coin.

“I always add too much oil to these,” Xavier complains quietly to himself and to Benji’s hero statue. “What I wouldn’t give for a curry.”

It’s been some time since Benji’s left, so he fends for himself in the kitchen. It’s a lonely part of their home now. But that’s Harper business. Xavier doesn’t ask. Not because he doesn’t want to know but—

They’ve had more than one fight about Harper business. The old argument that maybe Benji should retire, should simply stay home and find something worthwhile, something heroic here has been shelved for some time now. They don’t argue that one anymore, because Xavier understands that one better. The need to be doing something. The need to be helping. But the renewed and much debated (hotly, with both of them saying things sharper than they mean) is about Xavier’s safety.

Because is is safer for Xavier to not know the details. However, a part of him itches for someone to think of him as Benji’s weak spot and come looking for an easy belly to cut open. Xavier is no longer a paladin (if one ever stops truly being a paladin), but that doesn’t mean his hands don’t sometimes ache for the hilt of a sword.

The sandwich is still good, even if it has far too much oil on it. He leans back against one of Benji’s marbled legs, one of his own tucked up. He stares out across a pretty horizon overlooking the ocean that runs up against Baldur’s Gate. Xavier misses his tiny fishing village sometimes, especially when there’s all this noise (lovers laughing as they sit by the fountain and hold hands, a baby crying loud in it’s mothers arm as she shows the faces of countless, timeless heroes, the wizard and her students). He closes his eyes and enjoys the sun.

“Oi!”

Xavier blinks and looks to the side. Then adjusts his gaze much lower so he can look at this intruding stranger properly.

“You do that?” the tiefling looks furious, pointing at the statue he leans against. Xavier follows the child’s finger up to Benji’s face and the terrible mustache.

“What?”

“Y’think that’s funny then, do ya? Defacin’ a hero like that?” if Xavier were standing, the tiefling would come up to his waist. If that. He’s small, with just the barest hint of horns. A dark umber color, with dots all over his face and bare arms. His eyes are shockingly yellow, the kind that glow a bit when the sun hits them properly. Xavier tilts his head and then looks up to the statue, and then back down to the tiefling.

“This guy?” He jerks his thumb back at Benji with a smile. The tiefling’s face floods darkly, clawed hands balling into little fists at his sides.

“That guy! You new to the gate, half elf? That tief’s a hero, I said.” The child enunciates the word hero so hard it feels like he’s trying to cast a spell with it. He’s slight, but not not waifish, nor is he unkempt. Xavier remembers the refugees. No one could forget the refugees—no one with a heart, anyway. The outpouring of orphaned children, many of them just like this one. But Benji’s fan wears clean clothes and good shoes. His curly black hair is combed back, even if it also fans out around him messily.

“You don’t say,” Xavier ponders, glancing over his shoulder. He’s trying hard not to smile, brushing his hands together to clear his palms of crumbs. “He your idol or something?”

“That’s none of your business.” The little boy adopts Benji’s posture, arms crossed over his chest. He has a dangling earring that is silver, in an interesting snowflake design. Xavier slowly slides his way off the pedestal and stands. As he does, the tiefling child stutters back a bit. He blinks up and up until his head is nearly tilted all the way back—despite that, he still glowers, even if it’s less pointed now.

“What did he do that was so important?”

Xavier watches the tiefling climb his way onto the pedestal. He clings arms around Benji’s statue to keep himself upright. Xavier’s hands begin to raise on reflex, but he quickly lowers them when the child looks his way. However, when he turns back and starts awkwardly trying to snatch at the mustache, Xavier’s hands return to a safe distance. If the boy fell and broke his elbow all because of a mustache that Benji himself had slapped onto the statue, his husband would be distraught about it for weeks.

“They not teach history lessons where you’re from?” the boy asks, grunting with effort and an outstretched hand. The way Benji’s arms are crossed make it difficult for his short arms to reach. “Alright, how about this? A trade?”

“Oh?”

“I’ll tell you the story if you get this blasted mustache off him—s’not right! No one messes with the statue of Gale Dekarios.” He says the mans name with a haughty, sniffling air. Xavier has to bite his lip not to laugh.

“Not a fan of the famed Wizard of Waterdeep?”

“You wouldn’t get it. People are always tellin’ the stories of human men. All the time. Had to hear about them my whole life growin’ up. Even elves, yeah? Even half elves. No ‘fense to you.”

“None taken.”

Xavier understands what the boy means.

Gale was a handsome human man who did not want to save Baldur’s Gate—or maybe he did. Maybe his ideas would have saved the gate and the people within the city. But what would have become of the human man, with all that power? And when did Gale’s desire to save the city become more about wanting the power? No one else knew that story, because Benji was good. Benji was a hero, who didn’t go telling people the truth. That Gale Dekarios, whose statue was never defaced, wanted to take that stupid fucking crown for himself.

He breathes deeply to avoid letting himself get lost back in that day. It’s not what he’d come to the yard for. He’d come, because he’d missed his partner and wanted to see his face, even if it was a marbled version.

“Alright, son,” Xavier says, stepping forward. He takes the tiefling by the hips and gently picks him up. The boy weighs practically nothing and he’s easily set back down on the ground. He doesn’t protest. For a moment, Xavier can imagine a father doing exactly this. Taking a rowdy child and hoisting them around. There’s a twinge inside his chest. Children with parents. How special that it’s not a novel idea anymore.

“Tell me the story then. Benji, right? One of Baldur’s heroes?” He hefts himself up onto the pedestal and throws a lazy arm around the statue’s waist. He can briefly imagine himself doing the same to the real Benji. How warm he’d feel, snug against him. How good he would smell—like healing herbs and something spiced, like a hint of rain or the promise of rain. Xavier stares down into the statue’s eyes.

I miss you, he thinks fondly, smiling. It feels good to miss you, it reminds me of before. A letter sits inside his coat as well. Just like before. He’d meant to drop it at the post before coming to the yard, but he’d been hungry.

The tiefling boy begins telling Xavier the tale. Some parts are wildly exaggerated—Benji rode a dragon, he dual wielded maces blessed by Tyr himself (Lathander, forgive him, Xavier laughs internally). Some are painfully true, like his one mystical hazel eye, the long draw of a scar down the middle of it.

“Mm, he didn’t get the scar from the eye,” Xavier comments softly, finally plucking the mustache free. He cannot stop himself from pressing a swift, chaste kiss to the statues cheek and then hopping down to the ground. The heavy sound of his body makes the tiefling jump back, though Xavier lands perfectly with knees bent. He rises slowly, holding up the mustache with a toothy grin. The boy is blushing even harder than he was in anger.

“He’s married, y’know,” Benji’s fan snorts, pointing to the statue. “Heard his husband’s ferocious—seven a half feet tall with a sword that calls lightning. They say he killed Ketheric Thorm—but I don’t believe that.”

Not just me. It is rarely just one person who kills a God.

“That’s good. Shouldn’t believe everything you hear. It was Dame Aylin that killed Ketheric.” Let her have the glory; she deserved it. Xavier toys with the plain silver wedding band on his finger. He feels a roll of nausea from the memory of Ketheric Thorm, but it is an ancient hurt, a cold and dead fear that he’s mostly grown free of.

“No. It was Karlach Cliffgate—you’ve pro’lly never heard of her, ‘cause she’s another tiefling.” The boy turns his nose up, snorting contemptuously. Xavier does not tell the young boy that Karlach had not been there for that particular fight, but instead a powerful and terrifying Githyanki woman, who stories do not tell of frequently enough for his liking. But that was history.

Favoring the Gale’s of the story—even glorifying Xavier to a seven foot lightning wielding paladin, though nameless as he was.

“You know,” Xavier says contemplatively. “I bet, whoever keeps putting these up there does it early in the morning. Probably right before dawn, so no one can see.”

His thoughts ease into the memory of Benji, the sunlight not even peeking over the horizon yet. The window to their bedroom open, because they’d secured a spot by the water and the smell of it comforted Xavier. Their hands on each other, touching faces or sides or arms. Small kisses while Xavier is half dozing still, almost asleep—Benji’s leaving, is telling him he’ll be back soon. Telling him to write, telling him he loves him.

The boy looks struck by the idea, his grin going sneaky. Then he schools it neutral and huffs.

“Not thankin’ you. Was an even trade. Information for help. That’s fair by Baldur’s ways.” Xavier bows deeply, making the boy look instantly sheepish. He turns to run, down a winding and flowered path. At the end of it sit two tieflings, a fat and happy baby in their lap. Xavier watches the boy crawl up onto a stone bench, whispering conspiratorially into a mans ears. The tiefling is the same shade, with the same spots.

Xavier lets himself have one last look at Benji’s statue before he leaves the garden.

—

Finally in his hands once more, Xavier does not let Benji go again.

Not for the entire night. There is no moment where he is not touching him; from the exact second Benji crosses the threshold to their modest home, Xavier’s palms slide across his forearms, to his shoulders. Their mouths crash together in a desperate, laughing kiss. Benji is lifted off his feet, crushed to Xavier’s chest. His armor clinks. The smell of leather oil and dirt, but also Benji.

His hands stay when they take a well earned bath together in a washing tub that they’d specifically bought for this depth, this width. To fit the two of them. Hands touching while they’re in bed, and not necessarily just for the sex that they have. That ranges from rough and needy and desperate and wild to slow and languid and sore and tired. But his hands stay even after that, just simply cupping ribs. Running over a broad torso, a hairy chest. His fingers roam until they find—

“This scar was not here before you left,” Xavier snips, pushing Benji to his side to stare down at the small healed wound on his side. It’s a tan scar on dark skin, no longer than his finger. It’s minuscule in comparison to the one on his back, or another on his hip, or the burn on his calf. Xavier peers down at it with narrowed eyes. The black kohl he paints around his eyes has run horribly and Benji’s cupped hand on his cheek brushes a thumb through it.

“That’s always been there,” he argues innocently, with wide eyes. One black and beautiful and the other hazel and ethereal.

“Fuck you,” Xavier seethes with a laugh. “I know every single scar on you. I’ve tasted them with my tongue.” He punctuates that sentence with a flat lick to this new, offending scar. It makes Benji shiver, his hand clutching harder around Xavier’s cheek. His other finds a home in his hair, carding through the long red strands.

“Arrow grazed me, s’all.”

“Archer dead?”

“If I said he weren’t?”

“Suppose I’d take my Oath up again and find him and shove an arrow through his fucking—”

“Archer’s dead,” Benji laughs, pulling Xavier closer for another kiss. It doesn’t stay gentle, though it starts with just the press of lips and a sigh of air. It deepens with both their mouths opening wider, their tongues rolling and sliding against one another. Xavier moans into the kiss, sliding himself until he’s entirely over Benji—and his hand stays around this new scar he has to memorize. They kiss until it’s messy and when they part, a string of spit momentarily connects their mouths. Xavier licks it hungrily, greedily, eyes hooded and it snaps.

“Death of me,” Benji mutters dramatically.

“Swear that,” Xavier laughs, ducking underneath Benji’s chin to kiss his fuzzy jawline. He moves until he finds his pulse. He sucks it hungrily, thinks to leave a long lasting bruise so that anyone who sees the Hero of Baldurs will know that hero does have a terrifying, greedy husband.

“What am I swearin’ to?”

“Your death is to me only.” Xavier pulls back. Their breathing has both gone harder. There is a flicker of Benji’s youth around his eyes; but they are both so undeniably older now. Gray to their hair, wrinkles at the corners of their eyes, scars everywhere. “An archer can give you a scar. Maybe some Zhentarim fuck surprises you with a dagger—maybe you come home with a scar here instead.” Xavier cups underneath Benji’s knee, touching the soft skin that is never touched by anyone but him.

“But you swear that, Benji. No Harper business takes you from me, I’m there the day you die, or you don’t fucking die, got it?”

Because it all felt unfair sometimes, for Xavier. The city got it’s statue. Boys got their heroes. Harpers got their cleric. He leans forward until their noses are nearly touching. Benji’s eyes have gone dark. Possessive. His hands touch Xavier’s lower back and shove firmly until they are touching every place they can touch.

“Swear,” Benji says in a husky voice.

—

“Tyr’s fucking greatsword,” Xavier moans through a mouthful of food. Breakfast sits, hot and loving prepared on their kitchen table. It’s wooden and long enough to fit company, when they eventually have company. That morning, it is only the two of them, Benji sitting on one side with a mug of steaming tea and a satisfied and sleepy expression.

“I missed your cooking.”

“Could learn to do it yourself.”

“I made sandwiches.”

Benji’s head rolls back with a loud crack of a laugh. Xavier has never heard him laugh like that around anyone, save maybe Maran. Lark’s never gotten that laugh—Benny’s never gotten it either. Matilda gets his soft, snorting laugh when she’s making too mean of a joke. Nettie gets his chest deep chuckles, whenever they visit the grove. Children, that swarm him in droves on the street when they recognize who is he, get humored, if not sometimes awkward laughs.

Xavier scoops more food into his mouth, goes for quick sips of the slowly cooling tea. If he were in the right frame of mind (certainly not the messy, debauched, fucked senseless and tired version of himself that finds getting out of bed harder and harder with every year that passes) he might have ruminated more on that laugh. On how much of Benji stays his, despite how much of Benji is also for others.

Instead, he clears his plate and flips the sign on his blacksmith shop to close—and they spend the evening together, the windows shut to the noise of the city.

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Lavender and Starflower (Mobster AU) – Chapter 5

The Dekarios Clan reigns over Waterdeep as the city’s protector for centuries. Suddenly, the Clan gets challenged by Cazador, the head of the Szarr Clan that rules over Baldur’s Gate. Of course, such an attack won’t be tolerated and the intruder must be forced back and out of the City of Splendors. While fixing destroyed protection sigils, Gale, wizard prodigy and heir of the Dekarios Clan, meets a charming stranger called Astarion. And Gale makes the biggest mistake of his life; he invites the pale elf into his home.

I was inspired to start writing this fic when I saw this artwork by @arczism

Tyrian purple aka royal/imperial purple is a natural dye that is made of crushed-up predatory sea snails. Because it’s extremely tedious to make, the colour’s very expensive. It also doesn’t fade easily, but becomes brighter with weathering and sunlight, which is why it was highly valued in ancient times.

This is obviously an AU that isn't related to my other work.

Since the early afternoon sun shone brightly and warmly, Astarion wasn't able to leave the suite.

Gale was happy about it, even though he felt guilty. It wasn't fair that the vampire spawn had no other choice and was forced to stay here with him.

Nevertheless, the wizard enjoyed Astarion's presence as they sat together on the sofa and thumbed through museum-worthy Elven poetry albums.

"They're beautiful," said Astarion, marvelling at the hand-drawn colourful illustrations with gold embellishments while tracing them with his finger.

"They are, aren't they?" smiled Gale. "This book's over two hundred years old and was found in an abandoned monarchy."

"Two hundred years..." muttered the vampire spawn. "What a long time..."

He seemed deep in thoughts and very sad. Gale wanted to kiss it better, wanted to do whatever was in his power to comfort Astarion and fix whatever was broken.

Three rapid knocks at the door disturbed them.

"Come in!"

"Gale, Sir, the boss deman–" Murk fell silent when he stepped into the living room and saw the two men sitting on the sofa. "Apologies, didn't know ya have a visitor."

"No problem. We're decent after all," snickered Gale.

Murk began to grin.

"Yer mother wants to see ya. 's urgent."

The addressed sighed deeply.

"Well then; duty calls." Gale handed Astarion the poetry book and stood up. Addressing the latter, he said: "I'll be back soon. Make yourself at home."

The vampire spawn nodded with a smile. After a brief hesitation, Gale leaned down to kiss him.

"It won't take long," he promised.

"Don't worry, darling, I'm not going anywhere," the elf smirked. "I'll be fine on my own."

The wizard nodded and left the suite with Murk. The latter raised his eyebrows.

"Interesting choice for a playmate."

Gale shrugged his shoulders and replied: "I have good taste."

The half-orc grinned and teased: "If ya think so."

Morena was already waiting for him impatiently, pacing up and down in front of the window.

"Ah, there you are!" she greeted her son when he closed the door behind him.

"You call, I answer," retorted Gale and kissed his mother's cheek. "What's wrong?"

"It's about Cazador."

Of course, it was. Gale sighed sufferingly, deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Mum..."

"I fear he's closing in on us, and only one last thing must be put into place to tip the scale," Morena continued, ignoring her son's comment. "For years, I've been working on collecting evidence about his secret identity to destroy him for good. It was just a side issue, a hobby if you will, but now, it's more urgent than ever, and my findings will work in our favour."

Gale's interest was piqued and he asked: "What do you mean 'secret identity'?"

His mother looked at him, her eyes sparkling with something like excitement.

"Cazador's a vampire lord." Gale took a sharp intake, caught off-guard. "The great leaders of the Szarr Clan, Cazador I, Cazador II, and Cazador III, aren't different people, but one and the same person. A true vampire. Immortal, powerful, and brutal. We have serious evidence for his secret identity, as well as the existence of vampire spawns who work as his lackeys. Naturally, he also has people working for him who aren't undead and do his bidding during the day. Not everything can be done at night, thus, he needs living lackeys too. I also found proof and witnesses regarding Cazador's abilities to magically charm people and force his will upon them. Therefore, we must be careful. I already prepared a sigil for a defence spell. We only have to install them everywhere – that's your job, by the way."

"Of course it is," sighed Gale. "How did you even start investigating? It's not like there are many vampires wandering the streets, or trying to get into powerful positions."

At that, Morena grinned wickedly.

"Well, I'm a rather observant individual, as you're aware, and I became suspicious during an event almost thirty years ago when Cazador's charm was working a little too well on some people, if you catch my drift."

"Ah... the true vampires' ability to charm people – literally," nodded Gale. "I read about it, of course, but I've never witnessed it."

"And it better stays that way," retorted Morena sharply. " Vampire lords are not to be trifled with. You won't play around with that, do you understand, Gale?"

"Yes, mum," answered the addressed and sighed.

"Apropos, playing around... A little birdy told me that you have company." Morena smirked amused and Gale suddenly felt very hot under his collar. "It's none of my concern who you take to bed – well, that's a lie, but I like to make pretend for your sake – but... your guest seems to suffer from a sun allergy. Do you have something to say about that, my dear?"

Oh-oh.

"Well.." Gale cleared his throat. "You heard correctly. His name's Astarion and he's a vampire spawn. I met him last night when I was fixing the protection sigils."

His mother raise an eyebrow.

"You met him in a brothel?"

"Well, outside of a brothel, to be precise."

"An Elven vampire prostitute?"

"I'm not sure about the prostitute part yet," admitted Gale sheepishly and Morena snorted a laugh.

"He knows a lot about poetry though," he continued, smiling softly. "Up to this point, he could name every single poet that I cited. It's honestly impressive."

"I see," said his mother. "Be careful though. A vampire spawn... He probably works for Cazador, so, be careful if you plan to keep him around."

Her words hit Gale like a bucket of ice water.

"But as the saying goes; 'Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer'. Maybe, we can use him to our advantage."

"Mhm," muttered Gale unhappily. Morena shot him a look.

"Alright, that's all for today. I won't spoil your fun with Astarion, but tomorrow, I need you to install the additional vampire-proof sigils."

Her son nodded silently. Morena kissed his cheek and sent him off. Brooding, Gale made his way back to his suite.

Astarion working for Cazador... what an absurd idea... right? No. His mother was always right. Shit.

The wizard sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

Although he didn't want to believe Morena's theory, it made sense. But just because Astarion perhaps worked for the enemy didn't mean he couldn't see him again, did it? Despite only meeting last night, Gale didn't want to part with Astarion just yet. He could only hope that his mother was wrong, after all, hope dies last.

With another heavy sigh, he entered his quarter. Astarion was still sitting on the sofa, reading through the poetry book. Now, he looked up at Gale with a smile and said: "Did you know that they not only used real gold for the embellishments for this book, but also royal purple which is the most expensive ink in all of Faerûn?"

"Yes, I did know that. That's why it's incredibly valuable and would sell for around 2.5 million gold at an enthusiasts’ auction."

"And you, Gale of Waterdeep, keep this incredibly valuable book in your unprotected bookshelf? Where anyone could steal it – or ruin it with greasy fingers or a spilled cup of tea. How foolish."

The addressed chuckle, shrugging.

"Well... this is the Dekarios Estate, the safest place on the Sword Coast."

"Safer than the bank? Or the temple?" teased Astarion.

"Much safer," smirked the wizard.

"What a comforting thought," smiled the vampire spawn. "One more reason for me to stay here."

He placed his long legs on the low table, leaned back on the sofa, and kept thumbing through the poetry book. Gale observed him, smiling, and sat down next to him. Astarion immediately snuggled up on him and Gale didn't have the heart to ask him about his potential relation to Cazador.

Gale wished Astarion would never leave, but he knew that wasn't realistic. When it got dark outside, he watched wistfully as the elf put on last night's clothes – really a lot of leather – and sauntered over to him.

"Well then, darling, it was a pleasure to meet you. You're delightful and I haven't had such a wonderful night for a long time," purred Astarion. That haughty, self-assured smirk was back in place, charm on maximum. Gale swallowed thickly and gently tugged at the hemline of the vampire spawn's leather jacket.

"I doesn't have to be a 'farewell', you know, it could be a 'see you later' instead," he muttered. "I know it's foolish to believe that this was more than a one-night stand, but... I'd like to see you again – if that's what you want."

"I'd like that, Gale of Waterdeep," murmured Astarion, throwing his arms around the wizard. "I'd like to see you again. I still owe you an orgasm."

The addressed chuckled, blushing a tad, and the vampire spawn just had to kiss this fascinating wizard once more.

He'd miss Gale's gentleness and emphasis on consent. It was sobering to remember that this wasn't the norm.

Astarion drew back and looked at the slightly dazed wizard.

"How can I contact you, darling? Via carrier pigeon or courier mail? Or should I simply knock at your front door?"

Gale hesitated. He was about to make a big mistake, he was sure of it, but he just couldn't help himself. He was so desperate to see Astarion again.

Reluctantly, Gale let go of the elf's waist and stepped into the foyer. There, he fetched a small wooden box from a chest of drawers and pulled out a small, inconspicuous grey stone. He pressed it into Astarion's palm.

"Here. This is a teleportation device which will portal you right in front of my suite's door, no matter where you were prior. All you need to do is use the magic words to activate the spell."

"And what are the magic words?" smirked Astarion.

"Gale Dekarios, Archmage of Waterdeep."

His full title hung heavily in the air.

"Oh, my, an archmage. I'm honoured." The vampire spawn bowed slightly. "I'll be back, darling, I promise."

Gale nodded and led Astarion out of his suite and through his family's estate until they reached the garden's gate. There, Astarion pulled him into one last kiss before sauntering off. Gale felt weirdly uneasy about letting him go.

I hope he'll be alright, the wizard thought as he made his way back to his living quarters. I wouldn't be able to stand it if something happened to him.

[static-sulker]

Ghouls and germs, welcome to the bg3 Conscious Time Loop AU.

As a big fan of Polycule shit and ALSO time loops, I have made a very self-indulgent AU I want to work in. A fun fact about me is that I LOVE Undertale and the content made around it when they talked about the loops or restarts Frisk goes through. Then I thought about one of the big reasons that Undertale had that the gameplay almost encourages you to replay to see the effects it has, like telling you to stop to see the fact that the game remembers your effects. So a lot of people played it, causing the content of constant loops through the game to become (at least to me) a growing form of AU content with a constant loop for Frisk. Then here comes Baldurs Gate. The game itself isn’t saying specifically that it changes when you loop through it consistently but a lot of people are playing and that your actions will lead to freedom from the tadpole. And I'm just a tad crazy… so...

I'm making a conscious loop AU. The team is all going through a loop and then havoc and a ludicrous start. Also polycule. In this Tav and Durge are two different people in the team (For me at least, Tav is known as Erin and is a half-elf Bard, and Durge is known as Monty, a draconic bloodline sorcerer) It starts with a pretty good run, the first way through they go through it as you do in the game, destroying the brain, practically the GOOD ending. Everybody is happy. For 6 months. After the epilogue, they are meant to finally continue life, and start in their little sectors of life.

Then they wake back up on the nautiloid. A part of them is still saying what they said in their first run-through like Lae’zel doesn’t want to jump and prepare to fight Tav but they still feel like an overwhelming urge to do it. For the first 6 loops through, they believe it’s just them that going through it again like they don’t know that the others are conscious. Everybody seems to be acting the same as these urges to do the same events every time is covering any real idea of trying and communicating much.  Nobody outside of camp knows when they try and talk to people like Ethel who is pretty good with this anyways…Or the emperor. They try and keep in line, that is until Monty does something different. During Raphael's first little speech, he lets out a little mention under his breath something along the lines of “It’s an Ironic name for a house if she’s literally in your basement but ok.” Raphael doesn’t exactly hear it as Monty isn’t the big talker of the group. Everybody else? Oh, they hear it. At that point, they all try and work together to get out of the loop by trying any form of ending. No matter if they try and not even fix the brain or try and escape, 6 months after the brain is affected (fully controlled, destroyed, breaks free, etc.)They black out and wake up back on nautiloid. They have tried all the evil runs, Monty has tried to convene with Bhaal but nothing happens. Shadowheart tries this with both Shar and Selune,

After a while, they don’t take it all too seriously most of the time, like they begin to just min-max and like fuck around a bit. Normally with people like Gortash Raphael or Yugir. Astarion and Erin have both like memorized Raphael's whole script and just fuck with him constantly and the others like struggle to stop them because they usually are busy laughing. Death means nothing now and they are just going through what feels like purgatory and going through the ride with as much joy as they can try. The big cutscenes also change what happens to them. Like Astarion has gone through his emotional journey and he has grown as a person but his urges have caused him to act the same as he did when they first came back before the world “allows” him to be nicer without it being a struggle to act on his own choice sometimes. Yes, they can do other run-throughs but they can’t really change their character at times. Their urges to stay in one form of attitude until it made sense to change it, like Shadowheart acting a bit defiant and colder until she frees the nightsong. They also at times don’t have control over certain “events” happening until they actually happen. Like Astarion biting somebody at camp, which also lets him finally use his bite and be honest about it, which forcefully cannot happen like he literally can’t bite in front of them until his secret is revealed.

I don’t know if it would actually have like lore yet, it’s more of an excuse to think of the goobers fucking around and be old friends.

[slothquisitor]

Invisible String: Chapter Nine

A Baldur’s Gate III Modern AU.

Chapter Summary: Liv gets an unexpected invitation, and Astarion has a realization.

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

_____________________________________________________________

“You don’t have to come if it’s too much of an inconvenience,” Brelia says, words rushed as if she could hurry past the asking. “It’s not even really a big show, but it’s my first one as main curator so I just thought that maybe…most people invite their whole family to this sort of thing.”

Liv had thought something was wrong when Brelia called her sounding super off, but it turns out that it was apparently just nerves. Realizing that makes the answer even easier to give. “Of course, I’ll be there. I’ll make a long weekend of it.”

“Really?” Brelia sounds truly surprised, and that breaks Liv’s heart even though she understands exactly why. 

Brelia had learned about their half-brother years ago, and unlike Liv, she’d gone immediately no contact after. No room for explanations or goodbyes. Liv had spent her whole life looking up to her sister only to be unceremoniously tossed aside without explanation. She’d respected the distance her sister had put between them, only discovering after she’d also gone no contact that Brelia hadn’t wanted to be cut off from her. Brelia had explained that she didn’t feel like she could keep a relationship that would have required her silence or lies. It wasn’t Brelia’s place to tell her about her half-brother, but her sister hadn’t realized quite how long their family would hold the line on not telling Liv. 

Despite the phone calls and the work put into their relationship in the last few months, she still hasn’t seen her sister in years. Some part of her is still fifteen and hurt that her sister has taken scissors to her life and cut her from it, so being asked to do anything for her sister feels like she’s finally being chosen. Finally, someone in her family wants her there. 

“Yeah, it’ll be great. I’ll see about getting Friday off work and come up on the train.”

Besides, this couldn’t have arrived at a better time. A few days away from her living situation and the awkwardness still lingering between her and Astarion sounds like an actual godsend. 

“We’ll prep the guest room for you,” Brelia replies. “I’m excited to see you.”

“Yeah, I’m excited too.” Liv is surprised at how much she means it. Maybe she and her sister can’t get their family to be better to them, but they can be good to each other, and maybe that’s enough. Maybe they’re all the family they really need. 

She’s got a few important meetings this week, but everything should be wrapped up on Friday, so getting out of town shouldn’t be too hard. She’s already making plans and mentally tallying up everything that will need to be done even as she hangs up the phone. 

“I can hear that you’re off the phone,” Astarion says striding through her open door. “I’m unpausing the episode!”

She smiles at him. “My sister just invited me to Neverwinter this weekend.”

“You’re leaving? For an entire weekend?” Astarion gives her a look of shocked consternation before reeling it back in. “Oh shit. This is a big deal for you, isn’t it? You don’t see your family.”

Well, he got there eventually. “Yeah. I haven’t seen her in years.”

He walks further into her room and takes a seat at the end of her bed. “You’ve never told me why.”

It’s true, and with all the sharing of his past, she doesn’t think he’ll think less of her for hers. “Short version: I have a half-brother I only found out existed like seven months ago. I was the last person to know, apparently. My parents were super shitty about it, so we don’t talk anymore.”

Astarion’s eyebrows nearly disappear into his curls. “Goodness. Through your mother or father?”

“Mother.”

He considers that for a moment. “Well, that’s rather novel.”

Liv shrugs. “Apparently, they’ve been in contact for years. Meet up for dinner and everything. He knows all about my life, and I didn’t even know he existed.”

“That’s…” Astarion looks a little lost for words. “...awful. And now your sister needs you?”

She’s grateful for the change of topic. “She’s curated an art show, and she wants me there for the opening.”

He sighs and stands up already moving back to the living room. “Well, I guess you better go, but it’s rather rude of you.”

She trails after him. “I’m sorry, was there something on the shared calendar I’m not aware of?” There’s not. She checked, besides she’s the only one who adds to it. 

Petras is sitting dead center on the couch. Earlier, she and Astarion had taken up either end, and Petras had looked rather proud of himself for sitting between them. Astarion looked like he wanted to move to the nearby chair, but that might mean admitting defeat, so Liv hadn’t moved either. It’s the world’s weirdest game of chicken. 

“A shared calendar? Can I be added?” Petras asks, face lighting up with an unreasonable amount of mischief. 

“No,” Astarion replies automatically; Petras immediately sulks. “There’s nothing in particular going on…I just…that’s a long time for you to be gone and me and Petras to be…”

“Bonding?” Petras helpfully supplies. 

Astarion looks pained. “Exactly.”

“Aw, it sounds almost as if you two are going to miss me and not the buffer I provide to you two not dealing with all of this,” she replies, gesturing at them both. 

“Can I sleep in your bed while you’re gone?” Petras asks as she takes a seat back on the couch. Astarion doesn’t join them and instead sits in the nearby chair after snatching up the remote. 

“Absolutely not,” she replies. 

“I’ll wash your sheets,” Petras insists. 

“Do you even know how to do laundry?” Astarion asks with disgust. 

“That is what the internet is for.” Petras holds up his smartphone and waves it sarcastically. 

She ignores him instead directing her question at Astarion. “Are you going to start the episode back up?”

Astarion hits play, and Liv pretends that she doesn’t notice him stealing glances in her direction the rest of the night. 

***

FangtasticLover: Neverwinter for the weekend, huh? You been before? 

Books>People: I haven’t. I’m excited; it’s supposed to be really beautiful this time of year. 

FangtasticLover: So I’ve heard. Will I be getting photo updates, as your pocket comrade?

Books>People: Do you want photo updates? 

FangtasticLover: How else will I live vicariously?

Books>People: Do you ever travel?

FangtasticLover: Not really. Work is almost always too busy to justify it. Besides, Baldur’s Gate is big enough for my needs. You?

Books>People: I traveled a lot growing up because of my dad’s job, so I love a good adventure, but when I go somewhere new I don’t mind staying put for a while. I don’t usually travel just to travel. 

FangtasticLover: So why go now?

Books>People: Because my sister asked. I don’t know, I feel like she and I have missed a lot of each other’s lives. I think it was probably really lonely for her. 

FangtasticLover: But she cut you off as much as she did your parents. 

Books>People: She had good reason. 

FangtasticLover: She had a reason. It doesn’t make it a good one. Did you do anything wrong?

Books>People: It’s more complicated than that.

FangtasticLover: It just seems rather odd to lump you in with your parents when you didn’t know anything. 

Books>People: It’s not like I reached out to her either. I’m just as much to blame. 

FangtasticLover: And why didn’t you?

Books>People: Because I didn’t think she wanted to hear from me. 

FangtasticLover: Seems like a reasonable response to your sister cutting off all contact with the family. 

Books>People: Why are you so stuck on this?

FangtasticLover: I’d just be careful that you’re not being used as a prize to be won between the affected parties. 

Books>People: Trust me, that’ll never be the way it is with my family. 

FangtasticLover: You’re sure about that?

***

“Oh my gods! You’re here!” Brelia calls in excitement, hurrying around the side of her car to open up the trunk for Liv’s luggage. She gets the trunk open and Liv lifts her bag in at the same time Brelia goes in for a hug, and there’s the awkward rearrangement of limbs as Liv tries to do both at once. They could be twins, both of them with dark hair and the same green eyes. But Brelia’s hair is cut short and she carries with her an air of effortless cool that Liv is forever too anxious of a person to ever replicate.

“It’s so good to see you,” she says around laughter. Gods, this is more awkward than she thought it would be. 

“You too! How was the trip?” her sister asks. 

“Great! I  – ” She’s cut off by someone honking their horn wanting to get into the pick-up queue, and the sentence is left unfinished as they get into Brelia’s car. 

The car is a practical, if somewhat messy, compact and the music comes up full blast as soon as her sister starts the car. She murmurs an apology before hitting the gas and taking them away from the busy train station. 

“So, work wasn’t too upset that you broke away?” 

“If anything, they were surprised I hadn’t taken a day off yet. The only person truly put out about it was Astarion,” Liv replies. 

“Ohhhh. And why might that be?”

Liv hasn’t told her sister about Astarion being a vampire, which also means she hasn’t told her about Petras sleeping on their couch. It’s not so much a secret as she hasn’t asked Astarion whether or not she can share it, so she’s just kept it to herself. 

“He’s terrible at entertaining himself, and we’re on season five of Crown of Shadows and he’s mad we have to pause.” All true. 

Brelia gives her a sideways look from the driver’s side. “There’s not like…anything going on with you two, is there?”

Liv feels her cheeks heat, flashes of that kiss in her mind. She had asked him if they could forget it, but she certainly hasn’t. But now that he’s told her the truth about himself, and there are no more secrets between them…she wonders if it would be so bad if he kissed her again. “No, why would you say that?” 

Brelia shrugs. “I don’t know, two single people living together…the domesticity will get you every time.”

“Is that what happened with you and Erin?” Liv asks, trying to shift the conversation off of her. 

“No, we’re lesbians so we just moved in immediately after the first date, but I see how that might be confusing.” 

And then they’re both laughing and the awkwardness of having not seen each other for years fades completely. They’re sisters and gods, it actually feels that way right this second. Laughing and joking in Brelia’s car, it feels right, like some void she couldn’t quite put a name to has been filled. 

They wind through green-bordered roads to the quiet suburbs of Neverwinter, to a small, colorful bungalow. The house itself is bright blue with yellow shutters, and the porch has been painted a pastel pink. The front yard looks like a cross between a garden and a gardening store, as there are plenty of potted plants looking as though they’re in transition rather than permanently placed there. And of course, as Liv steps inside the warm and cozy house, she’s greeted by her sister’s mutt of a dog, Layla. 

Her wife, Erin, jumps up from the couch and mound of essays she’d been basically buried under. “Well, hey, there Liv. It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She pulls her into a hug, and Liv can’t remember the last time she received this many hugs in such a short span of time. She’s a little unsure what to do with herself each time, hoping that no one notices. 

Liv has seen pictures of Erin, of course, but meeting her is another thing entirely. Her blonde hair is cropped shorter than she remembers, and it makes the roundness of her cheeks more prominent. 

“It’s so nice to meet you too, sorry to interrupt your grading.”

Erin waves off the apology as she rolls up the sleeves of her flannel shirt, moving the papers to make more space for sitting. “It’s just midterm lab reports.”

“She’s been at it every night all week,” Brelia complains. 

“Only so I can be helpful for the opening tomorrow night,” Erin replies with a roll of her eyes. “Come on, let’s get some dinner going. I’ve got zucchini from the garden waiting for us.”

They spend the next hour cooking dinner and the rest of the evening talking and drinking. She learns about Erin’s work at the local community college and how despite a very fancy PhD in chemistry, she loves teaching and not research. She learns more about Brelia’s stalled-out art career and how she eventually moved into curating, and that this show isn’t the first she’s worked on, but it is her first as the final decision maker. All the while, Layla moves between the three of them seeking pets and attention, and the occasional treat. It’s a truly lovely evening, and Liv can’t remember when she felt this loved and accepted anywhere. 

***

Astarion: How is Neverwinter?

Liv: Warmer than I thought it would be, but good. The gallery show is tonight. Have you and Petras managed to avoid killing one another? 

Astarion: The fact you're hearing from me and not him is just proof that I won. I’m simply waiting for you to come back to help me hide the body. 

Liv: What assistance could I possibly provide? 

Astarion: I was thinking most of the manual labor, obviously. 

Liv: Well, we can’t have you ruining an outfit, can we?

Astarion: This is what I like about you: you always understand my priorities. 

Liv: But really, you guys are good? 

Astarion: We’re fine. We’re just sitting in the living room completely bereft and continually asking, “When will Liv return to us?” We’ve taken to wearing mourning black. 

Liv: Wow, if I’d known a weekend away would warrant such a dramatic response, I would have taken advantage before leaving. 

Astarion: In what way? 

Liv: Oh you know, made you escort me to the train station carrying all my luggage or something like that.

Astarion: You left in the morning, would you be so callous as to risk me turning into dust simply to get you to the train station?

Liv: I’m just saying, if you really cared you would have risked it. Burning in the sun feels like a state of mind. Have you tried simply deciding it doesn’t hurt you?

Astarion: Weirdly enough, it didn’t work. 

Liv: You must not have lived, laughed, loved hard enough. 

Astarion: I’m positive that was the problem. 

***

On the day of the gallery show, Brelia and Erin show her the highlights of Neverwinter walking her through parks and into their favorite haunts for coffee and pastries. They take in the views and snap pictures together. Later, they make their way to the gallery to do final checks on everything important for the opening. Liv does her best to be helpful, following instructions and providing opinions when asked, just thrilled to be included at all in anything about this day for her sister. 

Before the opening, they meet up with Brelia’s friends for dinner at a nearby restaurant. The group is large and loud and friendly, and Liv promptly forgets half their names before they sit down. In the shuffle of seating, she ends up a few seats away from Brelia and Erin but does her best to make small talk with Brelia’s friends asking them about their jobs and lives here in Neverwinter. 

“It’s strange to finally meet one of Brelia’s family members,” Geoff, an artist friend from Brelia’s college days, says about halfway through dinner. 

“She’s always been so funny about it,” Moira, who also works at the gallery, adds. “I remember the first time I asked her how many siblings she had and she said, ‘Do I only count the ones I knew about growing up?’”

Brelia has clearly caught wind of the conversation. “Nothing quite like finding out about a half-sibling after twenty-three years of your life.” She mockingly toasts Liv, conferring on her membership into the shittiest club she’s ever been in. 

It shocks Liv, how openly she’s clearly talked about this. For Liv, it still feels like a dirty secret. Something she’d never bring up so casually; she’s momentarily unsure what to say. 

“I remember how excited Brelia was when she told us you’d finally come around to seeing how shitty your parents were,” Moira says. The comment isn’t meant to wound, she knows that, but it wasn’t that Liv had needed time to come around…she hadn’t known . Do Brelia’s friends not know that? Has she been painted all these years in exactly the same brushstrokes as her parents and other siblings?

“Liv always was the try-hard in the family, but now she’s just as much of a black sheep as I am,” Brelia says with a smile. Liv knows it’s not necessarily meant to read as condescending as it feels, but suddenly, she’s fifteen again and getting shut down by the sister she’s looked up to her whole life. 

All of Brelia’s friends laugh, and so Liv does too, but there’s it’s not because this is funny at all to her. She realizes, perhaps for the first time, that yes, her family’s shittiness had happened to her, but it had also happened to her sister in a different way. The shittiness is the same, but the way it fell upon them is different. Her sister has had time with it, time to tell her friends, to tell a story about it, to make light of it. And all of these people…they’ve long heard these stories, made up their mind about Brelia’s family, about her…and now she’s here and it feels like she’s missing the joke. 

She’s not sure why she expected it to be different. Her family has always been hard, and she has forever felt like she is somehow apart from them, even before everything happened. 

The conversation has already moved on around her, and Brelia is talking animatedly with Erin and another friend. And the restaurant is crowded, and Brelia’s friends are loud, but in this moment, Liv feels so very alone. She wonders for the first time what she’s doing here. 

But soon enough, the group heads to the art gallery. Liv wanders through the show as the guests trickle in, but it very quickly becomes packed. The show itself is stunning, Brelia has brought in artists and pieces and built a place for them that feels at once comfortable and full of promise. 

She watches her sister greet so many people by name, and she reminds her so much of their mother at her best. Liv always liked it when the family entertained because it meant that her mother was different, warm and kind and friendly. She became a completely different person the moment there was an audience for it, and Liv grew up wishing that her mother could always be the woman she glimpsed at her parties. 

At a break in the evening, Brelia wanders over. “Sorry to abandon you. I didn’t realize I was going to get this level of turnout. I thought maybe it’d be me, you, Erin, and the artists and like…a slow trickle of people all night.”

“It’s a huge success,” Liv says, gesturing around. “I’m glad I could be here for it.”

“Should we take a pic together?” her sister asks. Liv nods, and standing together, Brelia snaps a selfie before immediately posting it to her photo app. 

She remembers then, FangtasticLover’s warning about being a pawn for her family, that her sister might be using her presence as a means of declaring some sort of victory over her parents. She doesn’t think he’s right, but something about the posting of the picture bothers her, but she blocks it out. This is her sister, and she asked her to come. Seems genuinely touched that Liv made the effort at all. 

“I think a few of the artists wanted to hit a bar after this. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, I think Erin might go home, actually. But if you want, you can come out to the unofficial afterparty.”

“I appreciate the invite, I’ll see what Erin does. I don’t want to intrude on your celebration.”

Across the gallery, someone is waving Brelia over. Brelia holds onto Liv’s forearm gently. “You wouldn’t be intruding, but we’ll pick this up again in a bit. I have to go see what Andrew needs, okay?”

She smiles at her sister. “Sure thing. I’ll be here.”

She watches her sister go feeling a strange mix of pride and loneliness and anger and relief. She wishes she could just come and visit her sister, be here for her without all this…complication. Maybe she just needs some air. 

***

“Do you ever miss non-animal blood?” Petras asks around a sip of blood in a wine glass. 

Astarion supposes there is something nice about drinking out in the open, about no longer hiding, and having company. It makes the blood feel less like a dirty secret. “Always, but it’s not as if I can simply go out and bite anyone I want.”

Petras shrugs. “I don’t know, some people are into that sort of thing.”

It’s true. When he was newly free, he had tried to use the considerable attention he garnered for his own means. Why shouldn’t he have sex with other willing parties? Why shouldn’t he drink from them if they consented? So he had tried, and it had been wonderful until it had been terrible. Turns out that untangling the threads of shame and disgust from his time with Cazador couldn’t quite be done by simply carrying on in the same way. So he’d stopped trying. It’s been nearly a year since he’s let anyone touch him in that way. 

“Yes, but I find that I’m not,” he replies. 

“Oh.” Petras looks rather surprised. “Of all of us, you always seemed the most comfortable with…that.”

Astarion laughs, it’s a joyless bleak thing. “How wonderful to know my performance fooled everyone but Cazador. He knew how much I hated it, and he made me do it anyway.”

“He was good at that,” Petras replies hollowly. “At finding whatever we hated most and making sure we had to do it.”

Well, this has turned into the most depressing blood-drinking pity party he’s ever attended. “He’s gone now. We’re free.”

And someday, if he says it enough, he’s sure he’ll start feeling it.

“Free, but still banished to the shadows. Free but still needing blood. Is this freedom to you?” 

It does bother him, all of his many limitations. There are so many things he will never be able to do, places he’ll never be able to see. And it would be so easy to be angry, to be bitter about that. And sometimes he is, but mostly, he likes his life, his home, his friends. He has carved out an existence that though imperfect is his . 

“I’m fed. I’m safe. I have a job I enjoy doing most of the time. There’s plenty of unfairness in life, and perhaps being restricted to the shadows is mine. There are worse existences.”

Petras looks away from him. “There are.”

They sit quietly sipping their blood, and it surprises Astarion that the silence isn’t so much awkward as it is simply full. Full of shared grief, a shared understanding. He’s grateful for it even as he resents it. He has the irrational impulse to cut through it, to bruise and break. Petras interrupts first though. 

“I bet Liv wouldn’t mind,” Petras says. 

“Wouldn’t mind, what?” Astarion asks. 

“She’d let someone drink from her if she was asked.”

“Absolutely not!” Astarion all but yells. 

Petras stares at him in surprise. “Why? She’s a nice person. I bet she wouldn’t mind.”

“She’s my roommate!” he replies, as if that’s a reason. As if that precludes her from this. 

Understanding lights Petras’ eyes. “Oh, alright. Nevermind. Forget I brought it up. We definitely won’t ask your roommate for blood.” But the way he says roommate insinuates so much more. 

“What are you looking so pleased about?”

Petras drains his glass and stands up. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

It is decidedly not. Astarion follows him to the kitchen. “What are you implying exactly?”

Petras sighs. “I would like it stated for the record, that I said we should forget I said anything.”

“I will stake you in your heart.”

Petras rolls his eyes. “You like her.”

“Well, of course, I like her. She’s a good roommate and a better friend. What’s not to like?” he replies, but even as he does his words come out too high, too quick. There’s the sound of rushing filling his ears. 

Petras rinses his glass until the water runs clear instead of pink and sets it aside. “Whatever you say, Astarion. I’m going to go get ready for work.”

“I’m going to go get ready for work,” Astarion mockingly imitates the second Petras has left the room, with a roll of his eyes. He rinses his own glass and decides he won’t let Petras’ fuckery get in the way of something he’s actually looking forward to: an evening alone in his apartment. This is the only good part of Liv being gone and Petras working tonight. He gets to be absolutely alone. He’s going to blast the music he wants and have Chirper open on his computer and get into internet fights with stupid people while watching trash reality t.v. It sounds absolutely heavenly. 

And for a solid forty-five minutes, it is…until he keeps staring at his phone wondering what it is Liv might be doing right now. 

Astarion: How’s the party? Tell me it’s bad so I don’t get jealous.

Liv: Can I call you?

He stares at the question for a handful of seconds before pausing his show and immediately calling Liv. 

“Hey,” she answers, voice sounding small and far away. 

“Is everything alright?” She’s never asked to call him before, they communicate almost exclusively via text. Something is off, and he’s not sure what it is. 

“Yeah, there’s nothing…wrong. I just…I needed some air from the art show and just to talk to someone for a minute?” Liv sounds so unsure, so unlike herself. 

“Let me guess, the great sister reunion isn’t going exactly as well as you’d hoped?”

He hears her sigh, and can almost picture her sitting down somewhere. “Not really no, but I think I might be the problem?”

“Impossible. You are incapable of being a problem.”

She laughs, but it’s short. “That is absolutely not at all true.”

“What happened?”

“I guess I just realized that the worst thing that ever happened to me…was like a good thing to my sister? And even though we both feel our family’s shittiness, she’s got her own story about it, her own ways of dealing with that hurt…and I don’t know if this is even making sense.”

Except that it does. This is what’s hard about spending time with Petras. They both suffered while under Cazador’s thumb, but Astarion doesn’t want to hear about Petras’ suffering. Because what if Petras had it worse than him, and what if it somehow invalidates the pain he was in? There are some wounds still raw enough that they need to be the biggest in the room. And maybe that makes him a shitty person, but he has a hard time caring. 

“It makes sense; she’s had more time. But also, did you tell her how you’re feeling?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think the night of her show opening is definitely the time to tell her that she and her friends made me feel…gods, I don’t even know how I feel besides…alone.”

“But you’re not alone,” he says, words quiet. And suddenly he realizes that she’s confiding in him, that in this moment she sought him out. It feels as victorious as it did the other night when she’d finally told him about her family. Liv has such a full, vibrant life, but she still called him . It feels rather good to be chosen in that way. 

“No, I have a very good roommate.”

He can’t help but smile. “You do. Even though you abandoned me.”

“I come home tomorrow.” 

“What time?” 

“Just before 7:30.”

“Ah, so we’ll still have our evening.”

They talk for a bit about possible plans, and he does his best to distract her. But when they hang up, he realizes with horrifying clarity: Petras was right. 

And that can only mean one thing: FangtasticLover has to go.

[silvery-bluish]

6, 23, and 24 for the character of your choiceee <3

Questions from here!

I'll go ahead and answer them for Ris in this case, thanks for the ask!!

6. How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

Varies! Ris has a uh. Vaguely loose moral compass. They’re just hanging out. What’s the point in being a Shining Moral Standard? Sounds boring, and inconvenient. Sometimes it’s Correct Enough to do some crime. Sometimes it’s For The Bit. Sometimes it’s cause ‘in charge’ doesn’t mean ‘right’. They’ve got standards, pretty firm ones, but those err of the side of ‘don’t take what someone else can’t afford to lose’ and ‘don’t be a dick for no reason’ and that’s uh. More or less it.

23. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

Process? Sadness. That’s. They’re stuck hard on looking on the bright side of things, why would they want to be a downer, that’s just annoying for everybody else, why would they put that on anyone??? Why would they want to feel that at all? Clearly it’s better if they just Don’t.

Expressing, they’ve got a bit of a problem with like. How they express vulnerability, or negative emotions in general? It’s hard to ask for help, or put themself in a position where it looks like they might need help on a more personal level. They Don’t Like It, they should be fine. They are fine. Don’t worry about it.

24. What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

Polaris never left Baldurs Gate AU… they left the first go-around in their Very Early Teens, but I think if they hadn’t, they could’ve fallen into. Street crime, maybe? Pickpocket. More purposeful conning. Act the distraction while a partner fleeces the crowd. They’d be more jaded, probably, less willing to give the benefit of the doubt. Sharper. More willing to play up the intimidation factor than Current Ris is. Part of their Leaving Town adventure was less than ideal, but it was probably for the best lol. Also Edit to Add their name wouldnt. Even be Polaris in this path. They’d probably have picked something else and idk what exactly that’d be.

[gatheryourships]

I mean... Yeah, that's true, lol. I'm just a bit embarrassed I don't have my character figured out as much as you and others is all. Although part of that is that I haven't spent much time thinking about her. But I think you've inspired (and certainly encouraged!) me to not just think but write more about her. Thanks for that btw! <3

Lmao, ain't it just? Hahaha. That's true. But her mom is just trying to make sure her daughter is set up and okay. She's just trying to be good mom. And as far as anyone there is concerned, who realistically expects a fellow commoner from their hometown to become a huge, well-known hero known across the land? Literally no one. And it's because of idolizing heroes from stories meant for children that she's even like that to begin with. It's a grown woman still clinging onto childhood in their eyes, not a future Hero of Faerûn.

Oh, nonono. Not an arranged marriage. Just the normal "Hey, it's time to find someone and settle down with. Just make sure they're good and responsible and hopefully already have a job of some sort (like a farm or a profitable profession of some sort)."

It only sounds that way because I have so little I've fleshed out for her and the dad thing I had only come up with the previous bit I wrote before scrapping it and starting all over again. Also, I was very tired, lmao. I promise she has a good relationship with her mom. It's just buried under all that busy house work. 😂

Yeah, and also I can't help with tragic drama, lol. But, more importantly, she can't be a hero yet. Not before BG3 events. 😉 I also wanted her to be a bit wet behind the ears, so to speak, hero-wise at the start of BG3 events. She's just a woman with a sword, who only knows how to use it in a basic sense. Barely has any experience at all. And through BG3 events better learns not just how to use her sword but how to be "hero".

That and I really liked the connecting theme of using I Want To Live (the song everyone lowkey associates with Astarion) with her via the playlist I made for her. A "nice" little low moment, where she feels alone and hopeless in comparison to later when she's in a(n actual) relationship with Astarion. Two people's own loneliness and helplessness coming together in solidarity and companionship.

Oh. Um- Yes. Lol. There's a couple main ones for her set within the game's story. And then there's plenty that... well, aren't. 😂 Not entirely sure within all of them if they're exactly her, but close enough they count I suppose. I'll talk about the two main ones here. (If I don't scare you off by horrible and dark they are lmao, oof.) But let me know if you want to hear the other, many AU ideas I have that I will probably write one day (maybe in another millennium or two lol).

The first is obviously Durge!Rosenna. Resisting Durge, of course. I imagine it’s pretty similar to main Rose. Grew up pretty similar, wanting to be a hero, all that. Albeit with a slight, ever growing dark bloodthirsty edge to it all. Gets in a fight with her mother. Leaves. The same.

When she wakes up, on the mindflayer ship, she barely remembers herself. And with a little bit of time that’s all she remembers. Fight with her mother and going to leave. Except as she learns/remembers later is that in her anger she let her dark urge completely consume her. And she went wild. Basically if anyone were to ask about that little hamlet today, it doesn’t exist anymore. It’s a complete ghost town.

From there she went to Baldur’s Gate like she always planned and instead of a hero’s path instead leaned further into her dark urge and Bhaal, eventually teaming up with the other two Dead Three avatars. It’s not until BG3 events she gets mentally knocked back to a morally good, wanting to be a hero version of herself again that things change, thankfully for the better - for her and for everyone else.

The second is spawn!Rosenna. Part of my role reversal AU for her and Astarion, where Rose is the vampire spawn and Astarion (not a vampire spawn, literally just a normal elf - not pale, at least not abnormally pale lmao) is a hero/adventurer type. Think a mix of British Victorian vibes/looks mixed with a Spanish roguish swordbuckler.

Rose has the same backstory (again lmao), except that was 200 years ago. She went to Baldur’s Gate to be a hero and took a job that ended up turning into rabbit hole of one thing after another. Which lead her… straight to Cazador. About to unravel his plans and ultimately possibly reveal him as a vampire (she hadn’t quite gotten there yet, but was quickly getting to that point), he knew he had to deal with her. And with her little rabbit hole adventure, he realized how clever and smart she was (aka: useful). Also, what’s more cruel than to turn a hero into a monster themselves, the very thing they live to fight and destroy.

Instead of a more suave, sex-forward approach like main game Astarion does, she goes for a more innocent, demure (almost romantic) approach. (I suppose a better way to explain it is instead of masquerading as a tempting seductress, she pretends to be an innocent, inexperienced pure maiden instead.) Which our wanna be big hero Astarion unfortunately falls head over heels for when she pulls it on him in order to assure her safety with him and the group. (A Hero and his poor damsel in distress! The story writes itself! …doesn’t it? 😒) (In fairness, this version of him is literally 39. He doesn’t have the 200 years of trauma and distrust he learned from it all. Instead, Rose has that.)

Also, something I realized the other day, was that I had accidentally created a perfect, heartbreaking parallel theme between the two. The wanna-be Hero and the folk hero who’s live was taken too soon and never became the Hero she wanted to be. Where as time goes on, Rose finds herself not just caring for Astarion but trying to warn him against such a path he’s so determined to take. But in turn it helps teach Astarion how to become not only a better person himself but a better hero. And maybe who knows, maybe she ends up being a Hero after all. Even after BG3 events. 😉😭💖

So, because @gunslingerorchid asked, here's a post about my self-insert Tav, Rosenna.

-

I’ll be honest I don’t have a whole lot about her fleshed out. And even trying to write this up for you, so much got changed and rewritten a number of times, and even this response is a complete start over from the very long and honestly confused lore bit I wrote.

Basically what I wrote for the fake BG3 intro post I reblogged on here is pretty much all I got, lmao. But I’ll try to give some more info, as much as I got nailed down right now. Maybe some more that’s not so concrete yet either.

Um, so. Rosenna is an only child, born and raised by a farmer and his wife (last name undetermined) in a little hamlet (also name undetermined) located along the Chionthar river a little ways down from Baldur’s Gate.

Right around that little nook maybe, where the red dot is. I still haven’t decided which side of the river it’s on. But around that area. So that’s it’s between the Fields of the Dead and the Woods of Sharp Teeth.

Rose (for short) lived a nice, little life with her parents. Helped her mom with house chores and what not as commoner daughters do. Also helped her dad a little with the farm - probably a bit less common for daughter to do, but eh. She likes helping and only doing house chores drove her crazy. And it’s something different so she was fine with it, despite getting a little dirty sometimes because of it. Also it was spending time with dad, so… That’s nice. xD

From a young age, Rose had been immersed with stories about heroes. Not necessarily intentionally mind you. Just parents telling their kid stories, censored versions of course. And from there, as she grew up, just got into reading stories about heroes herself.

And between having a good, kind, caring heart and just being a feisty, determined woman who only wants to do right she naturally felt an inclination towards such a life.

However… her mother had another plans for her. Not out of ill-will, just normal life plans that a commoner daughter would typically live. Help her mother until she (Rose) found someone to marry, which her parents were starting to push that onto her, except Rose didn’t have much interest in that. (Yet, anyways. Hero thing first, romance later possibly, ya know.)

What Rose did have an interest in was going to the docks and rubbing shoulders with people who came from Baldur’s Gate and even elsewhere afar, wanting to hear real stories of adventures and journeys from real people that they’ve had, especially recently.

Now it’s here where I’m unsure whether to spin it off as how she picked up some sense of handling a sword. One way is that because going to the docks and rubbing shoulders with strangers is obviously a terrible, dangerous thing to do and her father (and mother) become worried for her and so her father (who’s also maybe part of the citizen militia for the little hamlet - no standing army) decides to teach her (in secret/aka behind mom’s back) so she stops trying to go to the docks (and possibly end up kidnapped or worse one day). Fun, nice, gets interaction with her dad. But like, I just realized it’s the same as the other self-insert for another character I like/liked. So, since I’m already doing that plotline with another character, I’ll probably go with the second option then lmao.

The other one was an idea I had before but was unsure about it (then not now) where she does meet someone from the docks. Not a romantic interest, but thankfully a friendly and honorably decent person. He obviously realized that she’s young (20s, since I didn’t mention that before) and a bit starry-eyed, but she means well and was looking for more in her life, more than this little hamlet could give her. He befriended her and indulged her in giving her stories of his travels and interesting little adventures and happenings he found himself in every time he came into town (only ever stopping by, as did anyone else whoever found themselves at the docks there). Eventually, he himself buys her a sword and trains her how to use it.

From there to BG3 events however… One day it’s too much. Rose’s reckless immaturity has become too much for her mother. So Rose and her mother got in an argument. Her mother had not been oblivious to Rose and her love of heroes, but had hoped that Rose would grow out of it as she got older (she didn’t, it only grew stronger). And enough was enough. It was time to be a grown woman, look for a partner, and settle down and become not just a wife but mother herself. To say Rose was unhappy about this would be a completely understatement. After a yelling match with her mother, Rose quickly packed some things (including her stashed away secret sword) and left home. She got on the first ship to Baldur’s Gate and that was that.

For a year, Rose tried her best there. She got jobs. But they weren’t great. Didn’t pay great. By the end of it, things were… pretty bleak, mentally speaking for Rose. (In my playlist, as confused as it is with this summarization of character, I literally have The Parting Glass (Walking Dead version) followed by the instrumental version of I Want to Live from BG3. I think that says plenty.)

The next morning as she’s going about town is when the mindflayers come and she gets unfortunately (or technically speaking, quite fortunately) snatched up. (Only way to become a hero is go on a crazy adventure right? 😉)

[voidcrow]

This Is a Lot to Take In

(( Note: Recent stories posted here been the byproduct of me and my Baldur's Gate co-op buddy planning to continue our in-character Baldur's Gate roleplay across every campaign in the Neverwinter and Icewind Dale games as well... and as the same characters. This is just here to warn readers in advance that these Forgotten Realms fics are going to play hard and fast with the setting's canon from here on out, in service to our narrative. Calm down; it's only an AU. ))

De'Arnise Keep. 1369 DR.

"Laciel! Where have the months gone?"

Nalia had just emerged into the great hall, greeted by the sight of drunken revelry and a banner reading "WELCOME HOME" across one of the walls. Even amid the celebrating guards and nobles, though, she was quick to spot the auburn-haired elf and go to sit across from her, barely noticing either the infant in her arms or the large, green-skinned man sitting next to her.

"Lady De'Arnise," said Laciel in greeting, "You're late to the party. How unbecoming of a host~." She had an impish grin on her face.

"My apologies." Nalia was deadpan, knowing full well the Bhaalspawn was just trying to get under her skin and seeing fit not to, as they say, feed the troll. "I trust the Majordomo has already shown you and Eifelia to the room I provided?"

"He has." Laciel nodded. "It'll do just nicely for us."

"Later, he'll also show you where to find the stockpile room we cleared out to store all your and Eifelia's adventuring spoils. Although..."

Laciel tilted her head.

"Occasionally we've been hearing a voice coming from in there," Nalia stated, "Yet anyone that has gone to check can't find the person."

"Ah." Laciel smiled. "That's Lilarcor. You remember that talking sword Minsc was using? He's moved on to a better weapon since, and he opted to leave Larry with me. If the sword gets too noisy, just wrap him in some more cloth and stuff him in a chest."

"Won't he suffoc--?" Nalia stopped herself as she caught on to what she was saying. "Forget I asked that."

"Yeah, It would probably take the heat of a forge to actually kill Larry, so..."

Nalia's eyes wandered at last to the child Laciel held, who had turned their head to look across the table at her. "You have a baby." Nalia blinked. "A green baby. With purple hair...?"

"Half-orc," explained Laciel, who now looked down to smile at the child. "She's about, say, eighteen months old? And her name's Kagra. Isn't she a doll~? Eifelia and I adopted her after we got hitched."

"Y-you two are married now?" Caught wrong-footed, Nalia cleared her throat. "Congra--!"

"Speaking of half-orcs, meet Shaaghun," said Laciel, gesturing to the grown half-orc man seated beside her... much to Nalia's further bafflement.

"No relation to Kagra," Shaaghun half-mumbled.

Laciel continued: "Eifelia and I ran into this fellow one day and I thought to myself, wouldn't he make a nice bodyguard?"

"And that's all you've been up to?" Nalia asked, still looking confused. "Partaking of domestic bliss and meeting a new hireling?" She let a pause go by, her face softening. "...Honestly, that's a relief."

"Why? What'd I miss?" asked Laciel.

Nalia leaned forward and took a hushed tone. "News of the war that wiped out the children of Bhaal, and your part in it, have already reached the ends of Faerun. I've heard frightening rumors."

At last, the smile left Laciel's lips. "Such as?"

"The general public doesn't know your name and face, but they have a title for you-- the Killer Queen. They talk of you as being the Bhaalspawn who saw all of her brothers and sisters slain so that her father's essence would collect at the Throne of Bhaal. They say that you went to claim it. That you've become a god yourself. That you might come to walk the mortal world again, as Bhaal once did."

Laciel avoided eye contact with Nalia. "Okay, most of that is untrue. From a certain point of view. The really bad parts are definitely untrue."

"Whatever actually happened, Laciel, you'll need to be careful what you say about yourself out there. If anyone puts two and two together and realizes you're this 'Killer Queen'..." Nalia shook her head. "You'll have a target on your back everywhere you go."

"Hm... Duly noted." Laciel then put on a smile once more. "Enough of that grim subject; I've a favor to ask. Would you humor me?"

"Hmph. You're lucky I owe you so much. Let's hear it."

"Eifelia and I are departing for Neverwinter on some business in a few tendays' time. We'd love it if your family looked after Kagra while we're gone."

"Ah. Is that all?"

"It's..." Laciel started to look glumly down at her half-orc adoptee. "I'd hate to feel like I'm abandoning her; I've told myself I've got to be a good parent. But given what we've heard about what's happening in Neverwinter--"

"I've heard talk of the plague... and all the chaos it's bringing." The redhead nodded. "I can see why you don't want your daughter anywhere near the place." She smiled. "Of course we'll take her in when you go."

"Truly?"

"Of course."

Smiling again, Laciel looked over at her bodyguard. "Looks like you're holding down the fort here after all, Shaggy."

"Ah, shit," sighed Shaaghun.

Nalia's brow lowered. "Hold on. What?"

"He's under my orders to keep Kagra safe," Laciel explained, "So he'll be staying in the keep too."

Nalia started to scowl outright. "I will not feed two of your mouths. Certainly not if one of them's a mercenary thug--"

"Then don't feed them out of your pocket, silly!" Laciel chuckled. "By all means, fund Kagra's needs and forward Shaggy his weekly pay from mine and Eifelia's coffer; the two of us made a killing this past year. All he needs from you is the use of a bed in Captain Cernick's barracks."

Silence hung over the table. The frustration gradually faded from Nalia's face until, at last, the Lady sighed. "We are in agreement. But I want you to know that you're the most irritating negotiator I've ever met."

Laci snickered.