#Young Rugan

[thisaccountisagainstmywill]

Losing my mind re-reading this. Needs to be launched from the nest finally. Chapter One of a character exploration series framed around some of the more meaningful lays in Rugan's life. Following him from Age 19 up to before the game. A new lay every episode. Pairing: Rugan/Original Female Character

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Rugan is 19, struggling with life in a small town. He's heard rumors his last friend is about to leave for a better life and now he needs just one more night to say goodbye.

Tags: Established Relationship, Goodbye Sex, Pre-Canon, Cunnilingus, Bittersweet, Penis in Vagina Sex, Banter, Young Rugan

Word Count: 5,568

Below the cut or on AO3

The 20th of Kythorn, 1461 – The Year of the Goddesses Blessing Hilp, Cormyr Evening

The small town’s tavern was full to bursting with a swell of bodies and joyous noise. From corner to corner, the building is packed with festive clientele, tankards in hand. Most patrons have given up finding a seat and settled for standing where space will allow. Several disparate renditions of bawdy songs sprout in different clusters of friends and war for auditory dominance of the establishment. A bellowing voice from behind the bar shouts to keep the noise reasonable but is too happy with the booming solstice business to fight too hard against the din.

Rugan wedges in through the front doors and bodily pushes his way through the crowd. Finding footing where he can between the swell of other people, he casually nabs an arse-less stool as he passes by. Someone tries to shout after him with verbal claims, but he pretends not to hear as he hefts it over his head and carries it above the crowd to a back corner near the dusty edge of the fireplace where he can find just enough space to sit unbothered.

From his perch, he watches through the crowd as a young blonde barmaid darts between customers, weaving gracefully with more pints than he could ever understand possible in her arms. She smiles and laughs with some customers, passing out rounds to the sitting and standing alike. Tonight patrons linger with her a bit longer than usual, with fewer immediate orders and more conversation spun special just for her. She nods emphatically to some, gives modest smiles to others, and conflicted frowns to others still. Occasionally someone reaches out to hug her and when her arms are empty enough she lets them, returning the gesture graciously.

After a particularly large order, she finds a moment of respite behind the bar and hulking barkeep. With a brief stretch and deep sigh, she leans against the back counter taking a moment to nibble a likely stale bun and gulp down a half-watered ale. – Just enough ale to keep her friendly. More than enough water to keep her upright in the heat. And a bun just stale enough to sponge them both and keep her from pissing like a horse every hour. – She had emphatically defended her method to the young man once with no lack of self-certainty when he scoffed about how awful her on-the-job meal choices were.

While the barmaid waits for the next deliveries to be readied, she readjusts her hair, grabbing loose strands and fitting them back in place in her low bun. She complained to him once she thought her hair looked like straw– but he thought it looked like the first rays of sunlight casting through the trees in bright golden streams. It made him think of the peacefulness of dawn, the comfort of home, and how she always smelled like spring. The corners of his eyes crinkle as an unconscious smile pulls at his lips. He would never tell her, she’d only add this small poetic streak to the sprawling list of things she chose to tease him about already. It was a happy thought he would keep to himself and safely contained to his daydreams of her.

Her brief break ends as she’s passed a fistful of pints and a steaming plate of roast. He loses sight of her in the crowd but finds her again as she pushes her way along the outskirts on her way back to the bar.

As she swings close enough, he catches her by the wrist and gently yanks her to his isolated corner.

“Hey! No touchi–,” Furiously, she spins to face him, her free hand raised and ready to strike. The moment she recognizes him the rage melts away to a coy smile. “Rugan!” Her voice is still irritated but drops playfully. She brings her poised hand down to his cheek and lightly slaps him.

“Good evening to you too,” He laughs and releases his hold on her. With an exaggerated frown, he rubs the lightly reddening spot on his cheek. “You’re going to owe me for that one. Could’ve done some major damage to my best asset, Sanya.”

“It’s your onlyasset.” She says with mock sternness, placing her hands squarely on her hips.

Rugan cocks his head and raises an eyebrow, “That’s not what you were saying la—.”

Sanya threatens him with a withering look.

He holds his tongue but gives her a wicked smile.

“Sanya! I need you back here now!” The barkeep shouts, his voice just deep enough to carry over the crowd.

Sanya glances at the crowd and back to Rugan. “Look, I’m still working. I don’t have time to gab with you.”

The smile slides off Rugan’s face. “I didn’t think you’d be working tonight. What time is he letting you go?”

“Usual time.” She frowns. “Are you going to be a customer or a nuisance tonight?”

Both, he wants to say, but even he knows better at the moment. “If I could get my usual, I’ll wait around until you get off.”

“Aye? I bet you will.” She winks and gives him a cocky chuckle. There’s a sadness in her eyes, but before he can do anything about it she disappears back into the crowd and returns to her duties.

♦ ♦ ♦

Rugan waits patiently for another three hours, nursing a pint, and a plate of whatever Sanya can weasel away from the kitchen. At one point he joins in on the bawdy singing, adding his own spin to the lyrics and making eye contact with his favorite lass whenever she dares to look his way. He sings himself hoarse for the briefest slivers of her attention. Each time, she rolls her eyes with a smile and continues about her business with a shake of her head.

When the crowd thins down to just him and a few low-energy regulars, the barkeep waves Sanya over. He throws a sad glance towards Rugan sitting with his empty pint held on the stool between his knees. With a nod to the lonely boy, he quietly tells her, “Go on then, dear. I can take it from here.” The old man passes her a small satchel with her pay of the day and a little extra. “All the blessings on you for your adventure.”

She thanks the large man with a tender pat on his hand and turns back to Rugan.

Rugan stands, placing his empty mug on the stolen stool behind him. With a few long strides across the near-empty room, he has her in his arms. He steals a quick kiss before he lowers himself to wrap his arms around her waist and raises her up so he can gaze up at her. She places her hands on his shoulders to steady herself and smiles down at him. Backlit by the chandelier, loose strands of hair frame her like a glowing halo.

My sunrise. He thought, but then the realization set in.

For the first time ever, she didn’t argue or fight back when he kissed her with an audience. He knows in his heart now, that the rumors were true: tonight was goodbye.

♦ ♦ ♦

The two slip away into the festive night but don’t make it far before Rugan becomes impatient. He pulls her aside around the edge of the tavern’s alley. Tucked out of sight, the words come tumbling from his lips. “When are you leaving? Where are you going?”

“Tomorrow morning, at the arse crack of dawn. I’ve got my passage secured on a caravan passing through from Arabel. We’ll head south of the Storm Horns and head westward. I’m thinking I’ll see what I can find in Elturel and if there’s nothing there for me I’ll head westward still.” She shrugs casually like she’d practiced the speech a thousand times and gave it a thousand times more today.

“When were you going to tell me?” His voice wavers.

“I did tell you. You didn’t believe me.” She tries to put on a brave face, but her pale, hazel eyes are downcast.

Rugan swallows, his throat suddenly too dry to speak. He did remember that conversation. At the time he didn’t think much of it. They had both spent every day since they were at least ten complaining about how there was nothing in Hilp worth seeing. How they would go on great adventures. How they’d steal the horses from the Dzavars’ stables and run off into the night. When she told him her actual plan to leave, it simply felt like another shared daydream.

“...why are you going?” His voice cracks. Half a foot taller than her and he feels like a child trying to beg his way out of punishment.

“I can’t stay here. I need more from life than….this.” Sanya flails impotently at her smock and the buildings around them. “There's nothing here for me.”

“I’m here.” The simple words cut cold and deep.

The spark in her eyes dies for a moment, she looks like a rabbit caught in a snare, uncertain and hunting for a way out. She glances from him and down the alley, wringing her hands in the pockets of her apron. He wished in that moment he could take the words back, shove them down his throat, and choke on them before they had a chance to hurt her.

Her eyes are misty when she finally looks back at him. “Ru…” The old nickname sounds like a lament. Sanya glances away again, but this time it feels different. She breathes deeply, steadying herself, and shakes her head. “You can’t hold down a job. You were a tanner last week and you’re a cooper this week. That's no way to live. Not for me, not for you.”

It was true: he had been working odd jobs since his tenth summer. He had become good at learning quickly and on the job. Even so, each job would last only as long as an employer would tolerate him before his mouth got him in trouble – which wasn’t nearly long enough in a town this small.

He reaches out to her, placing a pleading hand on her upper arm. Against her better judgment, she welcomes the warmth of him and leans into his touch.

“Sonderson got a more permanent apprentice from the city and Jandal needed someone after the last boy lost a finger and refused to come back. I go where the work is. Where people need me. Some people say that makes me a handy man to have around.” His face softens as he tries to reassure her with a smile, but he can’t quite manage it.

She chuckles at him, placing a hand over his. “I think you misheard them, you’re a handsy man, Ru.”

“Aye. That I am.” He moves closer to her, leaning to place his forehead against hers. With his free hand, he strokes her hair gently. For a long moment, they stand silently together in that alley. The sounds of the hamlet’s solstice celebrations wind down to near silence.

Rugan pulls away first to look her in the eyes, as he promises, “I won’t hold you back, Sanya. I wouldn’t dare.”

He pushes a loose strand of sunshine out of her face and tucks it back behind her ear. The tension in her shoulders and the worry on her face fade away before his eyes.

“I’ve known you long and well enough to know no one and nothing in this world can.” He continues, smiling at her genuinely even as he feels his heart breaking in his chest. “Just let me have you one last time before you go.”

Please. His heart begs.

She doesn’t make him say it, the pleading was clear as day in his sad blue eyes. She pulls him down and kisses him softly and not another word is said.

♦ ♦ ♦

Rugan doesn't know how he got back to her room in the back of the tavern. His eyes were locked on her and the rest of the world and their celebrations ceased to matter. The two enter the dark room and Sanya paces quickly towards her tinder box on the far counter. While she lights a lantern, Rugan bolts the hefty door behind him. Waiting impatiently, he leans against the door while he watches her. He knew full well the moment he got his hands on her he wouldn’t be able to stop himself and the last time he had interrupted her with the tinderbox she had slightly lit both of them on fire. Scorches of that incident still stained one of the wooden countertops.

The room was cleaner now than it had ever been in the three years she lived here. It had once been an auxiliary food preparation room when there was hope left that Hilp could be more than it was always doomed to be, and now the room served only as staff quarters and storage. Remnants of its hopeful origins decorate the room with counters and excessive wall shelving. The in-use bed lay half made by the door, others stacked against the wall and out the way. A tub lay to the side partially filled from the day before, with a jug of fresh water between it and a washing basin. Sanya’s scant belongings had been pulled off the shelves and packed neatly in a traveler's bag next to the door with her road clothes laid out next to it.

As she closes the lantern, he slides behind her. She barely manages to snuff the match and push the tinderbox away before his hands are on her. He begins at her shoulders stroking his way down to her waist where he deftly unties her apron, letting it tumble to the floor.

“Rugan…” she rasps and leans back into him.

His hands continue downwards, tracing her hips with his palms and coming to rest at the top of her thighs. With a twist of his fingers in the fabric, he pulls her skirts up one fistful at a time.

“I've been sweating all day...” Sanya protests weakly but grinds her ass back into him and his growing hardness.

“I don't mind.” He kisses the back of her neck.

“I should bathe before tomorrow…” She tries to reason.

He smirks against her skin. “You'll want to bathe when I'm done with you, anyway.”

With her skirts lifted he slides his hands beneath the fabric and kneads her hips and cheeks, tracing the line of her underclothes. Whimpering, she leans forward against the counter to brace herself as he works over the tight muscles of her backside, easing the ache of the day away. Rugan ruts against the cleft of her ass, erection straining against the ties of his trousers. He bites back a moan at the sweet friction.

Sanya reaches behind her grabbing for his bulge. Her fingertips grazed the head of his cock through his pants and bucks at the sudden touch.

Quickly, he snatches her seeking hand. Rugan leans over, pressing her chest flat to the counter beneath his muscled torso. “Not yet.” He rumbles into her ear, sending a blissful shiver down her spine.

She huffs, squirming impatiently and grinding back into him for more.

Rugan pushes the lantern to the side and steps back. Before she can protest the loss of him, he turns her around and picks her up with an arm beneath her thigh and another around her waist. Then he hefts her onto the counter facing him. He slides between her legs, running his fingers over her knees and thighs. She grabs for him twisting her fist into his shirt to pull him into a kiss, and locking him close with her ankles behind his thighs. He presses back into the kiss, groaning as she tugs at his lip with her teeth.

He reaches behind himself unlocking her legs to slide her boots off, dropping them to the floor behind him.

She uses the brief distraction to release his shirt. Her hands fly immediately to tug again at the ties of his breeches.

Rugan pulls her hands off him, lacing his fingers through hers and holding them out to the side. “I told you not yet.” He growls and kisses her roughly.

Sanya struggles against his grip as he holds her in place, kissing along the lobe of her ear and down to her neck. She manages to slip one hand free of his, palming his erection through his trousers while she grasps again for the ties. Before he can grab her again, she manages to pull the knot undone.

Holding her tightly by the wrist, he growls against her neck, “Do that again and I’ll tie you up.” Unable to help himself, he presses his straining bulge against the heat of her spread legs

“That’s hardly a threat. I know how shite your rope work is.” Sanya smirks defiantly and groans as she rolls her hips against him.

He releases her hands and grabs her by the chin, kissing her until she’s quiet. She was right, his knotwork was sloppy and getting better but it wouldn’t do to argue now.

Sanya places her hands against his chest while she returns his kiss. She slides them against the width of his pectorals, admiring the firmness of his muscled chest.

Rugan keeps his hand on her chin, pressing through her parted lips to roll his tongue over hers. With his other hand, he ventures beneath her skirt, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties. With her hands on his shoulders, she uses the leverage to lift herself just enough to let him slide the fabric over the curve of her ass and down to her shapely thighs. He slides out from between her legs, breaking the kiss to take a step back far enough to pull her smallclothes down the rest of the way.

Her face flushed and her lips swollen red from kissing, she watches him with half-closed eyes as he lets the garment slip from his fingers and fall to the floor. She holds his gaze while she takes her hair down, shaking golden waves free. He takes a moment to memorize the sight of her: Flushed, legs spread, skirt up around her hips, cunt slick with need and shining in the lantern light.

He was going to miss her.

Rugan presses forward, pulling her flush to him at the edge of the counter. He rests his hands on her strong thighs as he captures her mouth with his. She grinds against him, her wetness streaking the front of his breeches. At this moment he couldn’t care, pressing his bulge against her. He slides one hand to the back of her head, winding his fingers in her hair. His kisses trail from her lips and down the line of her jaw to her neck.

He nips her, sucking roughly at the skin of her neck.

Sanya moans loudly, as the sensation sends a wave of pleasure through her. “No marks.” She orders through the haze.

Rugan releases the suction and instead presses gentle kisses along the graceful line of her neck, down her collarbone, and to the top of her blouse. He can’t help but grin as she tugs the top of her blouse down for him, exposing her perky breasts to him. Taking the hint he trails kisses to the peak of one. He pauses, glancing up at her before flicking a tentative lick across the pink bud. With a gasp, she grabs him by the back of the hair and presses his face into her tits. He opens his mouth, sucking the nipple in and rolling his tongue over the hard peak. She moans, bucking her hips against him. He slides a hand up her thigh, holding her in place at the hip while he lavishes her with flicks of his tongue. His other hand trails up her side, firmly grabbing the other breast.

“Please,” She whines. “Please fuck me...”

He pulls away, pressing a forceful kiss against her mouth. “Hush.” He orders.

She locks a leg over his hip and grinds against the fabric of his trousers, protesting his authority silently. He couldn’t help but thrust back, precum leaking from his throbbing cock and soaking through his own smallclothes.

He wanted to give in so badly, to plunge himself to the hilt in her soft folds. To feel the way her walls fluttered against his cock, to hear her cry out when he thrust so deep she swore she saw stars. But he wanted to remember her and the way she tasted.

Rugan pulls away from her mouth, pressing rough kisses into the breast in his hand. He gives it a parting nip that elicits a startled gasp.

Before she can complain, he sinks to his knees before her, pressing wet kisses on the inside of her leg from the top of her high socks to the inside of her hip. He lingers here, pressing his face into the crevice between cunt and leg. He can feel the heat off her core, wet and wanting. Savoring the feeling, he groans against her skin sending low rumbles through her. She bucks against him.

“Please…” She begs again.

Rugan ignores her pleas, swapping to the other leg to plaster it with kisses. At the top of her thigh, he sucks the skin into his mouth until he leaves a mark. Moaning openmouthed while she watches him, she doesn’t fight it this time. She would curse him tomorrow on the road, but at least his name would still be on her lips. He changes thighs, sucking a matching welt into the soft flesh of the other leg.

“Please Rugan, just touch me, I can’t take it.” Sanya whimpers, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. She tries desperately to roll her hips into him but he holds her down.

He gives in now, nosing through her wet curls. A quick flick of his tongue across her swollen clit sends a wave of pleasure through her. With a breathy moan, she grabs him by the back of the hair, forcing his face into her cunt. She locks her legs over his shoulder and places her free hand behind her for leverage.

Rugan obeys, eagerly lapping up the pooling slick from her folds. His nose presses against her clit, earning him ragged moans. Her thighs tighten around his head and he wraps his hands over them to keep her from locking him too tightly in place. He places his tongue flat against her entrance, licking an agonizingly slow trail up to her clit and ending with a quick flick. She bucks suddenly against him with a loud gasp, sending her juices dribbling down his chin.

“More...” She sobs, desperately pressing his face against her.

He slides one hand up from her thigh, tracing his fingertips across the soft skin of her legs. Her skin prickles and she sighs at the softness of the touch. His hand comes to rest at her apex, his thumb pressed over her nub. With his tongue over her entrance, he slowly traces matching circles over her folds and clit, not yet willing to give her what he knows she wants.

“...you bastard…” Sanya whines breathlessly as she clenches around nothing.

Rugan smirks, plunging his tongue into her. He groans as her slick coats his tongue and he feels the subtle flutter of her wanting walls.

“Gods….yes…” She throws her head back, moaning loudly and grinding against his face. His cock twitches at the thought of being inside of her and he loses himself in her cunt, grunting loudly as he laps her wetness up. His thumb flicks quick ghosting touches over the tip of her clit while his hips rut mindlessly into nothing.

“Please…please…I need…” She chokes out broken cries, unable to form the right words.

He knows what she needs. Rugan pulls his hand away from her clit, replacing it with his mouth. He folds his tongue to cradle her clit, sucking at it hungrily. Deftly he rearranges the position of his arm beneath her thigh, sliding his fore and middle fingers into her. She shudders with relief at the sensation of finally being filled. He thrusts in and out of her slowly, gathering slick before he presses deeper. His fingers curl upwards, firmly stroking her walls until he finds the sweet spot.

The grip on his hair tightens as he finds it and she gasps and arches her back. Her pussy clenches tight around his digits. He picks up his pace now, flicking quick licks across her nub and thrusting his fingers firm and steady against her core.

She groans, rocking her hips into his face. Her cunt squeezing tighter and tighter around his fingers. His erection throbs painfully in his pants. Desperate, he releases her thigh, clumsily undoing the strings of his trousers while he lavishes her clit with swirling licks.

After a moment of blind fumbling, his cock springs free and so needy the cool air on his precum-soaked shaft sends a tremble through him. He palms himself for some relief, spreading precum over his shaft and pulling the foreskin back over the swollen head. The friction causes him to nearly spill then and there.

Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. He pleads with himself, tightening his fist around his cock.

Rugan turns his focus back to Sanya, flicking his tongue over her clit while he pressed firmly at her core just the way he knew she liked. He needed her to come before he spilled on the floor. He needed to be inside of her. He needed her. He chokes back a sob as he sucks desperately at her nub. His fingers pick up their pace as he feels her cunt grip him tightly. Her breath hitches as her thighs flex. His vision darkens as she squeezes tightly around his head. He maintains the pace of his fingers, pressing his tongue flat across her clit.

The hand she was steading herself with jolts forward, gripping the edge of the counter for dear life as wave after wave of bliss runs through her. Rugans leans his face against her soft curls, thrusting steadily into her with his fingers until she releases her grip around his head with her legs. The blood rushes back to his head and he takes the opportunity for a cheeky lick at her cunt, startling her with a jolt of overstimulated pleasure. She pulls him back by the back of his hair, forcing him to look up at her.

He smirks up at her, with red lips and his chin smeared in her wetness.

It takes her a moment to catch her breath. She looks down at him, still lust-hazed. “Take your fucking pants off and get in that bed.” Sanya manages to gasp out as she moves her legs from over his shoulders.

“Yes, ma’am.” He teases, knowing full well how very much the term grated on her.

She releases her grip on his hair, giving him a sharp slap to his cheek. “Now,” She orders, “Before I change my mind and kick you out instead.”

Rugan stands, chuckling while she eases herself off the counter. The moment her feet touch the floor, he pulls her in for a quick kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth. She moans into it, enjoying the taste of herself on his lips. He places a hand behind her waist, trying to press their bodies together.

Sanya jerks back, pushing him away with a firm palm against his chest. “Don’t you dare wipe cum on my clothes right before I leave.”

“Slipped my mind, love.” Rugan smirks and kicks her abandoned boots out of his path as he saunters backward. His turgid cock jutting out from the opening of his pants and bobbing with each step.

She knew better than to believe him. The asshole had done it more than once. With a glare, she turned her attention to unlacing her bodice before he had a chance to ruin it.

Rugan kicked his boots off and haphazardly to the side, watching her intently as she pulled her laces free from their fixtures and let the bodice fall freely to the floor beneath her. He backs up towards the bed, pulling his breeches and underclothes down in one go, tossing them to the side with his boots.

Sanya follows him across the room. Her eyes trace hungrily from his throbbing erection to his smug face as she pulls her blouse off. With a wink, he pulls his shirt off and tosses it across the room.

When he reaches her low-lying bed, he sits down against the headboard. With a hand loosely around his cock, he strokes himself lazily while watching Sanya remove her layered skirts. Releasing their ties, she lets them pool to the floor where she stands before she gets into bed.

Sanya joins him on the bed, throwing a leg over his thigh to straddle him. Tenderly she brings a hand to his cheek, running her fingertips over the thin scruff. A mixture of emotions paints her face as she traces the contours of his jaw. The sadness in her eyes makes his heart ache. He opens his mouth to beg her to stay, but she catches his open lips with hers, driving the words from his mind. She moves her hands to his shoulder and she braces herself as she slides slowly onto his cock. They both groan loudly into the kiss as she adjusts to accommodate his girth.

Rugan clenches his eyes shut, gripping her tightly by her ass cheeks as she takes him to the hilt. Desperate and already too close, he holds her still. Leaning his head back against the wall, he pulls away from the kiss, savoring the relief of her wet cunt around him finally.

“Gods, you’re going to be so popular…” Rugan gasps, running his hands across the soft skin of her thighs.

With a frustrated glare, Sanya places her hand over his mouth and hisses at him, “Just shut up and fuck me. Before you ruin it, prick.”

He grimaces at his idiocy but obeys. He slides his hands to her back, wrapping one behind her waist and another at her shoulder as he thrusts up into her. She moans, leaning forward leaning her chest against his. The hand on his mouth slides to his shoulder, nails digging into the skin as she rolls her hips down to meet his thrusts. Strong arms pull her close, crushing her against him while he pumps up into her tight cunt desperately. His cock throbs and he can hold back no more. Rugan buries his face against her neck as the muscles of his core tighten. “I…” He whimpers against her skin.

“Yesss…” She pants.

Rugan squeezes her tightly, holding her in place as his thrusts become sloppy and erratic. With a final thrust, he cries out loudly as he spills inside of her. His grip on her slackens. His hands slide across her smooth skin sending delightful shivers through her.

Sanya whispers gentle kisses across his cheeks as she lifts her hips only to sink back down onto his waning erection. Their mingled fluids drip out of her and across his groin. He runs his fingers up her back and into her hair, running his nails across her scalp. She moans, arching back into his touch while he tries to memorize the sight of her spread across him. His chest aches and he pulls her in, kissing her deeply.

♦ ♦ ♦

Cleaned enough, Rugan lays on his back with Sanya tucked against the side of him. “I'll make something of myself.” He whispers into her hair, tracing patterns into the bare skin of her back.

“I know you will," she murmurs into his neck. He feels a smile form, pressed against his skin, and knows immediately that she’s thought of something dumb.

“Well then, out with it.” He braces himself for a joke.

“It's bad.”

“It always is.”

She hits him playfully but shares her joke anyway. “You're going to make everyone Ru the day they ever met you.”

He shakes his head. “How long have you been holding onto that one?”

“Ten years, give or take.”

“With jokes like that maybe it is a good thing you are leaving.” He scoffs. But the flippancy doesn’t stop how much the realization hurts.

♦ ♦ ♦

Midmorning shines through the battered shutters. Rugan watches dustmotes float in the streaks of light as he lazily traces the space where Sanya had laid next to him. True to her word she had left before sunrise without fuss. Rugan cursed himself for not being able to stop her. Drunk on the afterglow of her, he had slept peacefully deep and hadn't noticed as she got out of bed, bathed, and went to meet her caravan with her life on her back.

Now he was left with only the consequences of who he was: unwanted, alone, poor… and about to be fired again. He had been due at work at least three hours ago, the final allowed error after a string of last chances from every farmer and tradesman who could still find pity for the boy who got left behind.

He needed to get the fuck out of Hilp.

[flymmsy]

What it said

What I read

[alpydk]

Desperate (RuganxReader)

He has a choke hold on me right now - So here is some hastily written smut (1300 words or so of it...)as a break from all the angst I've made recently - I will say although this is awesome, as all fanfic is, smut is not my go-to writing choice. But I needed this, desperate for it, you might say.

For a few weeks, you’ve been travelling with your party along the Sword Coast in search of a healer for your tadpole problem. A few weeks of dirt, blood, cold washes in the river and hands kept to yourself. As much as you hate to admit it in such low-class terms; you’re horny, desperate to ride someone, but unfortunately picky with your tastes. 

The vampire, Astarion had appeared the obvious choice with his flirty remarks and pristine good looks, but he wasn’t your type. Too pretty, not to mention he couldn’t handle the banter you gave back at him. Typical elf you thought to yourself. Then there was sweet Gale, a good age, good-looking but too much of a romantic, a bit too good for your liking. You ask yourself; why have red wine when there is ale on tap? Gale was more the type to lovingly caress your inner thigh and build up to some gentle foreplay for an age rather than just fuck you like an animal against the wall, the floor, or anywhere you really wanted so he was out of the running. And then there were the others; Wyll was too young, Shadowheart too distant, Karlach on fire. Lae’zel… just no. Desperate but picky…

***

Fucking gnolls and their stupid giggling. Great, now you’ve got blood on you again and the whole area is up in flames. Who in the hells was the genius to start throwing alchemist's fire? Well, at least the beasts have been taken care of. You’ve expected nothing but corpses, empty crates, and maybe the odd trip wire; Rugan is not what you’re expecting to come across. Slightly taller than you, older, weathered from a few too many fights, and most likely a few too many stiff drinks as well; and shit, when he speaks you feel that desperate hunger come back to you full force. You would happily be fucked by him against the wall, the floor, the back of this bloody cave if left alone with him. 

Ah, a Zhentarim. Typical. You’d had run-ins with them back in the city. The word around was that they were trying to take over The Guild; a few gold misplaced and a skirmish or two down by the docks, but it wasn’t your place to get involved. Leave that to Nine-Fingers to deal with. Your job was to simply keep the books in order at the keep, whilst playing both sides to keep your lifestyle comfortable, of course. Well, maybe now this could play to your advantage as well; make a little gold and if you meet up with him again then you could see what would happen. At least now you have something to think of during those lonely nights of tent life. 

You’ve always been one for voices as stupid as the concept sounds and his sticks with you. …Tighter than a Duke’s purse strings… You bite the inside of your lip thinking of other things usually construed as tight. When did your mind become so crude? Why did everyone else have to be here right now? Why can’t you just push him against that wall and have your way with him? You see him looking at you as Gale speaks; maybe he’s thinking the same thing, or maybe he’s recognised you from the keep. What does it all matter though? Desperate…

***

You both plan to make some gold selling the chest he’s transporting. You figure, what harm could it do? You find out soon after though exactly what harm; with the death of the poor lad that was with him, the death of the Zhents that had him tied and beaten to a chair, and an awakening to something you’ve never really thought about before. You beautiful bastard. Gods, what you’d give to keep him tied to that chair, to suck his cock knowing his arms are bound behind him and there’s nothing he can do but let out deep moans from your touch. That fantasy will keep you going for a few nights, that's for sure, and then maybe if you’re lucky that drink he’s promised you could turn into more, a desperate touch-starved reality.  

***

Baldur’s Gate. It’s been a long time having to make do with the odd night with Astarion, with some drow, with your own thoughts to keep you going, but you know you’ll soon be at the Elfsong Tavern and can get that sweet release you’ve been craving. Yeah, the tadpole is still slithering away in your mind, yeah there are all the other problems, like saving the world and a stone lord that had suddenly become your issue to deal with, but none of it matters in comparison to what, who you’ve been craving. Rugan…

He stands at the bar, a pint in hand. Finally, someone with a real taste in alcohol. He recognises you even out of the armour, hopefully out of the clothes later too. Things have gone to shit for him since the day in the caves, but he doesn’t want to talk about it much and you’re grateful after carrying the emotional baggage of your travelling companions. You watch as he downs the last bit of his drink before placing his hand on your thigh. He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you for your reaction. You can already feel the warmth in your face, and you want to say it’s the drink but you both know that’s a complete lie. 

You can’t tell who booked the room or even how you’ve both reached this point as you push through a door, hands already exploring one another’s bodies, tongues entwined in a frantic effort to make up for lost time. The door is kicked shut to keep your hands placed on his body and as you make your way to what you hope is the bed, you both leave behind a trail of clothing, a light cotton shirt and leather trousers with ridiculous ties. On any other day, you might tease, pulling at them with your teeth but that will not happen tonight. Tonight, you want him, you need him inside you. 

Desperate longing leads to desperate touches. Your hand is wrapped around his shaft, though it takes little to wind him up. His grabs are as eager as yours as you feel him wrap a strong arm around your leg pulling you in closer, onto him. Did you even make it to the bed? You don’t seem to care as you feel him thrust inside you, deeper than you expected after seeing how tight his trousers were, a pleasant yet welcome surprise. Shit, it’s been so long and you wanted to draw this night out, to have it build up to some enchanted moment and see fireworks but right now, you are in that cave, you are on that floor, you are up against that wall, and you are being given what you have hungered after for so long. By the gods, he is everything and more than you could possibly have ever wanted. 

You hear his breath grow heavy against your neck as he jolts into you mercilessly. You grip him feeling your heart racing and your muscles tightening, wanting to give him everything, wanting this night to last forever but you know it won’t be much longer for either of you. You feel your release building and you try to hold it off, try to think of anything else but the throbbing inside of you and just as you think you’ve regained some control you hear his growled whisper in your ear; Your name spoken from those thirsting lips.   

***

The next morning you wake up alone amongst the creased sheets of the bed you’d both shared. The trail of your clothing leads to what appears to be a sofa and you smile to yourself now knowing the full story of the night. You’ve no idea where he’s gone or even if you’ll see him again but right now you don’t care as your head rests on the pillow and the events of last night flood your brain. That beautiful bastard, Rugan, once again leaving you desperate…

[graysparrowao3]

Last six sentences

@theycallmeratt, I receive your tag, wonder that you are.

My best guess at the last six edited in a, uh, 'secret' mini bonus chapter to address something that has been left unsaid. Fittingly called "At The Eleventh Hour". As inspired by @benicemurphy.

Some tags! The last 6 sentences you've written should you choose to share I would love to read them! @lostinforestbound @lemonsrosesandlavender @lizziemajestic @vera-king-hrfl @redroomroaving

           

  Rugan heard movement in the young man’s throat and wrapped him tighter still.

            When he could, when he dared, the younger man slowly turned. He stared, shattered, at the man who gazed affectionately over his shoulder.

            Rugan placed his lips over the ones that were parted in disbelief. A kiss so careful that wouldn’t break the exposed defenses, so tender that the fragility would remain beautiful and unviolated.

[dustdeepsea]

T/F 'there is only one bed' is a god-tier trope

[collected WIPs for this round here]

It truly is!! *_*

This is from the draft of chapter 4 of Gods and Monsters (BG3), where Rugan and Octavia spend the night in Reithwin. This is set post-game, and to quote @unmoderatedzhentarim: "Tav and a broken Rugan embark on an investigation for the guild while studiously avoiding talking about their feelings."

“You’ve been quiet since we got here.”

Tav hovered behind him, a shadow in the doorway. Their face and hands were freshly scrubbed, water dripping from their hair. He watched a droplet trickle down their jaw, their neck, and settle into the hollow of their throat, collecting in their damp collar. He had the sudden wild urge to chase its trail with his lips. Annoyed with himself, he swallowed and tamped the notion down firmly.

“Aye?” He shrugged. “Must just be the travelling.”

“I’ve written to Jaheira for permission to stay three nights.” 

“And what did mummy say?” 

Tav pursed their lips at his needling, but didn’t take the bait. “We’ll have time to rest and resupply properly. You should take the chance to—our next stop is the Underdark.”

Rugan shuddered at the memory of it. Dripping ceilings, hook horrors and assorted beasties around every corner. Two wagon axles smashed and abandoned in the dark. Listening as bulettes screamed and flailed in the distance, with nothing between them for protection except a wavering ring of torch light. Even the wolves stayed close, circling the campfires.

“No other way then, I take it?”

Tav shook their head. “That’s where the map leads.”

“Splendid.” He rolled his shoulders, trying not to wince as they clicked in protest. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be getting some sleep first.”

The bed sat in the corner of the room with a colourful patchwork quilt spread over it. It was an odd size—generous for a single person, but no worse than some beds in inns he’d shared in the past. A mother and a child could have slept comfortably in it.

Tav’s expression grew pinched as they realised this as well.

Rugan considered unfurling his bedroll on the stone floor. He knew he should have offered, but if Tav wanted a gentleman, they should have travelled with the young Ravengard. Or they could go and bunk with Halsin, if they were so inclined. 

With those charitable thoughts in mind, he pulled off his boots and stretched out across the bed with a sigh. The mattress was stuffed with more straw than feathers, but it felt luxurious after days of sleeping rough in the dirt. “Don’t stay up too late yourself,” he said, nonchalantly, to the ceiling. 

There was no response. When he looked around, Tav had already left.

Rolling over, he doused the lamp on the rough-hewn side table, and soon fell asleep.

Later that night, he felt the mattress dip. He stirred blearily, thinking it was Brem or Jarg, back late from the card table, sliding in beside him. The room had cooled, and he groaned unhappily as they let the chill air in with their manoeuvring.

“Go back to sleep,” they said.

Grumbling, he pulled the blanket up over them. At least they smelled better than they normally did—only faintly of woodsmoke, and not stinking of ale and sweat. Their hair tickled his cheek. He pushed it out of the way and shifted closer to warm them both.

In the morning, he woke up alone in the bed, with the covers drawn up to his chin, and wondered if he had dreamt it all.

[my-favourite-zhent]

2024 Writing Roundup (Late)

Wasn't sure whether to put this on @unmoderatedzhentarim or here but all my other writing is here so what the hey.

I really enjoyed reading everyone's writing roundups and wrap ups have been wanting to do one, bit late as I've not had the time or energy for tag games the last few months (hopefully will soon).

Words posted (not including group works): 69, 682

Additional words written over various projects:

NT: 14, 198

F&F: 8,827

F&F Sequel: 1466

Untitled One-Shot A: 468

Untitled One-Shot B: 1513

Total: 26, 475

Grand total: 96, 156

I feel a little bit better about my output seeing it as a total number.

Fandoms: Baldur's Gate 3 (pretty much just the Zhentarim)

Highest Kudos: New Tricks at 77, a Rugan x OC long fic that I hope to finish this year. Set before and during the events of the game.

Highest Hit One shot: I don't have one posted from *this* year but Worthwhile Reward from last December comes in at 101. This one is Rugan x Tav where Tav gets the drink she was promised at the Elf Song.

New Trickshings I tried:

A long fic, which I have a love-hate relationship now as it's my darling but seriously can it just write itself?

Lore research, have not written in 20ish year but I don't recall investigating anything back then.

Getting involved in Fandom, previously I've watched a lot from the sidelines so it was nice to actually talk to other creatives and fans this time around, big shout out to @littleplasticrat for pulling me into it.

Fic I spent the most time on:

New Tricks by a landslide, it's consumed me pretty much every single day of 2024, even if my output has slowed down considerably.

Fic I spent the least time on:

Untitled One-Shot A, have only spent a few hours on it. This was going to be a character study of one of the Zhents but the other projects are consuming me so much that I don't know if or when it will get done.

Favourite thing I wrote:

New Tricks! Again! As much as I had fun getting Fortune and Favour started NT is still my first love and will probably continue to be so until it's finished.

Favourite thing(s) I read:

Quite a few and I'm bound to forget some but I'll break it up by category and hopefully I do not over tag and anger tumblr:

Comedy:

A Honeypot; A Thirst Trap by @threerattsinatrenchcoat

The start of the Bandit Queen saga. Rugan and the Waukeen's rest gang have met their match in the Bandit Queen. Time and again they come up against her schemes and vice-versa. Will the gang ever come out on top? Will Rugan ever get laid? Read to find out!

Drama:

Aqua Vitae by @dustdeepsea

Amazingly grounded and poignant work that takes place in the Rugan cut-content AU. Octavia (Tav) runs into Rugan at Elfsong only to find him a lot more troubled than when last they met.

One For the Road by @thisaccountisagainstmywill

The first in a series of character defining dalliances for Rugan. The exploration of his first romance and how it would shape him.

Fluff:

Isn't it a Marvel by @fistfuloftarenths

A post BG3 ending where bard Tav enjoys a day out with her favourite (former) Zhents, and a little bit of mischief.

Somewhere I have never travelled also by dust

An encounter with sweet Zhent Olly from the POV of a young woman named Nora in Berdusk.

I was and forever will be so touched Dust decided to set this in the NT universe, and I hope I'll be able to do Olly some justice!

On-going series aka Long fic:

de diversis artibus also by fistful

A fantastic Salazon centered story, the narrative is shared between him and the POV of a very sheltered Partriar's daughter by the name of Rosafieri. Rosa is both infuriating and endearing in her naivety and the perfect compliment to Sal.

God and Monsters also by dust

The threequel to Aqua Vitae. Set post-game, Octavia (Tav) and a broken Rugan embark on an investigation for the guild while studiously avoiding talking about their feelings.

The Red Right Hand by @pentuppen

Yvie St. John is a firey medical assistant that, thanks to the reckless and selfish behaviour of her mother, finds herself the target of some various dangerous loan sharks. A chance run in with our favourite Zhent simultaneously ruins her life and offers her an opportunity to get everything she's ever wanted.

Smut:

The Inkskin Pact by @littleplasticrat

A Rugan o' Clearlight story, a little exploration on one of his various tattoos and how it is very beneficial for a Zhent Tav.

A Snake in the Garden also by pentuppen

Rugan collects on a debt anyway that he can, only the token he's taken isn't traded for coin but for a night with an extremely talented tiefling courtesan.

The Perfect Mark by @luvwich

What if instead of encountering a heroic Tav, Rugan ran into a rather unscrupulous Dark Urge? One who doesn't fight her violent tendencies but instead finds a perfect opportunity for them in an unknowing Zhent.

Writing Goals for 2025:

Actually finish New Tricks (is this realistic? I couldn't tell you).

New Works:

Untitled One-Shot B! B is a bit different in character and trajectory but it's fun to write and its a bit of a collaboration so I hope to wrap it up soon.

Thanks for reading this far! And if you haven't done your own roundup yet give it a try~

[ohsayit]

Zevlor is set up to fail

*This is going to be a long one because I am going to jam snippets of lines from the game.*

I started a new run just to create a few save points around the interactions with Zevlro and Rugan. Something possessed me talk to everyone is the Grove.

In conclusion, most unfortunately, Zevlor is set up to fail in this game.

Note: I am only talking about the precious old man. None of this is to do with the cut content of corrupted Zevlor that I yet to dig them out from the dialogue files.

Let's take a look at the grown up tieflings.

These 3 are outside the Grove circle where the druids chant to the idol.

Then here we go Arabella's parents

From these people, I kind of see they are not exactly the typical "beg for help" sort of refugee. Some of them think "(their) lives are at stake, why are the druids being ridiculous". Arabella's mother, Komira is right to be angry and frustrated given her daughter is young. However, she also describes it as "precious ritual". It seems the reason (however bad it is, the druids actually have one) is lost to the tieflings. To an extent, I can understand that. They are civilians from Elturel. Even life isn't perfect for tieflings there, it's not all that bad. They live in/around a city and have a life there. The make their own family and are protected by the Riders.

Other than this, the rest of the camp is "we should just run". I think this one sums it up perfectly. This bunch really is not fighters. Zevlor isn't lying or exaggerating. Even if they have a strong body, their minds have no fight in it.

And the kids, by the Hells, they are even worse. These ones are the ones training with Wyll.

They already are the "better" ones. They are too young to understand what "hoard of goblins" and "monster along the road" mean. The best thing the camp can do is give the kids something to do and hope they will be able to put up a fight when they are in some desperate situation. The rest of the kids? I figure they are most likely under Mol.

I think Mol practically takes care of the rest of the kids. She groups them together and put them under her authority. However, she is still too young to the true meaning of "monsters". From the way she behaves, I think she's not a total stranger to death. She genuinely cares about the kids who are with her, but she send one to the harpy's nest regardless. I doubt if she will send the kid if she knows that will kill him. Alas, kid is sent to the harpies and would be dead if player didn't show up.

[Here comes the end bit! We are almost there!]

So this is the mission Zevlor set himself on. With less than a fraction of the men he used to command, his mission is to take these civilians to Baldur's Gate. He doesn't have enough fighters that's for sure. I am sure he must have started with more of his fellow tiefling ex-Riders. Some of them must have died protecting these bunch.

Here is the snippet of his memory imprint dialogue in the Mindflayer Colony:

In its horror, the Blood War unites you. Tiefling, dwarf and elf alike huddle behind the shields of your paladin order, waiting for salvation. But when it comes... disunity. The returned city casts your people out, the devils who dragged them down to hell. In the end, it is not your paladin oath that is broken: it is your faith itself.

Zevlor is in such a shit situation. His faith is broken, but he is all the leadership and hope these bunch got, civilian and Riders alike. They are supposed to be Hellriders for life. All of them are lost when their home and the place they belong were stripped off them. Zevlor needs to do his job without showing how he feel the lost just like the others. He also needs to actually pull it through. These people entrust him their lives. If people die, it's his fault. He is their beacon of hope and idol to take all the blame at the same time.

In BG3 the game, there are goblins and Shadow Curse along the way. The mission itself is hopeless. He is set up to fail, given how the game is set up. So when Zevlor inevitably fails, he failes hard publicly as well, his own people just turn on him.

LET ME LOVE MY PRECIOUS OLD MAN JBADSFBIULADUI FERAL DOT GIF

[fistfuloftarenths]

rugan headcanons

he knows the importance of maintaining his kit. patched the elbows on that shirt himself in tiny neat stitches. boots are always waxed and oiled. will invest in good socks. will tell other people to invest in good socks.

still salty he was wearing the patched shirt when they were attacked though. was saving a nicer one that matched his hose one for later when he getting a pint at waukeen's rest and now it's going to rot on a wagon if some bastard doesn't find it first.

he can cook if you want something hot and filling that sticks to your ribs. capable, not inspired. will take pot-shots at rabbits and the like during the day to add them to the pot. encourages olly to do the same. fresh meat on a caravan trip is always welcome and it keeps his eye in.

but he's pro at making a fire. even in heavy weather. needs his brew-up, hot and bitter.

has looked after many new lads and lasses on the road. sees all their young faces come and go. sighs and closes the eyelids of some of them, the unlucky ones or ones that don't listen. zhent caravans don't get the respect they used to.

can walk into nearly any pub in the south of the sword coast and know a guy. for that matter, nearly always knows a guy or knows a guy that knows a guy. been black network for decades. got a lot of favours owed if he comes to collect.

not originally from baldur's gate. grew up in a family with too many mouths and not enough coin. joined the black network to travel. back home, his accent is right out of the gutters. sneered at. he's still surprised how well it helps him pull in the gate. grateful, mind you.

relationships are (mostly) transactional. got an accommodating widow in elturel that finds it useful to have a zhent lover to keep her husband's family out of her business. not in any danger of loving her. glad she makes it out of avernus alive.

softer than is convenient for him, sometimes. seen so many youngsters come and go, and it still cuts him up when olly dies. the lad was a likely one. listened. kept his head while he was scared. just had to try and be a hero.

for all his lines about 'help's a long way from here' and 'anyone who is stupid enough to attack a pack of gnolls' he's not lying when he says you're a sweet sight. he's not a hero and doesn't want to be - you can be old or bold, but not both - but he'll be buggered if he doesn't appreciate them in a tight spot. especially ones that look like tav.

no contempt like lae'zel's for wyll there. just relief and gratitude. especially if olly lives.

but is a survivor above all. doesn't trust easily, or lightly. won't tread on you to lift himself up, but will sell you out rather than take the hit for you. not many people have valued his skin over theirs, and he'll return the favour.

mostly swears by the black hand but banite by custom rather than by faith. too aware of rich fuckers screwing over people like him to be entirely on board with the banite agenda.

cyric, though. some people could do with a bit more strife, he reckons.

is likely to invoke tymora on the downlow. rugan's lucky. he's still alive, so he's lucky. flips her a tarenth or few when he's got them spare. mostly after a good round of cards.

hates boats. can put up with a river barge if there's a card game going. avoids the sea like he gave a wavemother priestess the pox. likes being a caravan guard. good at it. likes travelling, seeing more of faerun than he thought he'd ever do growning up in the slums.

prefers mules to oxen and not just because they're faster. mules aren't shy about their opinions. he respects that. can order drinks and food in more languages than you'd think. sure it's the caravan agent's job, but he'll be damned if he's that reliant on a bookkeeper. especially if it's on the bookkeeper's tab.

[underthedark0]

light of my life, the @lizziemajestic of all time tagged me in

wip weekend

so enjoy a A Trio of Bastards below the cut.

no pressure tag for @graysparrowao3 @fangbanger3000 @faerieologymajor @forget-me-maybe

concept title: couple’s therapy

When Rugan approaches, it’s the drow that notices him first.

Their eyes light up with recognition, Faer leaning back in their chair and letting an inviting smile curl their lips. “Rugan, that can’t be you, can it?” they purr. “It’s been a while.”

The drow looks good—better than the last time he saw them, even.

“Too long,” he replies, letting his gaze travel over Faer in a way that’s far from subtle. “Surprised you remember me, considering all I’m hearin.’”

“Mm,” Faer hums around their drink. “You sell yourself short. Hard to forget moments like that.”

They aren’t wrong. Rugan smiles at the memory, their back against the cave wall, leg over his shoulder, his head between their-…

The man beside Faer clears his throat, drawing his attention. Rugan feels his lips twitch in amusement at the sight of him. This kid—whoever he is—clearly isn’t thrilled to see him here.

He’s young, probably the youngest between the three of them (though the drow never gave him a straight number), with a mop of curly hair and a seemingly permanently annoyed expression. “You two, uh…”

The man’s eyes flit between them, sizing Rugan up with a mix of irritated curiosity and something else.

Something that Rugan finds intriguing.

“…know each other?”

Faer seems to notice it, too, the way the drow’s eyes find Rugan’s slowly as if they need confirmation that he sees the same thing they do.

And Rugan does. Oh, he definitely does.

“Yeah,” Faer murmurs around their smirk, their gaze lingering on Aradin, then back to him, smirk widening like they’re savoring every second of this little exchange. “We know each other.”

The man reacts predictably.

Rugan smiles, watching the man’s expression narrow even further, his jaw setting with an irritated edge, eyes flashing with something akin to annoyance or maybe something darker, his gaze hardening as he processes Rugan’s presence.

Rugan likes the way this is unfolding.

“Faer here saved me from becoming gnoll chow,” he explains, not waiting for an invitation as he sits down next to them. “Never quite had the chance to thank them proper, though.”

“No, no, you definitely thanked me,” Faer responds before taking a sip of their drink - something dark and amber that Rugan can smell from here. “It just wasn’t very proper.”

He laughs loudly and genuinely, then watches as the kid next to them sets his jaw in a hard line, expression tightening. Rugan doesn’t miss the flash of something possessive in his eyes as he watches the older man closely, like he’s trying to figure him out.

Good. Let him look.

Rugan tilts his head slightly, letting his gaze linger on the man. “Who’s your friend?”

“Aradin,” he responds before Faer can answer, voice gruff. “Beno.”

“Rugan,” he replies with a lazy grin. “So, what’s a guy like you doing with Faer?”

Aradin settles on “Keeping them out of trouble,” delivered with a clipped, dry tone that’s trying too hard to be indifferent.

“But trouble’s all I’ve got to offer,” Faer cuts in, their voice laced with amusement as they swirl the dregs of their drink, shifting closer to Rugan until their shoulder brushes his - a deliberate move that Rugan meets with a lazy smile.

“Yeah, I figured that out,” Aradin mutters.

Rugan can’t help but let a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. “You’ve got your work cut out for you,” he replies, letting his hand drift to Faer’s knee, fingers tracing idle circles over the fabric. “Not everyone’s got the, uh... stamina to keep up with Faer here.”

Aradin’s eyes are glued to the movement, caught between irritation and something Rugan might dare to call interest. There’s a moment where he thinks Aradin might reach across the table and shove his hand off Faer’s leg, but instead, he just holds the stare, unflinching.

“I’ve been doing just fine,” he says, voice gruff.

“Is that right?” Rugan’s grin widens, and he can’t help the teasing lilt that seeps into his tone.

He tilts his head, letting his gaze travel over Aradin with a leisurely sweep that’s anything but innocent. He takes his time, his eyes tracing the line of Aradin’s jaw, the set of his shoulders, the way his hands are clenched just a little too tightly.

“Because I’m not sure you know what you’re signing up for.”

[voloslobotomyservice]

Darcy

(she/her)

Class: Rogue Assassin

Race: Zariel Tiefling

Age: 28 years

Background: Urchin

Game Progression: Halfway through Act Two

Darcy was only a child when she was kidnapped from her family in Elturel and taken to Baldur’s Gate.

Before she was taken away, she had lived a quite normal life with her mother, father, and five younger siblings. She had aspirations of being a ranger, and had begun training with a bow and arrow her father had gifted her. She was also grew up knowing Divya, who is four years younger than Darcy and lived in the same area in Elturel.

But everything changed for Darcy a few months after her thirteenth birthday. A group of Zhentarim had been hired by members of the Baldurian Elite to steal young girls and bring them back to the city as their slaves. When she arrive to Baldur’s Gate and was sold off to her master, he had her horns sawed off so she would look more “elvish.” Her tail was nearly docked as well, but another one of the older tiefling slaves started fighting their master, giving Darcy just enough time to flee. She never knew the tiefling girl’s name, and she never thought she would see them again.

For the next fifteen years, Darcy lived in the streets of Baldur’s Gate, doing anything she could just to get by. She has festered a hatred for the Zhentarim and the Baldurian Elite, and vowed to herself to one day kill those men who have wronged her.

Click here to read some not-so-depressing facts about Darcy! 🤠

The tiefling visits as her Dream Guardian. These are the nights that Darcy sleeps best, as she is not having nightmares about the night she was taken from her family.

For a rouge, she’s pretty aloof, and doesn’t have the best perception skills. She can be quick to anger and sometimes acts before thinking through the possible outcomes.

In the middle of Act One, A Matter of Trust takes place, where Shadowheart helps Darcy grow her horns back and give her a new look.

She is a certified Rugan lover girl, yet her relationship with him is very… complicated, given her hatred for the Zhentarim.

[thisaccountisagainstmywill]

WIP Wednesday

@fistfuloftarenths tagged me last week for WIP Wednesday. I didn't have anything new last week. And joke's on me I don't have anything new this week either. I was going to post non-BG3 WIPs to be a shit, but it's been too long. No pressure tagging: @my-favourite-zhent, @littleplasticrat, @dustdeepsea, @captainsigge, @coreene

So anyway here's an excerpt from a young Rugan longfic that's been sitting on the back burner for a while.

Rugan waits patiently for another three hours, nursing a pint, and a plate of whatever Sanya can weasel away from the kitchen. At one point he joins in on the bawdy singing, adding his own spin to the lyrics and making eye contact with his favorite lass when she dares look his way. He sings himself hoarse for the briefest slivers of her attention. Every time she rolls her eyes with a smile and continues about her business with a shake of her head. When the crowd thins down to just him and a few low-energy regulars, the barkeep waves Sanya over. He throws a sad glance towards Rugan sitting with his empty pint held on the stool between his knees. With a nod to the lonely boy, he quietly tells her, “Go on then, love. I can take it from here.” The old man passes her a small satchel with her pay of the day and a little extra. “All the blessings on you for your adventure.” She thanks the large man with a tender pat on his hand and turns back to Rugan. Rugan stands, placing his empty mug on the stolen stool behind him. With a few long strides across the near-empty room, he has her in his arms. He steals a quick kiss before he lowers himself to wrap his arms around her waist and raises her up so he can gaze up at her. She places her hands on his shoulders to steady herself and smiles down at him. Backlit by the chandelier, loose strands of hair frame her like a glowing halo. My sunrise. He thought, but then the realization set in. For the first time ever, she didn’t argue or fight back when he kissed her with an audience. He knows in his heart now, that the rumors were true: tonight was goodbye. 

[zhentil-keep-perverts]

Info

Voice Actor: Simon Pothecary

Voice ID: v85e1190683ea4f2fb5cbf1e2a6710513

Head: Head 6 (HUM_M_NKD_Head_G)

Hair: Savant (HAIR_HUM_M_Wavy_Short_A)

Eye Colour: Brown 3 (h79a59a86g9c02g47c5gb441g15f193feccbf)

Hair Colour: Ginger 4 (hf0b31851ge79cg414bg8816g1b9ee8933539)

Skin Colour: Blush Tone 7 (hdec774bcgee7fg478cg8d4agae71afe9b556)

Salazon Headcanons

General

Sal is the only person who is patient enough to wait for the passphrase, which is why he on guard duty, everyone else would just start a fight on purpose - way too trigger happy.

Easily stressed but does his best, he is having a ‘Bad Day’ not to mention his poor knees, crouching like that.

He is the singular wizard in all of Faerûn who actually knows how to throw a punch. Has been in many tavern brawls due to being a Zhent and Rugan has been teaching him how to throw a punch for years now. Caravan Crews have a literal "You must be able to carry your own weight" rule.

"Although Salazon is aligned with the Zhentarim, he will not become hostile even if the Player decides to fight the members in the basement."

Spells: Color Spray, Thunderwave, Fire Bolt, Shocking Grasp, Poison Spray (Uses two different verbal components).

Loves libraries, he is a wizard after all.

Some people worship Beshaba in the hopes she’ll leave them alone - Sal is some people.

He went to Blackstaff in Waterdeep, on scholarship (his accent isn't posh).

He handles the bullying pretty well from the other Zhents because it's nothing new in his life.

Sal might be a wizard but he doesn't have the muscles of one, he's all lean and wiry and stronger than he looks.

Calls for Zarys to help if you fail 'Detect Thoughts' when trying to get into the Zhentarim Hideout. Perhaps the two of them get along fairly well? Sal is lettered and he's their big Wizard Investment. He listens to her instructions and doesn't cause much trouble. Treats her with proper manners even though he's terrified of her most days.

Stupid Nickname: Firecrotch

Family

He's the last born son of a big wizard family, but they couldn't afford him like the rest so he has to pay for his shit and his father doubts Sal is his because he's the only one to come out red haired.

Sal has middle child energy to me maybe a sudden new baby after him. A surprise baby when he was like 10.

Baby gets the special treatment. Middle-child has to muddle his way through. Older siblings are off doing their own thing. Parents are fussing over the baby.

The baby is the first daughter in a family of 4 boys. So it's extra special too and Sal is forgotten.

Debts and Gambling

Preteen Sal falls in with a bad crowd, he's smart enough to count cards and uses it to pay off his student loans, but it attracted the wrong attention.

Unfortunately he is not smart enough to realize the house always wins. Because it's a Zhentish house, and they're cheating.

Gets roughed up for counting cards and gets "rescued" by the Zhents.

"Want to do something with your life, boy?"

"I... I just want to go to Blackstaff."

"Of course. Smart young man like you should make something of himself."

It's a good way for them to get new wizards; let them finish their studies with the debt hanging over their head, and then let them work it off like indentured servitude.

Sal is still thousands of gold pieces deep in 'debt' and they are unlikely to ever admit he's close to paying it off. 

He just wanted to learn extra spells and now he's stuck casting prestidigitation on everyone's gear every night because it gets rid of fleas.

Sal still gambles but even with the card counting and probability analysis Rugan wins more than he does and it drives Sal batshit. Rugan just shrugs and is all "Just lucky I guess.".

Tattoos

The crew egged him on into getting one when he became a Zhent. They got him wizard drunk, which is similar to white girl drunk.

"Let's see if we can tattoo him while he's asleep" and drink bet tattoos

He's got like half a cock tattooed on his lower leg because he woke up in the middle of Bellar and Vol giving him stick poke.

Has at least the Zhent wyrm on his ribs.

Probably have arcane tattoos. Actually nice looking ones because he's a bit spoilt like that, attuned to him for spell casting (which put him deeper in debt).

Spellwrought Tattoo (maybe common or uncommon). So you can cast once a day without material components.

Forearm sized tattoos are “only” 100-500gp. Maybe he has a small one for something useful like create water (50-100gp).

"You call that a tattoo?" "Bleeding wizards" "Why would you get a tattoo of that? I can make water for free [pisses on Sal]"

Literacy

Writes the less literate boy’s dirty letters for them; "You want me to write her what???"

“Is this what gets them so many women???” Sal says as he tries to wrap his head around a particularly dirty bit he’s been forced to write.

This is probably the only way Brem's able to get some and Brem gets all his flirty talk straight from Rugan, right ripped off.

Sal puts all the money from the letter writing to his terrible student loans / crying as he take dictation.

Sal: “This is why I went to school… this is why I went to school…” (drawing a penis on the bottom of a letter as requested)

Brem looks over Sal’s shoulder “Make it come too. She needs to know what she’s in for.”

“I THINK THAT’S IMPLIED, BREM.” 

“Gotta make sure it’s accurate.” 

“Wait a second… why didn’t you get your painter to do this?!”

Romance

Sal would read to you if you asked him - he doesn't get the chance to talk about books with the other Zhents apart from Olly. Since literacy most likely isn't great in Faerun, especially small towns. You might have to wait a long time for a bard to come through town who knows a particular ballad.

In regards to Sal reading someone a bit of poetry or a romantic tale - as it got spicier and spicier he would get insanely nervous and his voice would start to waver and he would struggle and stumble over every single word until he could barely speak. (Wouldn't even be anything explicit, it's "heaving bosoms" levels of spice).

He is good at writing flirty letters but fumbles in real life.

Enthusiastic and fumb-ly in bed, don't think he has much experience but would happily learn if he had a steady girl to teach him what she liked.

He might also just start paying for them to teach him at a whore house out of desperation.

Some much put upon woman being all "No, too much lightning there TOO MUCH." "Ease up on the mage hand."

“Don’t bully me I’ll cum” gives me Sal vibes, because wizard and bully go well together.

Voted "Most Safe and Practical Choice of Zhent Lover" by the Zhentil Keep.

Wrote the note next to the lever (which Garias pulls) in the hideout, first thought to be Vol who wrote it but since Sal is the demolitions expert and is friendly with Zarys it is most likely him.

Head canons were created in group discussions on Discord and we've preserved them anonymously. Please drop a message if you'd like to be tagged.

[alpydk]

I'm not gonna lie I thought you were making a Rugan x Morena Dekarios fic not what it actually was(it's still cool aaf) and thought you were taking the rare pair crown into 2025

Rugan wooing the older woman in a shitty tavern, her there simply for directions. He uses all the worn out pickup lines that she's heard a hundred times before. You remind me of my little toe. I'll probably bang you on the coffee table later when I'm drunk. There's something charming about this idiot, though, a glint in his eye that stirs something in her.

She takes the offer a drink, exchanges insults and compliments with him, likes the way the candlelight dances off his pale blue eyes.

He likes the confidence, the curves of her body, the experience she no doubt has as she traces her tongue along cherry red lipstick.

He's a bad boy, rough and ready, calls her lass and she can't help but feel the craving burning within. It's been many a year since someone spoke to her like that. Now nothing but ma'am, and yet here she is feeling as if she were back in her youth. The giggling young lady with the ridiculously short skirt and figure of a goddess.

He places a hand on her hip, soft and tender beneath his firm grasp. More to hold, to touch, to taste. Sliding close to her, he imagines losing himself in her body, to sink his face into her shapely breasts, to feel her curvaceous thighs pressed around his hand as he gives her the satisfaction no other man has.

They retreat to a small room, the bed pointless as they both make claim to what they truly desire. They're not naive teenagers anymore, stumbling over their words, clumsily grasping at one another and hoping the sounds being made are suitable for the actions. No, now the years of experience are a competition, a challenge to be the one to be remembered.

All the first times, all the memories of previous lovers, flings, missed opportunities, lonely nights visualising desperate gasps. Cheap drinks and cheaper talk. All have been for this moment, for this one night of passion that neither will forget.

Morena leaves early the next morning, the sleeping form of Rugan left amongst the blankets torn onto the floor. She applies her lipstick, checks her hair and departs the tavern, a glow in her cheeks at a night well spent.

[graysparrowao3]

hello, sorry for the slow response to the tag - I too have been travelling!

I LOVED your Aradin x Rugan fic and would love to hear more about the second installment for the WIP game!

Oh gosh! Hello! You know, we both apologized for slowness, but this was a delightful surprise! I'm so, so happy to hear you liked it, it has rocketed to the top of my guilty pleasures, for sure. (And I hope your travel went well!) Sure thing, it would be my pleasure!

So I really did quite like what will now be part 1 of the Rugan x Aradin fic, set in The Blushing Mermaid, but wasn't sure where I could take it next, what with it being set as a one night stand. But then a thoughtful comment by @benicemurphy set a fire of inspiration going, and these two are going to have another entirely filthy and unhealthy encounter! Hooray! It shall be called... A Second Night Stand in The Elfsong Tavern.

I hope both you and @benicemurphy, to whom this shall be dedicated, like the following snippet from the WIP so far (further editing still to be made)! In this part they have just entered a room in The Elfsong Tavern and things get heated.

Tags to be mindful of below the cut: Explicit Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sub/Dom Theme

“Not bad, this,” the adventurer took an appreciative look around the room.

“Don’t say I never take you anywhere nice,” Rugan said as he closed the door to the private quarters.

“Give over,” Aradin muttered.

“Got ourselves quite the upgrade," the Zhent eyed up the plush duvet and decorative stitching on the pillows as he unthreaded himself from his leather.

The younger man impulsively pulled his tunic over his head, throwing his clothing aside and making straight for the well cushioned bed. He hopped onto the soft cover, bouncing the mattress underneath him.

"Oh aye, this'll do." He squished his hands down into the downy material, nodding in approval.

"I don't think so, love," the Zhent cocked his head sharply to the side.

The man sitting on the bed stared up at him.

"Are you havin' a laugh?"

"Remind me who's footin’ the bill?"

“Taking the piss, you are,” Aradin climbed off the bed and snatched up his tunic from the floor, “you know what, reckon I can get my own. Might find less of a tosser to share it with an’ all.”

The adventurer took several assured steps towards the door, when the Zhent pulled him sharply back by his hips, his body forced back, away from the exit. A hand directed the younger man’s head, tilting it back. The Zhent didn’t wait for a hesitation or refusal, sliding his tongue past surprised lips, encouraging them open and pressing onto them, smothering them with his own. Pressing the younger man’s face against him, his kiss was firm and wet, forcing his tongue into a mouth as though he had permission. He pushed against the younger man who was tense in his hands and lips, stunned by the shock of intimate touch. Moving his hand through the curls of his hair, tightening the grip on his thigh. He devoured with careless lips and fervent tongue. Suddenly, he pulled back, a snap of their separation as the younger man gasped.

“Thought you weren’t about all that," the adventured blinked, finding those blue eyes so close to his.

“That a complaint?”

“Didn’t mean it like that.” He hadn’t meant to, but the adventurer leant back, desperately seeking the touch of lips that had moved away. The older man moved in close, hot breath blowing into unsatisfied lips.

“I bet you didn’t,” he held back, holding himself just shy of a kiss, taunting the softer mouth that was eager for more, “too bad you’re on your way out.”

The young man swallowed and involuntarily licked his dry lips.

“Could be convinced otherwise.”

“Could you now.”

“May’ve been misled. Made a rash decision.”

“Bad habit of yours. One of many.”

He felt the body of the older man grind up behind him, firm and hard, impatient hands gripping onto his waist.

“Knew you wanted me to stay,” the younger man pressed his haunches back and tried to force a confidence that would claw back some of his dignity.

He felt the breath of the older man on his neck, thick and sharp with alcohol. The man behind him gripped his hips, holding them tightly, fingers digging into the crease of his groin. He leant in close, touching his lips to the edge of the younger man’s ear, a tease of a false kiss. He breathed heavily and whispered low,

“You don’t know a fuckin’ thing.”

The Zhent slid his hand under the younger man’s tunic, moving quickly over his thigh and between his legs. He compelled a sharp inhale as he ran his fingers over him, massaging him over the fabric. He felt the younger man harden under his firm touch and roll his head back. The adventurer wanted to make a smart-arse response. Gods, did he want to, but the movement of a hand across the tightness at his waist stole his breath as his mouth gaped. The Zhent pushed his body close so that the young man could feel the demand before he heard it.

“Now be a good lad, I've got a cock that needs sucking."

[dustdeepsea]

2024 writing round up

thank you for the tag @inquisimer 💖 this was a lot of fun to answer I split my time this year both writing and drawing. if you'd like to see my 2024 drawing round up it's here

words posted: 52,715 (not counting anything I wrote in round robins)

additional words written: hmm roughly 4,000?

grand total of words: 56,715

fandoms: Baldur's Gate 3 through most of the year. And Dragon Age swooping in at the end, because I am predictable.

highest kudos: Benediction, a Zevlor/Tav piece that found its audience.

highest hit oneshot: Same as above :)

new things I tried:

Writing my first OC who shares the same gender presentation as I do (Octavia), creating self-indulgent lore and art for them and becoming entirely too obsessed with my dolls.

Writing for a popular ship (Lucanis/Rook/Spite). It low-key stresses me out to see the number of works I can't keep up with in their tag. I had made an effort to read and interact with nearly everything for my BG3 micro-blorbos, which I believe was less than 100 fics across an entire year. I've decided to just let it go and enjoy the interactions I can manage!

fic I spent the most time on: Gods and Monsters (BG3) at a grand 12k words and counting. I have a lot of complicated feelings about this story. I want to come back to it some day.

fic I spent the least time on: performance review (Zarys/Rugan [NPC/NPC], BG3) was the shortest and also quickest piece written over 2 days. I also participated in 4 round robin writing challenges, and turned around my paragraphs in 1-2 hours each time it was handed to me.

favorite thing I wrote: somewhere I have never travelled (BG3), a one shot about young love and mistaken identities. It's set in a "fix it" universe written by @my-favourite-zhent (a mutual who later became a friend!) That sense of communal world building is really exciting and magical. I was really lucky to experience it in my first proper year in fandom.

favorite thing(s) I read:

Alongside my previous recommendations (1, 2, 3):

Seleny Merlot, 8:92 Blessed by silverhalla (Dragon Age) - truly masterful short fiction. I often want my Veilguard fics to be something the game is not (a self-critique and absolutely not on any writer), but this perfectly captures the lighthearted humour of the installment.

Burn, Shepard, Burn series by Otempora (Mass Effect) - The adventures of Shepard of Mindoir, witcher for hire, and her devoted "friend" Garrus Vakarian. The premise works fantastically; Shepard and Garrus are both entirely themselves in this AU. Slow, slow burn, but it doesn't matter—you know that they love each other in every universe.

cemetery by MelisandreStark (BG3) - Minthara/Gale, post-game, treated perfectly seriously. It's the happily ever after that I never knew I needed until I read it.

writing goals for 2025:

Perfect is the enemy of good and done.

Be kind to myself about my output.

Find my Horny Fandom of 2025 (god bless you BG3 mutuals). Write more smut.

new works: I'm not going to stress myself out by promising anything more than I already have, but I want to continue what I've done with my newer stuff like castling, which is to trust the process and myself more. To write when I want to, and not only when "conditions are perfect". And stop imagining that I need a certain word count before posting. If I want to change tenses and POVs, and write freaky Fade stuff, I will!!

[my-favourite-zhent]

New Tricks - Chapter 21

Status: Work In Progress

Version: 1.01

Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!OC

Rating: NC-17 (This chapter NC-17)

Genre: Adventure/Romance

Summary:

“Who the hells are you?” The elf turned to size up the duo. “Family from out of Baldur's Gate.” Rugan supplied. “Ah, Zarys' crew. She said you were halfway competent.” “Probably the closest thing to a compliment we’ll draw out of her.” Muttered Rugan.

Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.  Being the Southern Deliveries Manager for the Baldur's Gates Zhentarim is not an easy job. Between mentoring new recruits, juggling vicious coworkers and whip-cracking bosses, bandits are the least of Rugan's troubles. An encounter with a charming stranger on the job serves to only complicate his life all the more.

Notes:

Part three of... ok I said it was split into three but it ended up being four... sorry... As always thanks to my kindly betas: @fistfuloftarenths who wrote the lovely Rugan x Tav fic isn't it a marvel, and can be found on AO3 as fistful_of_tarenths.

@dustdeepsea who wrote an adorable Olly story somewhere I have never travelled , and can be found on A03 as dustdeepsea.

@captainsigge aka @captainsieni author of A Devil's Folly and who can be found on A03 as CaptainSigge.

Table of Contents

Read Here on AO3 with excerpt below the cut~

New Tricks - Chapter Twenty One

By the time they had reached Goulcrest, Rugan's patience was wearing thin. He had known barmaids less clingy than Grim.

What the town passed off as an inn had in reality been little more than a barn-cum-hostel. Entirely too small to accommodate eight people, as such, he had insisted Grim’s crew take it. At least they would be out of his hair and away from Izzy for the night even if it meant Rugan had to spend it on the hard packed earth.

The Zhents had instead set up camp at the town's regular field for passing merchant caravans. It had been in use for so long none of the townsfolk remembered who had chosen that particular location. 

Situated on a hill overlooking the town, the site had fair warning of any unwelcome visitors for a ways off, which suited the Zhents just fine. There was also a ready fire pit rounded by old logs and a small stream at its base. No grass grew on the hilltop owing to the ground’s steady use over the years, but it was as fine a spot as any.

Rugan wasn’t sure the needy Grim would stay away for long, but he allowed himself to steal glances at Iz all the same. Admiring the curve of her rear as she went about hammering the pegs of her tent, the way her hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves, the upturned corners of her mouth when their eyes met. Finding excuses to brush up against her or bump into her with a feigned apology of “sorry, lass”. She sometimes rolled her eyes at that but she laughed more often than not.

Come evenfeast they were sitting side by side around the fire, knees touching while they listened to the boys complain about the journey.

“And what's with that big bastard always staring at us?” Bellar asked. 

“Very observant-like. It's unsettling,” Olly agreed.

“Observant-like? Olly you need to stop picking up vocabulary from Brem,” Sal chided.

At last Amaunator began to dip below the horizon, and Rugan felt confident Grim's crew wouldn't be leaving the relative comfort of the inn for the night.

When he said as much to Iz she took his hand in her own and wordlessly led him back to her tent.