#and the thorms? i hate them

[9munne]

Look, I hate every thing about the Thorm family, BUT THIS LINE!!!!

I know they might refer to something else (maybe to smth that Gerringothe Thorm did?) but I feel this in my soul.

[pinacoladamatata]

I realize now I've never really had anyone. not really. nothing that compares to you.

[feniksido]

The Giant Demigods with loud semi formal speech have cornered the Goth market

[myspacelegend]

[flymmsy]

Ketheric who, unlike Gortash, knows the full extent of what Orin has done to Durge and knows Durge is being experimented on and held captive in Moonrise.

Ketheric who tries to believe that he does not tell Gortash the truth because Gortash doesn’t deserve to know, with his immature pomp and circumstance - always parading around Moonrise like a proud peacock. Ketheric who claims to not tell him because there is work to do and no individual matters, and surely Gortash knows that.

Ketheric who desperately tries to push down the knowledge that he truly does not tell Gortash because Ketheric himself has felt his soul shatter over seeing the love of his life suffer and be powerless to save them. And despite the decades of pain Ketheric has wrought, that is one wound he cannot bear to inflict upon another.

[tadfools]

I don’t want to say this where this comment was added because while it was rb’ed from me, the root post isn’t mine and I don’t want to drag op in a circus tent. Do we really need to put homophobic on the highest shelf up from the tik tok folks?

This is about Kethric and ????? Homophobic coded??? Statistically and logically speaking, there are going to be queer people that you do not get along with and that you don't like in real life. That's just the way people are. And it's not because we're queer, it's because we're human

Kethric doesn’t hate Aylin because she’s a lesbian. He despises her because she is the child of Selûna, because he believes that she corrupted Isobel - not with queer cooties but with the love of a goddess who he felt betrayed him

If Aylin was a man, the hatred would not be diluted at all

[animentality]

I'm so fucking angry because it was Ketheric Thorm and not Gortash.

I'm so glad they're not adding any more content.

Just leave it be. Your ideas are baffling.

[darkenedurge]

𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞. (𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭).

.

CONTENT : Blood Kink | P in V Sex (Fem Durge) | Violence, Violent Language | Durge being a freak, Gortash eating it right up | Pre-Tadpole Durge & Gortash

.

˚ ✧.

“If I didn’t love you so, I’d drown in your blood. It’d be pretty, I bet. I can see it.” She says, as she lays – naked, head upon his chest, pointed nail tracing his chest hair. Disturbing it, coercing it into haphazard patterns. She has a habit of this, accompanying tender, gentle movements with deranged words spoken in her pretty, pretty voice. It had never frightened Gortash. Surprised him perhaps, when she had first enlightened him toward the notion – she was rolling her hips into his, palms cupping his jaw with an uncharacteristic softness, completely unbefitting to her, and the tandem of her hips.

“I wish I could slit your throat, and drive my tongue across the slash. Taste you, in ways I haven’t before.”

A minx, he’d called her, with a shake of his head – a tut, and a huffed chuckle.

“I am no General Thorm, dearest,” Gortash replies, finally, his hand trailing down to her thigh – repositioning her. She whines. “Cut me too deep, and I will not be resurrected.”

Silence, for a moment.

And then, a compromise.

“Let me cut your tongue, slice it.. I want to sup the blood as it spills, as we kiss.”

There was always a breathiness to her voice, a shuddering undertone of unadulterated, unhinged, excitement. Carnal desire, urge. There’s a tremor, in the very tips of her fingers, as she grips the blade – like a vice, furthered well beyond its limits. Gortash pretends to consider, pretends to have his debate – internal, between yes, and no. He pretends, and pretends, before simply sticking out his tongue.

She grins, giggles, raises her blade. Her blade was always close, always near. Within arms length.

She then shifts, onto her knees – resting on her heels, eyes flickering with want. Need.

“Only a little cut,” She specifies, and she’s honest, “I don’t want to ruin you..”

A half-tease. Gortash raises a brow.

True to her word, she makes the slit – immediate in tangling her tongue with his, succumbing to the sickly, sweet taste of iron. Copper, intermingling with the heady aftertaste of wine on his tongue. On hers. They always drank, always fucked. Always talked, always kissed. Bled, burned.

The downfall of one another, the detonation to one another’s ticking time bomb.

“Incredible,” She gasps, breaking them from their saliva stricken embrace – a string of desaturated red still maintaining a shred of connection between them. “You’re incredible.”

Gortash shakes his head, pinning her beneath him in one push – a press of his hand, fingers curling around her crisscrossed wrists, burying her bones in the mattress beneath them. “You are the incredible one, my dearest, dearest pet.”

“I hate it when you call me that.” She lies, spreading her legs – sinfully wet.

He pries her apart, sheathes himself inside of her – the fluttering of her walls greeting his cock, accompanied by her hellish, flaming heat. Her constrictive tightness, mouth falling open with a wiggle and a squirm. “No you don’t,” Gortash replies, with a grunt of effort, as he fucks into her hard. Harsh. Abusive and abrasive.

She moans, upon each thrust, thighs tensing and untensing, only to tense again.

“Bleed me again,” Gortash pants out, gaze dark – voice, low. Despite its strain.

His grip upon her hip, with his free hand, is blissfully bruising. “Kiss me,” She demands, commands, pleads – all at once. “Kiss me, and I will.”

And so kiss her he does. She bites his lip, drawing blood –letting it dribble, down, down his stubbled chin. She drags her tongue, efficiently cleaning up the mess. Her mess.

Gortash finishes, inside of her, not long after. She’d squeezed his throat, their first time together, thumb pressed hard – “You fill me up. Everytime. Don’t waste your seed, lordling. Don’t go claiming anyone else. No, you’ve claimed me now.”

He’d lost count, this was perhaps their third time of the night. Fourth, fifth, even.

Though, she finally seems tired – small, curled in his arms, nestled against him. He knows she doesn’t sleep much. Doesn’t like to, doesn’t want to. She’ll be up again, in the midst of the night – naked, hands buried in some poor unfortunate’s innards. He’ll cling to the smell of her skin, imprinted on the linen sheets.

[theannoyingurge]

On the topic of Durge / Ketheric / Durgetash and how it potentially echoes the lore of the Dead Three...

Back in the mortal adventuring days of the Dark Three, it was originally just two power hungry humans with a common enemy who'd gained respect for one another's capacity for ruthless violence and paired up - not so different from Durge and Gortash.

The duo was comprised of Bane of the Ancients (a former battle slave to a primordial evil from Abeir) and Arabhal (a chief assassin and spymaster from ancient Netheril).

Long before Myrkul joined the party, Bane and Bhaal adventured together seeking power for themselves, plotting to slay Bane's former master and take divinity from Jergal (Bhaal's patron deity). Sort of like how Durge and Gortash were allies before Ketheric joined the cabal. I can see Durgetash plotting to ascend together.

See where I'm going with this?

Anyway, Jergal thought they were neat. He encouraged their antics by blessing them with terrible nightmares and leading them to powerful weapons - most notably, leading them to Myrkul (a crowned price and powerful necromancer). It was Myrkul who finally managed to gain the three access to Jergal's domain, and Jergal really wanted to retire.

I suspect Bane and Bhaal remembered how critical Myrkul had been to their initial ascension, and that was why Ketheric Thorm was eventually looped into their new alliance.

Despite Bhaal and Bane's long history together, something funny happened following their ascension. Suddenly Myrkul and Bhaal have way more in common. Their portfolios make them natural allies. In the Avatars novels, Myrkul actually grieves the death of Bhaal, noting that one could hardly exist without the other, and states that 'amongst all the gods, they were perhaps the closest'.

Which means... Bane isn't Bhaal's favorite anymore. In fact, Bhaal can seriously fuck him up. While Myrkul truly appreciates the lord of death and murder for feeding his kingdom, Bane has as much to fear from Bhaal as to gain from him. (technically Bhaal claims he could starve Myrkul's kingdom, but since he really enjoys killing and hates the living world, Myrkul's kingdom is probably like a vacation home he'd prefer not to burn down.)

What we see after a thousand years or so of this is Bane antagonizing Bhaal every chance he gets, and profiting off every one of his failures. Bhaal picks a fight with the Moonshaes and gets exiled from Toril? Bane sees free real estate and conquers the wreckage. Assassins fail to kill the mortal Midnight (Mystra) and retrieve the tablet of fate during the ToT? Sacrifice them all in a massive death ritual to fuel Bane's new avatar! Bhaal is dead and his remaining loyalists team up with Bane's kid to bully Cyric, who usurped them both? Return in a pillar of fire and annex them into the church of Bane! Sucks to suck, your worshippers are mine now. Again.

I can see a BG3 prologue where Gortash and Durge are super best friends right up until Ketheric Thorm joins the party. I won't get into all the reasons why Ketheric's and Durge's personal issues make them ripe for toxic bonding, but suffice to say that Gortash soon gets jealous of the undead immortal stealing his Bhaalspawn's attention and (whether unwittingly or out of spite) leads Durge down the path to ruin (shooting himself in the foot in the process).

Meanwhile, Bhaal (who has been raging at Bane for stealing his stuff for the last century or two) is now raging at Bane and Myrkul for fighting over that stuff until it physically and mentally snaps and becomes a hero.

Now it's ruined and I have to settle for Orin. Fuck you both.

[2plottwist]

All Roads Lead to Nan

Summary: After defeating Ketheric Thorm, Tav and her companions have finally made it to Baldur's Gate- her home. With nowhere else safe to camp, Tav leads them to a curious place on the edge of the city- her Nan's house.

Pairing: Established Astarion x Female!Tav relationship

Warnings: none, pure fluff

Characters: The majority of the companions

Word Count: 3.5k

Author: Emma:)

Pic Credit: Made by noctis_no on twitter

Despite the odds, Tav and her companions had managed to slay Ketheric Thorm. With the help of some unlikely allies and a whole slew of Harpers, the shadows were banned from the lands, which meant they could continue their trek towards defeating the Absolute. Towards her home. 

Tav led her companions through the winding streets of Baldur’s Gate, the city buzzing with an energy that felt almost electrifying after days spent on the road. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and the distant clamor of merchants closing up their stalls for the night. The streets were crowded, people pushing past each other as they hurried to their homes, none of them paying any mind to the weary group of adventurers who had just arrived at the city’s gates. 

The sky was darkening, the last rays of sunlight disappearing behind the towering buildings. Tav could feel the exhaustion settling into her bones. It had been weeks since any of them had seen a real bed, and the prospect of finding a safe place to rest within the city seemed bleak. Every tavern they passed was full, every grassy knoll covered with displaced refugees. 

Then, Tav had an idea. An utterly mad idea. She spun around, meeting the eyes of her expectant companions. “Listen, you might all hate me for this, but… I know a safe place where we can camp.”

She led them through the maze of streets, her feet moving with the ease of someone who had walked this certain path a thousand times before. 

Astarion fell into pace next to her, with Karlach and Wyll muttering to each other close behind. “Ah, Baldur’s Gate,” the elf mused, gesturing widely to the street in front of them. “It never changes, does it? Still as… charming and full of questionable characters as ever.”

Tav chuckled, nudging him playfully. “Says the most questionable character of them all.”

Astarion smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Touché, darling. But truly, I stopped entertaining the idea of finding myself back here, let alone in such esteemed company.” He glanced back at their companions who were taking the city at their own pace. 

Tav smiled. “It is strange, being back here. But, if it eases your mind, at least you’ve a whole slew of revenge-seeking fools ready to slice open the first fanged thing that walks your direction.”

“Ha! I suppose so,” Astarion agreed, though his tone didn’t seem quite as excited. “So, where exactly are you leading us? A tavern with decent beds and proper wine does sound appealing.”

“Don’t get too comfortable with that idea,” Tav teased. “We’re not exactly heading to an inn.”

“Oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Where are you leading us, then? You’re being very mysterious, love.”

Tav hesitated, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

His eyes narrowed playfully, sensing her evasion. “Should I be worried?”

She shook her head, laughing lightly. “No- well, maybe a bit. It’s just… well, you’ll see. She’s a bit of a character, but I think you’ll like her.”

Astarion’s interest was thoroughly captured now, though a hint of apprehension flickered in his gaze. “She? Where are we going? A temple? A coven?” He gasped. “A brothel?”

“She, yes,” Tav confirmed with a knowing smile, refusing to give any more away. “I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

The city grew quieter as they moved away from the bustling heart of Baldur’s Gate, the buildings becoming smaller, more residential. Finally, they reached the edge of the city, where the cobblestones gave way to a dirt path lined with wildflowers. 

There, nestled between a copse of trees, stood a house. It was a modest cottage, its thatched roof and ivy-covered walls giving it a quaint, almost magical appearance. A soft light glowed from within, spilling out onto the garden that surrounded the house, where herbs grew in abundance. 

“This is it,” Tav sighed. She pushed open the wooden gate. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

When they approached the door, Tav hesitated before knocking on it. Her companions could hear commotion from within the house before a woman’s gravelly voice rang out.

“Alduin, I don’t want to buy any more of your damned scrolls,” it shouted. 

Tav groaned. “Nan, it’s me.” 

“Nan?” Astarion whispered incredulously, spinning around to his equally as intrigued companions. “As in your grandmother?”

Before Tav had the chance to reply, the door swung open, revealing an elderly woman with stern eyes, her thin lips curled into a smile. Her silver hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and she wore a simple dress, its pockets bulging with what Tav knew to be all kinds of trinkets. 

“Tavara!” her nan exclaimed, pulling her into a tight embrace. “You look like you’ve been to the Hells and back.” 

“Nan, you have no idea,” Tav replied into her grandma’s shoulder. “Oh! Nan, these are my friends.” She stepped aside, allowing her eight companions to come into view. 

Karlach offered the woman a wave. “Hello there, Nan!” 

Nan snorted. “I don’t suppose you’ve all come to eat my food and fill up my beds, have you?”

Tav offered her an apologetic smile. “Have you?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Shit. Well, come in. You all look like you could use a good meal and a warm bed.”

They didn’t need to be asked twice. The group filed into the cottage, the warmth of the hearth immediately enveloping them. The interior of the house was just as Tav remembered. Family portraits lined the walls, stacks of books crowded every corner, and a long hallway split off into rooms- enough for all of her dad’s brothers and sisters. 

Tav had spent many a day with her Nan. While her father was away on business, she was able to run wild under the watchful eye of her grandmother. Nan kept her entertained with unbelievable stories, mud fights in the garden, and enough baked goods to sate an army. Her nan could be stern, could offer tough love, but she embodied all the good things in the realm. She was kind, she cared. Not many in the city did.

Nan bustled about, her eyes taking in each guest with a discerning glance as she mumbled incoherently about dinner to herself. Karlach was the first to catch her attention. She gave a hearty laugh and said, “Sweet Avernus,  look at you! A real powerhouse, aren’t you? I’m sure you could lift this house off its foundations if you set your mind to it. Are you hungry, dear? I’ll get stew ready.”

Karlach chuckles. “That sounds wonderful, Nan, thank you.”

“And you!” she called out, her eyes landing on Wyll, trailing up his head and focusing on his horns. “The son of Duke Ravengard, aren’t you? Oh, you’re quite the handsome devil.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Uhh, thank you, Nan.”

“Tavara, help me set the table! And please, everyone find a room! No armor at the table- the wood is ancient!” she called from the kitchen. Tav sat her pack down and grumbled to Astarion, “You survive the hells, kill a god, and you still have to set the table.”

Soon, Nan re-emerged from the kitchen, fussing over Tav’s remaining companions. She offered a whetstone to Lae’zel, who nodded her head in respect, and a jar of homemade honey to Halsin. To Shadowheart, she offered a hug, which she hesitantly accepted before melting into the embrace. 

Gale received some sort of dormant arcane artifact that she had found outside the house. “You- you found this in your garden?” Gale asked incredulously, carefully taking the object. “Nan, this could charm half the city.” The woman smirked. “Well, then, you’ll benefit greatly from it.”

She warned the others to do as Jaheira had told them- “You’d do well to listen to your elders,” she stated proudly, eliciting a chuckle from Astarion. 

Noticing him laughing, she turned to the pale elf, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I see why my Tavara keeps you around. You’re a real sweetie-pie, aren’t you?” she questioned, reaching out and tussling his hair.

“A sweetie-” Astarion stumbled, “I’m not sure wh-”

“She just adores you, dear. She told me so-” she fished around in her pocket before pulling out a sending stone, winking at Astarion.

If he wasn’t undead, blood would’ve rushed to his cheeks.

Soon, the party changed into casual clothes and took their seats around Nan’s massive dining table, which had been half covered in herbs and books before she had them float into the kitchen.

“You know,” she says, looking around at the group, “I’ve been cooking for Tavara’s family for years and never once had a gathering quite as large as this. Not every day I get to serve such an eclectic group. Just.. don’t go complaining about the food. I’d hate to think my stew’s become the stuff of legends for all the wrong reasons.”

Karlach, with a spoonful of stew still in her mouth, said, “I think this is the best food I’ve ever had.”

Nan’s eyes twinkled with pride. “Don’t worry dear. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

They spent their supper sharing stories about their adventures, filling in the gaps for poor Nan, who sat, mouth agape, in between Gale and Halsin.

“So there we were-” Karlach started, taking a large chunk of bread into her mouth, “in the middle of this goblin camp, right? Absolutely surrounded by the ugly little blighters, and Tav here-” she nudged Tav with a broad smile, “-goes right up to the guard and convinces him to let us through without so much as a scratch!”

Nan’s eyebrows shot up. “You did what, now?” She looked at Tav with a mixture of disbelief in pride. “And you lot lived to tell the tale? Goblins aren’t exactly known for their hospitality.”

Astarion leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Oh, my dear Nan, it was hardly a challenge, really.”

“But it wasn’t just goblins,” Karlach continued, tone more serious. “We were in the Hells, Nan. I’m talking about the actual Hells. Escaping that place was… well, it’s a miracle we’re here.”

Nan was silent for a moment, her mouth slightly agape as she absorbed the enormity of the tale the tiefling spun. “I.. I don’t know what to say,” she managed. “You’ve all been through so much… and you, Tavara, led them through all this?”

Tav blushed slightly under her nan’s gaze, but before she could respond, Gale spoke up. “She did more than just lead, Nan. She’s inspired us.”

Nan’s hand flew to her chest, and she leaned back in her chair, smiling. “My sweet girl… I never imagined you’d be facing things like this. And you survived it all.” “With a little help,” Tav said, her voice tinged with affection as she looked around the table at her friends. 

“You’ve always been special, Tav,” Nan said, tears glistening in her eyes. “And I’m proud of the woman you’ve become.”

Tav reached across the table and took Nan’s hands, squeezing them gently. “Oh, I’m the same person, Nan. Just… with a few more stories to tell.”

“Oh, speaking of stories-” Nan began, sitting back in her chair again, “Did you know that when Tavara was 12 she-”

“Nan, please,” Tav groaned, facepalming. 

“Oh, come now, Tavara, this one’s a gem. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Tavara decided that she wanted to improve my little garden,” Nan started, gesticulating wildly. “The little dear was so excited about trying out a new spell she’d just learned. However, instead of a charming array of colorful blooms, we ended up with an entire garden of gigantic, out-of-control flowers that were twice as tall as her father! We spent days cutting them back.”

There was something about the older woman’s presence that soothed Astarion. He noticed how she looked at Tav, the pride and love in her eyes clear as day. It made his chest tighten with something he couldn’t quite name. Was it envy? Longing? Or perhaps just the stark realization that he had never had someone look at him like that, at least not for the last two centuries. 

But then, Nan’s attention shifted to him, and he straightened slightly in his chair, meeting her gaze with a hint of his usual charm. The other companions chattered loudly over themselves, and she leaned forward slightly. “You know, Astarion,” she began, “you’ve got the look of someone who’s seen more than his fair share of trouble.”

For a moment, he felt as though she was peering right into his soul. He offered her a charming smile, but there was a touch of vulnerability in it, something only Nan seemed to notice. 

“Maybe,” he replied with a shrug, trying to deflect with a bit of his usual banter, “but I’d say it’s made me all the more interesting.”

Nan chuckled, a rich, full sound that filled the room. “I’m sure it has, lad, I’m sure it has. But I see something else there too. You’ve got a heart, even if you’ve tried to bury it deep. And a good heart, no matter how bruised, is worth a lot more than you might think.”

Astarion opened his mouth to respond, but Nan wasn’t finished. She smiled kindly at him, a twinkle in her eye. “You’re a handsome one, that’s for sure, but it’s not just your looks that matter. It’s what’s in here,” she tapped her chest, “and I reckon Tavara sees that too. So don’t go doubting yourself, or thinking you’re any less deserving of happiness. You’re part of this family now, whether you like it or not.”

Astarion blinked, genuinely at a loss for words, something that didn’t happen often. He glanced over at Tav, who was enacting something wildly to Jaheira, and smiled. 

Finally, he found his voice. “Thank you, Nan,” he said softly. “That… means more than you know.”

Nan waved a hand dismissively, though her eyes were warm. “Just calling it as I see it, lad. Now, pass me that bread, would you? Can’t let it go to waste.”

The evening was filled with tall tales and even taller pints of cool cider. Nan had seemed to have taken a special liking towards Gale, who was telling her about some sort of erotic book they’d both read.. for some reason. Tav’s companions began to fight sleep from their eyes, but the gentle beckoning of warm beds was too powerful. 

Before they excused themselves for the night, Tav spoke up, offering a final cheer. 

“To my nan’s endless patience… and endless memory.”

The group toasted before heading their separate ways, of course, after Nan offered every one of them a warm embrace. Tav and Astarion were the last to approach.

“You’ll find your room just the way you left it, my little love,” Nan said, placing a gentle kiss on Tav's cheek. “Minus the cat, of course. He keeps my feet warm now.”

“Thank you, Nan. For everything,” Tav said before giving her Nan another hug.

“I should be thanking you, sweetie,” Nan replied. “This night has done more for me than you could imagine.”

She turned to Astarion then, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Goodnight, little star. Do mind the bowl of holy water I keep at the end of the hall.” She placed a quick peck to his cheek, too, and his eyes widened, startled. 

Tav led Astarion up a narrow, creaky staircase to her old room. The walls, once bright pinks and yellows, now had a faded charm to them, but the space was still undeniably hers. The small bed in the corner was neatly made with a quilt Nan had stitched herself, and a bookshelf was cluttered with trinkets and keepsakes she’d collected over the years.

Astarion walked in, taking in the room with a curious eye. He let out a low chuckle as he spotted a small, worn teddy bear perched on the pillow. “Well, well,” he said, picking up the bear and turning it over in his hands. “Who do we have here?”

Tav blushed slightly, but there was a fondness in her voice as she replied. “That’s Sir Goodnight. Nan made him for me when I was little. He’s.. been through a lot with me.”

Astarion gave the bear an exaggerated nod of approval before placing it back on the bed. “Oh, apologies, good sir,” he said dramatically with a flourish. “I did not realize I would be sharing a bed with such an esteemed gentleman tonight.”

Tav chuckled, a bit embarrassed. Astarion moved to another corner of the room, where an old, faded map of Faerun hung on the wall. Multicolored pins stuck out of it. “Look at this,” he said with a soft laugh, tapping the map with a fingertip. “Is this where you planned all your grand adventures?”

“Something like that,” Tav admitted, smiling at the fond memories. “I always wanted to travel, to see everything Faerun had to offer. I never imagined it would turn out like this, though.”

Astarion turned to face her, leaning casually against the wall. “Life has a way of surprising us, doesn’t it?”

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It does. But I’m glad for it, even with all the shit we’ve put up with.”

He crossed the room in a few strides and took her hand, lifting it to his lips for a brief kiss. “As am I,” he murmured, his eyes locking with hers. “I never thought I’d find someone like you, someone who makes it all seem… bearable.” He glanced towards Sir Goodnight again. “Sorry, sir. No pun intended.”

Tav felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. She stood, her hand still in his, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was gentle, a promise of comfort and understanding, the connection they had built over time. Astarion responded in kind, his free hand resting on her waist as he pulled her a little closer.

When they finally broke apart, Astarion smiled down at her, a genuine, affectionate smile that was rare for him. “I’m lucky to have you,” she said, raking a hand through his curls.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made her heart flutter. “We’re both lucky, darling.”

With that, they climbed into the bed, the blankets soft and warm against the chill of the night. Tav nestled into Astarion’s arms, her head resting on his chest as he held her close. For a moment, they simply lay there in silence, the weight of the day slipping away as the comfort of each other’s presence took over.

As they drifted off to sleep, Astarion’s fingers traced soothing patterns on her back, and he pressed one last kiss to the top of her head. “Sleep well, my love,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. Tav murmured something in reply, already half-asleep, a contented smile on her lips as she let herself relax completely in his embrace.

The next morning, it seemed as if there was a palpable reluctance among her party. Even Lae’zel seemed to hesitate before stepping through the door.

Astarion lingered near the door, giving Tav an amused glance as she gathered her belongings, including some extra things Nan had given them for the day. “I must say, Nan truly outdid herself,” he remarked. “If this is what family gatherings are like, I may be able to get used to this.”

Nan, bustling around the kitchen and making sure everything was in order, caught his comment and chuckled. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, Astarion! You’ll fit right in.” She approached him, giving him a warm pat on the arm before lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “But know this- I’ve got my eye on you, so you better treat my granddaughter right.”

Astarion grinned, a touch of his usual mischief in his expression. “Don’t worry about that, Nan. I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble- though I can’t promise I won’t make a bit of it from time to time.”

They exited the house. When Tav went to push open the gate, her nan’s voice rang out again. “Oh, don’t forget, dear! We’ve got monthly lanceboard coming up in two weeks, and I expect you to be back in time for it. Wrap up your adventure by then, or be prepared for Calimshan rules!” 

Tav laughed, shaking her head as she slung her pack over her shoulder. “I haven’t forgotten, Nan. I’ll make sure to be back in time.”

Tav and Astarion exchanged a glance. “Hells, back to it, then,” Astarion said, his tone light but his eyes reflecting the seriousness of their situation.

Tav nodded, her expression thoughtful. “We’ll finish what we started and be back before we know it. Nan’s right—we’ve got a lot to do.”

The road ahead was still fraught with challenges, but the thought of returning to Nan’s home, of enjoying her hearty laughter and warm embrace once more, gave them a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

And so, with the morning sun casting long shadows behind them, Tav, Astarion, and her chosen family ventured forth, ready to face whatever lay ahead, knowing that no matter where their travels took them, they had a place to rest and one happy Nan to welcome them home.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Today, I give you... two Aylin lines that I just love the delivery of and that come up in the Ketheric and Myrkul phases of the final Act 2 boss fight, respectively. But they are spoken in the middle of combat under specific circumstances and so it's easy to miss them.

I'd just hate for people to live without having heard Aylin exclaim "Now you wear a face to match your soul, oathbreaker." as she prepares to deliver some long-overdue paladin-on-paladin violence.

[adarlingmess]

So, let's discuss that scene in Raphael's Boudoir.

Before anything else, I want to thank the studio for giving us that treat after us devil simps kept asking for him, and apologize for the unholy fanwork it might inspire.

Right, now that it's out of my system...

At first, I found it hilarious that Raphael only ever sleeps with a copy of himself. On brand, for a narcissistic devil. But after some thought, I just realized how that might've been a half-truth, and how utterly self-indulgent, controlling and depraved Raphael actually is.

Haarlep himself told you that the person he copies his appearance from will know that they're having sex in that form. By sleeping with himself, he's experiencing twice the pleasure he gets. It's basically masturbation with a few extra steps. That would also mean Raphael felt everything and is perfectly aware that his incubus fucked you if you do it.

If you steal the hammer or rip up your contract, Raphael will confront you. You can try to get Korrilla on your side, she will say that the only reason why we're here is because Raphael allowed the player to be there. So, he is actually allowing you to use his "toy".

This is where it gets more screwed up: Haarlep is Raphael's personal incubus. It doesn't help that failing to resist them leads them to saying that the player's body will be "left alive as a loving doll to obey the wishes of me and my master"

In conclusion: Raphael orchestrated everything. He didn't sleep with the player himself and let Haarlep do it so that he will have access to your form at any given moment and do whatever depraved thing he wants with it. I guess that explains why he was eyeing the player from head to toe when he claims to just be protecting his assets when you meet him outside of the Thorm Mausoleum in Act 2, too. It lends a whole new sinister meaning to him saying that he's grown fond of you in his own way.

The rational part of my brain says this is so fucked up, but the other half is in morbid awe. The writers managed to make what seems to be a minor fanservice moment into a further glimpse into a character's psyche. By that point in the story, it's glaringly obvious that Raphael is a control freak- and dominating you by making you feel it whenever Haarlep uses your body is another way for him to exert control.

Such a bastard. I love to hate him and hate to love him.

[viennacherries]

QUOTH THE RAVEN - CHAPTER 2

Rolan/Tav | NSFW | 5,482 words

Chapter 1 | Read on AO3

As you pace back and forth in your room, your mind reels. 

The group had been to Moonrise. They watched Ketheric Thorm take an axe to the throat like it was nothing more than a splinter, and then use it to split a goblin clean in half. The mental image terrifies you, but it's not the main thing occupying your thoughts. 

The tiefling hostages are alive. Danis, Lakrissa; Lia and Cal. 

You've not seen Rolan since he stormed off. You want to talk to him. You want to tell him that Cal and Lia are okay, want to promise him you'll save them even if it costs you your life. 

You want to kiss him again. 

It's ridiculous, in all honesty. You're pretty certain that he hates your guts, but it doesn't stop you pining for him. You realise somewhat reluctantly that you've been pining for him since you parted ways at the grove, and if anything that makes the knowledge of his eventual rejection sting more. Of course he doesn't feel the same way. How could he? He considers you the reason his siblings are lost to him. 

You clench your jaw. You're going to get them back, one way or another. All three of them deserve the future that awaits them in Baldur's Gate. 

As you finish donning your armour, you glance longingly at the bed in the centre of the room. Maybe at some point you'll finally get a full night's sleep. 

Somehow, you doubt it. 

You stare at the back of his head, sat at the bar once again, as you all get ready to leave. A rush of relief fills you to see him safe. A rush of joy fills you to see he's drinking water, not wine. 

He doesn't look up, but that's fine. 

The next time he sees you, his siblings will be safe. You'll make sure of it. 

~~~

All of your friend's sordid descriptions of Moonrise pale in comparison to the real thing. 

On the walk over, Astarion had likened it to "a foetid corpse that even I wouldn't sink my teeth into". While his analysis came the closest, even that didn't truly capture the depths of the building's nauseating atmosphere and stench. As you stand at the base of the structure, staring up at the impossible height of it, Karlach leans over to speak to you. 

"We managed to convince them that we're true souls, but they want to meet you before they give us any more information."

You nod wordlessly. It's another show of your group's trust in you, that they mentioned you even when you weren't present. They've clearly sold you to the cultists as their leader. The thought makes your insides twist. 

Gale cuts in, "Thorm wanted us to bring you straight to Z'rell - I believe she's his commander? I recommend you be on your guard. From the brief glimpse we got of her, she appears rather ruthless."

Karlach nods seriously, "complete mega-bitch."

Astarion lets out a giggle beside you, "goodness, darling, I couldn't have put it more eloquently myself."

You snort at that, and Karlach's face splits into a grin. The group looks at you expectantly. 

You take a deep breath. "Right. If we're going to sell this you three are going to have to be quiet, if you need to tell me something do it through tadpole-mail." You punctuate your sentence with a brisk tap to your temple. The three of them nod, and Karlach mimes zipping her lips shut. 

You continue. "I'll talk to Z'rell, find out what we need to know about the artefact that's keeping Ketheric immortal, and then we'll go round to the docks and enter into the prison from the back. We're here for information and the hostages, nothing else. Don't get greedy." You pause. "That was aimed at you, Astarion. Keep your pilfering hands to yourself."

He sighs dramatically, "oh, if I must."

~~~

Listening to Zrell speak is difficult when you're trying not to choke on the smell of decay and death. It seems to seep through the very brick of the tower, festering between the mortar and filling your pores. You're not sure how successfully you're keeping your disgust off your face, but if Z'rell notices your discomfort she doesn't comment on it. 

"You came here to answer the Absolute's call." She says, and her voice is laced with mirth. "Let's see what you're made of."

All of a sudden she's communing with your tadpole, and you can feel her poking through your brain and the thoughts within it. Panic rises within you as you realise that she's trying to discern if you're truly faithful to the Absolute, and you know you have only a moment before she sees into the depths of your thoughts. 

You latch onto the first thing you can think of. 

As you shape the image of Rolan's face in your mind, you remind yourself of the anticipation in the moments before your lips met, and the rush of euphoria and excitement as you finally kissed him. You focus on the emotion in his eyes as he waited for your reaction, the blush on his cheeks, the shine on his lips. You can almost feel his hands tracing over your hips, slipping through your hair, and in your mind you're settling your weight back into his lap. 

Then the thoughts drift further. Watching his magic display at the party, the sound of his laugh as you traipsed through the shadows, the way his brow furrows when he scowls. The sunshine yellow of his irises and the shiver that goes through you whenever his gaze falls onto you, the dusting of freckles along his cheeks, the smooth scarlet length of his neck and how beautiful it would look covered in hickeys. 

When Z'rell retreats from your mind, she barks out a harsh series of laughs, and for a moment you're terrified. She's seen straight through you, she knows what you're here to do. Your hand slides to grip the handle of your blade where it rests on your back. 

"A refugee from Elturel?" She can hardly get the words out around her laughter. "Gods, what a pathetic little creature. And a wizard, no less! Don't tell me you're actually in love with that sad excuse for a man." She leans forward and runs a hand down your arm, a coquettish grin on her face. "A pretty thing like you? I can think of far more worthy conquests."

You feel bile rise in your throat at her words, both her blatant advances and her mischaracterisation of Rolan, but you swallow it down. Instead, you let out a fake, flirty laugh, and shoot her a half-hearted wink. 

This seems to satisfy her, and she launches into an explanation of the relic that Thorm needs - the one that you know grants his immortality - and directs you to the mausoleum. 

When you're finally outside again, away from the stifling air of Z'rell's atmosphere, your companions say nothing. The weight of her words hangs over you. 

'Love' she'd said. Is that what it is? 

Do you love Rolan? 

You're not completely sure you're ready to think about that. 

~~~

The battle in the prison is more draining than you'd hoped. You're only still upright thanks to a well thrown healing potion from Astarion, which had landed at your feet and splashed up your calves. 

The boat rocks on the water and the paddles propel you forward on their own accord, moved by Gale's magic rather than any physical effort. Karlach has the end of a bandage clamped between her teeth as she wraps a cut on her upper arm, and Astarion (despite his initial reluctance) is rationing out the remainders of your healing brews between the ex-hostages. A group of deep-gnomes had also been held captive below the tower, so the boat is cramped and your medical supplies aren't stretching as far as you'd hoped, but everyone is alive. 

You can't quite believe it. You feel like you're not even in your body. 

That may have something to do with the blood loss, in fairness. You'll worry about that later. 

As the boat starts to pull into the dock, you hear a loud cheer from the coastline, and for a moment you don't even think about the horrors of Moonrise towers. You watch Cal and Lia scan the shore for Rolan, and lean over to them both. 

"He's probably inside, waiting at the bar. That's where he was when we left."

Lia gives you a friendly smile, which morphs into something like amusement. "That sounds about right. He's not the type for heroic welcomes."

You nod and chuckle. There's a pause before she speaks again. 

"Is he... He's okay, right?"

"He is." You pause. "I'm sure he'll be less than pleased that it was me that got you guys out, but he'll be thankful to see you. He's been worried."

Lia smirks, and there's a knowing edge to it that unsettles you somewhat. "Oh, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to give you his thanks."

Cal snorts, before covering his mouth and nose with a hand and turning away, trying in vain to make his guffaw sound like a cough. You narrow your eyes at the pair of them in suspicion and Lia laughs. You're beginning to understand Rolan's perpetual exasperation with them both. They've been out of mortal danger for all of 5 minutes and they're already teasing him, and he's not even seen them yet. 

Actually, scratch that. You realise as Lia looks at you that they're not teasing him, they're teasing you.

You try to think of something smart to say, but come up blank. Instead, you blush, and mutter sheepishly. "Am I that obvious?"

Cal snickers, and Lia breaks into a wide grin. "It wouldn't be obvious if he was anyone else," she starts, "but you have to be daft or smitten to enjoy Rolan's company. You're definitely not daft."

Cal cuts in, "oh I don't know, she might be. She did just break us out of prison."

You laugh at that, "in my defence, that was a group effort."

Any reply they might have had is cut off by the boat shuddering as it connects with the shore. 

Lia claps you on the shoulder, "for what it's worth, Tav, I think he's sweet on you." Before you can ask her to elaborate, she's clambering out of the skiff and tugging Cal out behind her. 

That flutter of hope flickers back into your chest.

As you step from the boat, Bex grabs you in a tight embrace. She sobs into you and whispers repeated thanks and prayers. You don't catch most of them, you just hold her. When she breaks away your shoulder is damp, and she lunges at Danis as soon as he steps onto the shore. They fall to their knees in a heap as they clutch one another desperately. 

You're showered in adulation from every direction; you lose count of how many hugs and handshakes you're given. There's a deep weariness settling through your bones that gives you only enough vigour to respond positively without considering your words. You're completely on autopilot. 

You finally make it back through the doors of the inn, and you're more than ready to collapse in your bed. You feel like you could sleep for an age. 

A loud, clipped admonishment shoots through the air, and you turn to face it. 

It's Lia. She looks surprisingly pissed off for someone who was so pleased just ten minutes ago. You sigh inwardly and resign yourself to the fact that you should intervene. 

"We're all safe, Rolan - that's what matters!" It’s Cal talking when you approach. 

Rolan is opening his mouth to speak, and you're reasonably sure by the expression on his face that whatever he plans on saying isn't particularly polite. You cut him off before he has the chance. 

"Rolan was in a bad state without you two."

His jaw snaps shut as his eyes dart to you, and he hesitates over his words. 

"I was just... overwhelmed. It doesn't matter."

Lia's eyes soften, and she takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. We should've been here."

"No -" Rolan is quick in his response this time. His tone is gentle. "- no, it's not your fault. I shouldn't have shouted. I'm sorry."

Cal turns to you, and there's a soft smile on his face. 

"Thank you, Tav. For saving me, and the two idiots." He tilts his head in their direction as he says it. 

Lia nods, then turns to Rolan, a teasing grin on her face. "Anything to add, Rolan?"

He scowls at her, but as he turns to look as you his expression smooths out, and a faint blush rises to his cheeks. 

"I've... lashed out at you. Drunkenly and otherwise. And you helped me anyway." His voice is uncharacteristically apologetic. "You didn't deserve that - I'm sorry. And... thank you."

The look the two of you share is charged, and there's so much you want to say. You pause for too long though, and Rolan clears his throat. 

"You went out of your way to help us, it's only right you get something in return." His tone is matter-of-fact as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pouch, and you can tell it's gold without looking inside. He takes your hand and turns your palm upwards, places the bag in your hand, and curls your fingers around it. His own hand stays wrapped around yours for a moment, and he glances up at you through his lashes, suddenly bashful. 

His words are quiet, meant just for you. "Here. I hope it helps."

You try to refuse - try to say anything at all - but before you have the chance he's pushing the bag towards you and loosening his grip. You're left standing there, staring at him, the pouch clutched to your chest. His tail flicks behind him. 

The silence lingers, and Lia clears her throat to break it. "Stay and have a drink with us Tav? The least we can do is pour you a decent pint."

It's tempting, but you shake your head, shaking yourself from your stupor simultaneously. "As lovely as that sounds, I'm completely exhausted. There's not enough blood left in my body right now for me to risk booze, I'll be more ale than ichor." 

Rolan's face twists at that, "you're hurt?"

You can only shrug, though the movement feels sluggish. "Par for the course of this hero business, funnily enough. I don't think I've been anything but hurt since I fell out of that nautiloid."

He frowns, "surely your group has healers? Potions?"

"Well," you nod, then shrug again, "Shadowheart and Halsin are healers, but their magic is better spent on you lot. And we're fresh out of potions right now, I'm going to go on the scrounge for some in the morning." Rolan looks distinctly unimpressed, so you shoot him a smile that you hope is comforting. "It's fine, really. I have a bed waiting for me upstairs which has been calling for me since yesterday. I'll feel right as rain after a few hours of rest."

This doesn't seem to placate him, and he shakes his head before standing from his chair decisively. "Absolutely not. I know some basic healing spells and I keep a few spare potions in my pack. I'll tend you - I insist." The last past comes briskly as you open your mouth to protest, and you close it again. He can clearly tell you're brewing an argument, and intercedes before you can fully form it. "Just let me look after you. Please?"

His echo of your own words stirs something in your chest, which feels a bit like he's cheating to be honest, and you find you haven't got the energy nor inclination to argue. 

"Fine, but only if I get to lay down. My head is pounding."

He nods, "fine by me, which room is yours? I'll come find you."

You tilt your head upwards, "first door at the top of the stairs, I'll leave it unlocked."

He nods again. "I'll be with you momentarily, then."

It's at that moment that you notice the absolute shit-eating grins that the twins are wearing, and you feel yourself flush. Cal winks at you, which sends Lia into hysterics, and Rolan turns on her sharply.

"What?!" His tail is raised and flicks sharply, in a movement you can tell denotes his irritation, but it just makes Lia laugh more. You turn away briskly before he can see the blush rising on your face and take the stairs two at a time. You hear Cal cackle and Rolan whisper-shouting his complaints at the pair of them as you shut the door and lean your back against it. 

You let yourself catch your breath, then take three long strides forwards til you're right at the edge of the bed, and unceremoniously fall face first into the mattress. 

~~~

You're roused to consciousness by a light series of knocks against the door, and you manage to wrench your eyes open just as Rolan walks in. 

He smiles, "sorry to disturb."

"Not at all, come on in."

He steps further into the room and clicks the door shut behind him. You smile to yourself as a thought crosses your mind, and mutter it quietly. 

"'The fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door.'"

He quirks an eyebrow with a smirk, "poetry, Tav? You better not be trying to seduce me."

You snort, "please, with 'The Raven'? Rather a grim method of seduction, don't you think? I'm sure I could think of something more suited, if you insist." 

His face flushes. "That won't be necessary." 

The laugh you let out is incredibly unattractive, but you don't have enough energy to care. You realise you're staring at him over your shoulder where you're planted face-down on the bed, so you roll onto your back and sit up to face him better. 

"'And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming...'" You trail off and laugh again. "Yeah, no, it's definitely not the most charming of poems. I'll have to come up with something better."

He smiles, his light flush unmoving, "oh, I don't know, that bit was almost sweet, if you ignore the original context."

You smile wide at that, and Gods, this feels so easy with him. So comfortable. You'd been so sure he'd hate you, but sitting here now looking at him, you can't imagine why. 

He clears his throat, and tilts his head towards the bed. "May I?" You nod, and he seats himself next to you. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted. Drained. A little lightheaded, if I'm being truthful. Feels like my bones have turned to jelly."

He frowns, "well that's far from ideal. Does anywhere in particular hurt? I'd like to make sure you're not actively bleeding out on me."

You shake your head, though the action makes your eyes blur, "just my head, really. Well, and my whole body aches, but that's no different than usual. I had been bleeding out, I think, but Astarion threw a potion and that staunched it."

He huffs. "Right. Where were you bleeding out from?"

You blink. "Oh, sorry. My side, under my ribs. Big sword."

He nods. "Do you mind lifting your shirt slightly? I just want to make sure the wound is closed properly."

You nod, and as you curl your fingers around the hem of your shirt he drops his various supplies between you both. There's a collection of healing salves, as well as a mundane first-aid kit. 

He notices you looking. "Healing magic isn't a particular proficiency of mine. For anything small I figured we could make do the old fashioned way."

It makes your heart clench a bit, the tenderness and thoughtfulness he's extending towards you, so you nod dumbly instead of saying anything. You lift your shirt to expose your waist to him. 

He sucks in a breath, and a look at his face tells you the wound is definitely not staunched. 

"That bad, huh?"

To his credit, he does a good job of steeling his features into something neutral. He also does a good job of stealthily avoiding the question. "Nothing that can't be fixed. Do you mind if I...?"

He gestures towards you with his hands, and once again you're mute as you nod. He places his fingers gently against the sore skin around the cut and you flinch. He responds with a sympathetic grimace. 

"Sorry, I just need to check how deep it is. The spell will be more effective if I know how far it needs to penetrate." You brace yourself as he touches the wound again, and he nods to himself as he inspects it. "It's a clean cut which means it shouldn't be too difficult to heal. What exactly happened?"

You wince again, though it's not from pain this time. You don't particularly want to go into the details with him; it's certain to upset him. He looks at you expectantly though, and his gentle touch on your skin is clouding your thoughts a little. You sigh. 

"One of the guards. He lunged at Cal while his back was turned." Rolan's eyes widen. You shrug noncommittally, hoping to ease his concern. "I jumped in to stop it, so it caught me instead."

Rolan just stares at you, blinking. 

"I..." He keeps staring at you. "You... You leapt in front of a blade to protect my brother?"

You wince again, making a sucking noise with your teeth. "... Sorry?"

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes, lines appearing on his forehead. "I don't know whether I should punch you or kiss you."

You feel your heart leap, and you let a coy smirk dance across your lips, "if you're taking suggestions, I certainly have a preference."

He huffs out a laugh, and opens his eyes to look at you again. You can tell he's trying to look frustrated, but there's a shadow of a smile on his face. "Gods, you would, wouldn't you? I've never known you to not have an opinion on something."

His reaction emboldens you, "I have several opinions on the matter, in fact. Are you taking suggestions? I can give you an extensive list."

There's a cocky grin on his features now, and he leans in til his breath is ghosting over your face. Just as you think he's about to kiss you, he speaks instead. 

"I thanked you once already. Don't be greedy."

The tone he utters the words in is low and gravelly, teasing in a way that's absolutely maddening, and you shudder involuntarily as he leans away from you. He looks very proud of himself. 

You roll your eyes. "Whatever, you tease. Hurry up and fix me, will you?"

His gaze falls back to your wound at that, and his face drops. He trails a finger featherlight around the cut, which sends a shiver through you, and when he speaks his tone is serious again. 

"Thank you, Tav. Truly. My family and I are eternally in your debt. Cal and Lia..." His eyes go slightly misty. "They're everything to me. I'm sorry you were injured, but I'm so deeply thankful for your help."

It's such a painfully genuine comment, and the only thing that feels right in the moment that follows is to rest your hand atop his free one where it rests on his knee. You don't say anything, but you don't think you need to. 

He clears his throat. "Right, I'm going to cast the spell now, if you're ready? It might sting due to the wound's depth, but I'll try to be careful."

You nod, "I trust you."

An emotion you can't quite place flickers across his eyes, and you squeeze his hand gently before withdrawing. He grabs your hand before it gets very far, though, and flushes as he places it on his knee. He pointedly avoids your eye contact as he laces his fingers with yours. 

"I... I can do it one handed."

You've absolutely not known him long enough for your heart to flutter the way it does, but you find you don't care very much. You squeeze his hand and shoot him a smile, before gesturing down at your abdomen.  

"Go ahead, I'm ready."

You feel his magic dance along your skin and you gasp at the sensation. It's somehow cool and warm simultaneously, and it tingles as your flesh knits together. The feeling is different to when the others heal you. Shadowheart's magic feels like being bathed in a warm light, Halsin's feels like blades of grass tickling your dermis. Rolan's healing magic feels more like a soft breeze blowing through an open window; it feels like the particles you can see in the air when the light hits at a particular angle. It's gentle and homely, like being wrapped up in a tender embrace, and it reminds you of the soothing voice someone might use to comfort a child. 

All too soon the feeling subsides, and you realise that your eyes have fallen shut. You open them slowly, blinking in the light of the room, and find Rolan already looking at you. His face is open and unguarded, and his eyes flicker across your features as though he's trying to memorise them. When he speaks, it's in a low whisper, as if the very air around the pair of you is fragile. 

"... How do you feel?"

You consider his question. You take in the lingering fluttering sensation of his dissipating magic, the feeling of his fingers laced through yours, the exposed expression he wears as his eyes dance over you. You're not quite sure what to say. 

So instead you say nothing, and you lean forward and press your lips into his. 

His mouth is pliant under yours, his lips satin smooth. You feel rather than hear his intake of breath as you make contact with him, and his grip on your hand tightens minutely. It's a tender, fleeting thing, the kiss you give him, and when you pull away you can't help the goofy smile that spreads across your face. 

"Far better, now." 

He scoffs, but there's a light in his eyes that wasn't there before, and he's leaning back in. There's no hurry to his movements as he parts your lips, and you sink into the feeling of his mouth against yours. When you separate again, he's wearing a beaming grin that matches your own. 

"As lovely as this is," the hand that isn't gripping yours comes up to caress your cheek, "I'd like to finish healing you. Is there anywhere else that hurts?"

You shake your head, then hesitate as the movement makes your skull throb. "Well... I have a pounding headache."

He chuckles, and both of his hands come up to the base of your neck as he leans into your space. He threads his fingers upwards through the hair there, the rest of your locks cascading over his forearms, and you shiver and let your eyes flutter shut as the hum of his magic washes over you once more. He scratches his nails lightly against your scalp and you let out a contented moan. Another soft laugh escapes him and you feel his breath against your cheek, which makes you shudder. 

When his magic recedes again, your head feels warm and fuzzy, and you lean into his touch to encourage him not to let go. 

"Don't fall asleep on me, Tav, I need to make sure you're fully healed."

You shake your head and plant your face into his neck, and Gods, his skin is so soft and warm. When he starts to chastise you again, you tilt your head and place soft open mouth kisses against his skin, and now he's the one shivering under your touch.

"Tav..." His tone is low, and you feel it in your chest. You hum in response which makes him shudder, and you feel his neck bob as he swallows heavily. "Tav, you need to rest."

You lift your face away from his skin, just enough to speak. "Do you want me to stop?"

He shivers again, and his fingers tighten their grip in your hair. "I should think you know the answer to that already."

You giggle, and reward his honesty with a light suck of the soft skin. He groans fully at that, and you feel the noise travel directly south. You can't help but pull the skin between your teeth and tease it gently.

"Gods," it's more of a breath than a word, "Tav, I- Can I kiss you? Please?"

You sit up and kiss him and he moans into your mouth as you slide your tongue against his. It's a maddening kiss, slow despite the underlying heat to both of your actions. Rolan's the one to break it, to your immense chagrin. You try to lean back in but he holds you at arms length by your shoulders. 

"Tav." His voice is chiding, the tone reminiscent of the one you might use to chastise a cat that won't stop bringing you vole. "I'm not finished healing you."

The groan you let out is fairly childish, but whatever. It makes him laugh. 

"Come on, I seem to remember you saying you wanted to lay down."

He eases you back til your head rests on the pillows. They're soft and downy, and Rolan's touch on your skin as he positions you on them is so light that you feel goosebumps raise on your skin. He sits facing you, one leg drawn up onto the mattress. 

"Gods, Tav, you look exhausted. When was the last time you had a proper rest?" 

You laugh at that, which probably isn't the reaction he was hoping for. "Never?"

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose again, before looking back at you. "Okay, I'm going to use a general healing spell over your whole body, to hopefully ease some of your aches and pains. It'll close up any small wounds and then you can actually sleep."

When you nod, his hands come to hover above you and the staticy feeling of his magic reaches out to you as he connects with the weave. His hands trail over your body without touching you, making their way across your whole form, and by the time he's finished you feel like you're surrounded by a cloud. He's gotten rid of aches you didn't even know you had. 

You only realise you're half asleep when you register the gentle touch of his hand on your cheek, so barely there that you could be imagining it, before you feel the bed dip as he moves to stand. You reach a hand out and grab at him blindly, catching the edge of his robe. It makes him pause, and you blink your eyes open. 

"Stay."

The look that spreads across his face is so raw and full of emotion that you almost feel like you should close your eyes to give him privacy. There's a softness to his gaze you've never seen on him before, and he swallows thickly and gives one small nod. You shuffle over enough to make room for him, and he unbuckles the silver gorget he wears over his robes, placing it gently on the small table next to the bed. You expect him to lay down then, but he stands for another moment hesitating, before eventually bringing his hands to the sash that holds his robes together. The flush that rises to your cheeks makes your whole face warm, and you watch his fingers (he has beautiful hands) as they untie the laces and drag the robe off his shoulders, so that he's left just in his plain undershirt and baggy trousers. 

You're pretty sure you've never been this turned on from seeing someone wearing clothes, but there's something about seeing Rolan in casual dress rather than his wizarding attire that ignites a fire low in your gut. He takes a moment to toe off his boots, and just as he goes to get in bed he pauses. 

"Is this definitely what you want? I don't want to intrude on your rest."

You'd roll your eyes if you had enough energy, but instead you pat the bed beside you. He chuckles and finally clambers onto the mattress. He keeps a respectful distance, lying on his back with one hand folded onto his chest and his ankles crossed over each other. His other hand brushes against the back of your own where it rests between you. 

~~~

[pouralaura]

I wanted to ask you this because I adore your Tav and how you write Raphael. Seriously I can’t get enough of them together. ♥️

We all talk about finding Raphael’s diary, but what if he found Tav’s? Tav who’s all prideful and teases him, acts like they’re not interested in him. Keeps their guard up, ya know? But he snatches up their diary and uncovers that they are anything but uninterested…

Basically just constant gushing, all of those embarrassing, obsessed, horny thoughts written down that Tav would rather die than admit to. ESPECIALLY to Raphael.

Thank you so much for the kind words! I love to write em mutually obsessed in the worst way. down so bad. 24/7 gross about each other.

here's a little something

--

Tav is out.

She's traipsing about with her companions (far less interesting than she; nuisances toward whom Raphael simply can't help his indifference) around the city, so it's a perfect time to do a bit of reconnaissance. Normally he'd demand this of Korrilla, but he is quite fond of Tav.

And sending Korrilla into Tav's private rooms at the Elfsong won't be quite enough this time. Some clients require a more personal touch -- more exclusive scrutiny.

(And, if he happens to find a delicious little morsel during his perusal through Tav's personal items, perhaps all the better.)

...Also helpful to have his little warlock downstairs to keep watch, just in case his target returns unexpectedly.

So: yes, Tav is out, and Raphael is in. He's poofed into her little bedroom, surveyed her meager possessions, and found...

...what has he found? Not much. Some emptied bottles and a wine glass that ought to be washed, a few books here and there in various states of being read, some dirtied laundry (but in a literal sense, not really what he's looking for).

There is, however, a small leather-bound volume on Tav's nightstand. Unassuming. Perhaps a journal.

He flips open to the most recent page, half-full of Tav's blocky print, and he discovers he's correct. Her writing is smudged inelegantly where he presumes she's rested the heel of her hand against the paper as she moves along. It's poor penmanship. Raphael tuts in disappointment.

But then he takes in the actual content of the page, and...

It's quite the discovery.

Oh, there's no mention of illithids anywhere. No reference to the Astral Plane, or their travels along the Sword Coast beyond a few landscape details. Not even a single acknowledgement of the long-awaited death of Ketheric Thorm.

No, it's something else entirely.

Her language is tentative and blushing at first, but grows more and more lewd as the paragraphs wind on. Such a hard-headed woman -- it's not a compliment -- headstrong and obstinate, keen and incisive...and she might as well have written a name in looping cursive surrounded by hearts all over these pages.

But what name? A lover from her past? Surely not one of her little friends.

Who is this man, who's clearly enchanted her so thoroughly? Tav writes of warm brown eyes and curls she'd like to touch and oh she knows he's absolutely fucking packing under those ugly-ass trousers --

Positively troglodytic language from his favorite little mouse. Raphael scoffs. How curious he is now to uncover the source of her more basal fantasies (aspersions cast on attire clearly notwithstanding). He flips another page, and scans the contents he finds.

Something tells me that man likes the sound of his own name more than anything. I'd say it all he wanted if I could have his mouth on me.

Raphael tastes iron and brimstone as he bites down on his tongue. His piercing gaze darts to the opposite page.

Would hate to stifle his sinful voice, though, even with it between my legs. Wonder if he'd sound the same with his cock buried so far in me he'd cum out my damn nose -- "Little mouse", he'd groan for me --

...

The devil blinks.

Well, well, well.

So it's he whom the hero of the story fancies so intensely, is it, now? Usually so quick to brush him off, to turn up her nose at his delivery...but ah, how her writing contradicts her demeanor. What a find. What a delight. Raphael's shit-eating grin nearly rivals his erection in size. (Also, yes, he's obviously packing; the little mouse is entirely correct. As if he'd glamour himself a small human cock.)

But he's not able to bask in this delicious revelation for long, as he feels the press of Korrilla's signature sending spell at the edge of his mind, signaling Tav's return to the inn. Much as he'd love to read more -- perhaps alongside a glass of wine, a hot bath, and the willing, pliant flesh of his pretty incubus (in the form of the Archduchess tonight, he thinks, as his cock aches) -- it's time to vacate the premises.

Carefully he replaces the leather-bound volume on Tav's bedside table exactly as he'd found it, snaps his fingers, and he's gone in a puff of smoke and glittering sparks. As if he'd never been there at all.

--

It's not a week later when he sees her again at the Caress, come to ask another question and draw out her inevitable agreement to his terms once again.

(He's in no hurry. He's not the one with a ticking time bomb in his pretty mortal head.)

It's not until she gets up to leave, her little friends in tow --

"See you later, Raphael."

-- that he makes his move. Stands with them as is polite, sweeps around elegantly to Tav's side as she follows her companions to the door.

Raphael places a hand delicately at the small of her back, giving her pause. Leans in close to her ear, pitching his voice low:

"How I do love the sound of my name more than almost anything else, little mouse. Particularly when it comes from your mouth."

Fingertips drift down further, tracing the line of Tav's hip to a point between decent and indecent -- the lightest of touches; almost-but-not-quite a caress. Raphael watches a flush travel from the apples of the mouse's cheeks down her neck, its trail further hidden by the unfortunately high line of her leather armor.

He thinks he's got her, but then she looks up to meet his eyes, and there's laughter behind her gaze as she delivers her line and exits stage left.

"The quilting on your trousers is ugly as all the Hells."

The devil is left bereft of words as Tav skips off to join the vampling and the Selunite at the door, casting one last (heated? mocking? both?) glance back at him. A wink in exchange for the sneering curl of his lip -- a rose for his thorns; a thorn for his roses.

But his scorn melts into a smirk when she disappears from sight. If it's more than a bit fond, who's to say?

He does love it when his clients put up a fight.

Perhaps he'll bring her to her knees in more ways than one. Give her an eyeful of the expensive quilting she seems to despise so passionately.

[lordgoretash]

Ketheric Thorm is not homophobic, but he regularly sounds like he is and it is all Gortash and Durge's fault.

"I don't hate gay people, I just wish they wouldn't be all up in my face about it. No, literally, they are kissing six inches from my face. Please make them stop."

[passionesolja]

I recommend everybody do a Dark Urge run (it don’t have to be evil, good run was great Imo) because it totally changes the dynamic of Gortash, Orin, and Thorm. I first got to the part where they’re introduced as Tav and my perception of Orin was “scary evil cult lady” and the other two’s standoffish-ness was perceived by me as them having some kind of weary and uneasy respect for her. But when I played through this all as Durge, it was like “no they absolutely hate this woman and they’re just tolerating her.” It completely changed how I perceived the character because no like Thorm and Gortash do not want her around but don’t have a choice