#i don't want her to be disappointed in me lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonselune · 7 hours ago

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I literally check your page everyday for new writings and I'm never disappointed! I wanted to make a request too!

I wanted to ask how the ladies would react with a Tav that got into a lot of fistfights. They don't always win them and it isn't always their fault but they like to pick fights at bars or purposely defend someone getting harassed and egging on a fight. Sometimes they roll a nat 20 on intimidation sometimes it's a nat 1 lol.

Maybe Karlach and Lae'zel would be on board until Tav comes back with a broken jaw or something, maybe Jaheira can actually keep Tav from getting into silly little fights, and I'm not sure about Shadowheart and Minthara. Probably oh my god calm down until someone talks shit and then it's hold my mace lol.

But those are just my little thoughts, I'd like to know yours! Thank you for your content! I know it's free but let me get back on my feet with my job and possible school and I will definitely 'buy you a coffee'!

Omg thank you and absolutely no worries, I know what it's like x I also adore this idea!

Karlach:

The tavern was alive with the sounds of laughter, off-key singing, and the occasional slurred argument. You and Karlach were right in the thick of it, your arms draped around each other as you reveled in the end of another rowdy night. It had become something of a tradition—going out, drinking, getting into a fight with someone who deserved it, and stumbling home bruised but victorious.

Karlach loved it. The energy, the thrill, the righteous satisfaction of knocking a bastard flat on his ass. And tonight had been no different—until it was.

The fight started the way they usually did. Some drunkard got too handsy with a barmaid, or someone made a snide remark they thought they could get away with. This time, it was the latter—some slimy, overconfident lout made a crude comment about Karlach’s infernal engine, something about how "fiery" she must be in bed. You hadn’t even glanced at Karlach before your fist was already flying.

The man staggered back, stunned, and for a split second, the whole tavern went quiet. Then it erupted into chaos.

Karlach, naturally, was thrilled.

She let out a bark of laughter, slamming her gauntleted fist into the nearest idiot who had decided to back up his friend. Chairs crashed, drinks spilled, and you could feel the energy crackling between the two of you. It was exhilarating, chaotic, perfect.

Until the bastard you’d punched recovered enough to swing back.

You barely had time to register the movement before his fist connected with your nose. A sickening crunch filled the air, pain exploded across your face, and you stumbled back, hands immediately flying up to your face as blood started pouring down your lips and chin.

"Shit."

Karlach’s laughter died instantly.

The brawl was still raging around you, but she didn’t give a damn anymore. She was at your side in a heartbeat, her hands hovering uncertainly near your face, her eyes wide and frantic.

"Oh my gods, babe, your nose!"

You let out a wet, congested-sounding snort, still clutching your face, trying to wave her off with one hand.

"I’m fine!" you protested, though it came out more like ’mb ffbb’ through the blood.

Karlach did not look convinced. In fact, she looked horrified. "This was stupid! This was so fucking stupid—why do we do this?! Why do I let you do this?!"

You peeked up at her through teary, swelling eyes. "Because it’s fun?"

"Not anymore!" she snapped, her voice high with panic. "I just watched your nose break like a fucking twig! That’s not fun, that’s just—gods, baby, you’re bleeding so much—*"

She was fretting. Karlach, warrior of the Hells, the strongest person you knew, was fretting over you. It would have been adorable if your face didn’t feel like it was on fire.

"It’s fine, it’s fine," you tried again, sniffling through the pain. "Just—ugh—gimme a second, I’ll pop it back into place—"

"Oh, no the fuck you won’t!" Karlach seized your wrists, stopping you before you could do something truly regrettable. "We’re getting you out of here. Now."

The fight was still going on around you, but Karlach didn’t care. She scooped you up like you weighed nothing, barreled through the crowd, and stormed outside into the cool night air. You protested weakly, mumbling something about how you could walk, but Karlach was having none of it.

She sat you down on the nearest crate, gripping your face with both hands, tilting it this way and that as she examined the damage.

"This was so fucking dumb," she muttered under her breath, reaching for a rag from her belt to press against your nose. "We’re dumb. I let this happen. Why did I let this happen?*"

You chuckled, though it quickly turned into a groan. "You love it."

"*Not when you get hurt! Gods, I love fighting with you, but not like this! Not when you’re the one bleeding all over yourself!"

You blinked up at her, finally taking in the genuine distress in her eyes, the guilt flickering across her face. You frowned slightly. "Karlach, love, it’s just a broken nose—"

"Just a broken nose?" she repeated incredulously. "Babe, that’s your face! The face I love! Gods, what if it was worse? What if next time someone has a knife, or a club, or a godsdamned crossbow?"

You sighed, wincing as she dabbed at the blood trickling down your lips.

"I’m stronger than I look, you know," you murmured, voice softer now. "I’ve been withstanding pain like this my whole life."

Karlach froze, her brows knitting together as she stared at you. Then, slowly, she cupped your cheek, her touch infinitely more gentle than it had been just moments before.

"I know," she murmured, her thumb stroking softly against your skin. "That’s what scares me. You just take it. Like it’s normal. Like it’s okay."

You swallowed thickly, something in your chest clenching at the raw sincerity in her voice.

"It’s not okay," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "*You don’t *have* to just take it. You don’t have to prove how strong you are to me—I already know how strong you are. But, love, just once… could you not charge headfirst into a brawl? Could you let me have your back instead of always trying to throw yourself into danger?*"

Your throat tightened. Gods, she meant it. She wasn’t just upset over the fight—she was scared. For you. You sighed, your shoulders sagging slightly.

"Okay," you murmured. "I’ll try."

Karlach searched your face, as if making sure you were telling the truth. Then she let out a breath and finally cracked a small, wobbly smile.

"Damn right you will," she said, booping your still-bleeding nose.

You yelped. "Karlach!"

She laughed, loud and warm, the tension finally breaking. "C’mon, soldier. Let’s get you cleaned up before I decide to swaddle you like a baby."

You groaned, but leaned into her touch anyway as she fussed over you all the way home.

Minthara:

The moment you step into Minthara’s tent, you know you’ve made a terrible mistake.

You’re limping. There’s dried blood at the corner of your mouth, your ribs ache like they’ve been used for target practice, and your knuckles are torn to hell. Shadowheart, who was supposed to be your partner in crime tonight, is nowhere to be found—passed out drunk in her tent, completely useless to you. Halsin is off getting freaky in nature, which left only one option. The love of your life.

Minthara.

You barely make it through the entrance before she looks up from sharpening her dagger, her piercing gaze sweeping over you. She doesn’t even need to say anything. The flicker of amusement, followed immediately by exasperation, is enough to make you shrink.

"You’re limping." Her tone is flat.

You clear your throat. "Slightly."

She sets her dagger down with an almost deliberate slowness. "And your lip is split."

"Possibly."

Her gaze narrows. "And you’re holding your ribs like an old man clutching his coin purse."

You drop your arm to your side immediately. "That’s purely coincidental."

Minthara tilts her head, watching you like a cat watches a particularly slow-moving mouse. "Let me see if I understand this correctly. I told you, explicitly, not to get into a fight because you are still recovering from the last time you got your head caved in—"

"In my defense," you interrupt, raising a hand, "he started it."

"Did he?" she deadpans.

"Okay, I may have called his mother a gelatinous cube, but in my defense, he deserved it."

Minthara exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face. "You absolute fool."

You grin sheepishly, but before you can utter another word, she’s already on you.

"You are aware," she begins, rising to her feet, "that I knew you would do this. That I knew you would ignore me, prance off to some filthy dive, and do exactly what I told you not to. That you would come crawling back to me, bruised, bloodied, and in need of my mercy."

Your mouth opens. Then closes.

Minthara smirks. "Admit it."

You shift on your feet, wincing. "…I may have slightly underestimated my opponents."

Minthara raises an eyebrow.

You sigh dramatically. "Fine! I got my ass beat, are you happy?"

She folds her arms. "Not yet."

You blink. "Wait, what?"

Minthara takes a slow, deliberate step toward you. "You want my healing?"

"Obviously?"

She leans in, smirking. "Beg."

Your stomach does a weird little flip. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." She taps a single, sharp fingernail against your chest, right where the bruises are worst, and you almost double over. "I told you not to fight. You disobeyed. You got yourself beaten senseless. Now, you want my help? You want me to undo your idiocy?" Her lips curl. "Then beg."

You groan, tilting your head back dramatically. "Gods above, you are impossible."

"And yet, I am the only one here who can mend you."

You glance toward Shadowheart’s tent, then back to Minthara. She follows your gaze and smirks. "Oh, you thought the cleric would save you? Pity she can’t hold her liquor as well as she says, isn’t it?"

You hate how smug she is. With a long, suffering sigh, you drop to your knees in front of her, placing a dramatic hand over your chest.

"Oh, my dearest, cruelest, most merciful Minthara," you begin, voice laced with exaggerated desperation. "I was a fool, an arrogant fool. I should have listened to your wise words, and now I am paying the price. Please, my love, my heart, my ever-so-beautiful goddess of destruction—will you please heal me before my ribs collapse inward and puncture my lungs?"

Minthara lets you grovel for a moment longer, clearly savoring it, before finally rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath. Warm, golden light spreads through your body, mending the worst of your injuries, easing the ache in your ribs, and sealing the split in your lip.

You sigh in relief. "Thank you."

"You are still a fool."

"Yes, but I’m your fool." You flash her a cocky grin. "And since I was very nearly murdered tonight, I think I deserve some cuddles."

Minthara scoffs. "Cuddles?"

"Yes." You flop dramatically onto her cot, holding your arms out expectantly. "I require immediate comfort."

Minthara stares at you for a long moment, clearly debating whether to throw you out of the tent entirely. But, after a second, she sighs and shakes her head. "You are insufferable."

"And you love me."

She grumbles something under her breath but, to your delight, she climbs in beside you, settling in with a huff. You immediately pull her close, pressing your face against the crook of her neck, and for all her earlier scoffing, she doesn’t pull away.

"Next time," she mutters against your skin, "*I am breaking your legs myself so you can’t go out.*"

You chuckle sleepily. "Kinky."

She smacks the back of your head.

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel watched from the corner of the tavern, arms crossed, as you moved through the chaos of the fight like a blade through flesh.

At first, she was impressed. Even intoxicated, your form was strong, your strikes well-placed. You dodged and countered with the reflexes of a trained fighter, and she felt the faintest flicker of approval at your skill.

But then she noticed.

Your footing was loose. Your balance wavered just slightly. You were relying more on instinct than control, and that was dangerous. And then the fool you were fighting landed a solid hit to your jaw, sending you stumbling back. Her admiration quickly turned to anger.

"Enough."

Lae’zel moved before she even registered the thought, her body reacting purely on instinct. In a blur of motion, she was at your side, shoving you behind her as she punched your opponent square in the face. The sound of breaking bone rang through the tavern. The man collapsed like a sack of grain.

The room fell silent.

Lae’zel scanned the other patrons, her glare sharp enough to cut. No one dared step forward. She turned back to you.

"You idiot," she hissed, her voice low and furious. Before you could protest, she bent down and hauled you up, throwing you over her shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"Lae’zel—hey—put me down!"

She didn’t listen and with a huff, she carried you out of the tavern, ignoring your weak protests and the scattered laughter from the remaining patrons.

"This is humiliating," you groaned, letting your body go limp.

"It is what you deserve," Lae’zel snapped. "What kind of warrior allows themselves to get so inebriated they cannot even hold their stance properly?"

You pouted, wincing as the motion pulled at your split lip. "I was doing fine."

"You were losing."

You grumbled under your breath, crossing your arms against her back. "I had it handled."

"You were struck in the face like a witless hatchling."

"Only once—"

"Enough." Her grip on you tightened as she carried you back to camp, her muscles flexing as she adjusted your weight with ease. "You are stronger than this. You are better than this. You disgrace yourself by allowing drink to make a fool of you. I cannot stand it, I cannot stand to watch you get hurt"

You sighed, the room spinning either from the amount of drink you had consumed or the blossoming concussion. "You care."

"I am irritated."

"You really care," you repeated, your voice a little softer this time. "If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be carrying me."

Lae’zel was silent for a moment. Then she exhaled sharply, the sound closer to a sigh than she’d ever admit.

"You are mine," she muttered at last. "And I will not allow you to be so careless with yourself."

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. Even through the pain in your jaw, even through the exhaustion settling over you, warmth bloomed in your chest.

"You’re a terrible liar," you murmured, pressing your forehead against her shoulder. Lae’zel scoffed but said nothing. And though her voice was sharp, her hold on you was gentle all the way back to camp.

Shadowheart:

"You are not getting into that fight."

Shadowheart’s voice cut through the noise of the tavern, sharp and unwavering. She stood with her arms crossed, her dark eyes fixed on you with a mix of warning and exasperation. She had that look—the look—the one that meant she was already planning the I told you so speech for later.

You, in your infinite wisdom and three drinks deep, shot her a lopsided grin. "Come on, it’s just a bit of fun."

"Fun?" she repeated, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. "Oh yes, of course. Who doesn’t enjoy getting their teeth knocked out by some brainless drunk?"

You chuckled, rolling your shoulders in preparation. "It won’t come to that."

"You’re drunk," she pointed out, unimpressed.

"Just a little!"

"That’s exactly my point." Shadowheart sighed, rubbing her temple like she was already exhausted by you. "Don’t do this."

But, predictably, you ignored her. And the fight broke out not even five minutes later. Crawling back to camp was nothing short of humiliating.

You limped towards Shadowheart’s tent, every step punctuated by a sharp, pulsing pain in your ribs. Your lip was split, your jaw ached from a particularly nasty punch, and you were fairly certain your nose was either broken or very close to it.

And to make matters worse? Shadowheart was waiting.

She was seated on her bedroll, calmly polishing her armor in the dim glow of the campfire. She barely spared you a glance as you shuffled in, cradling your ribs.

"Go on," she said without looking up. "Say it."

You hesitated. "…Say what?"

She finally turned, her dark eyes locking onto yours with unrestrained amusement. "You know exactly what."

You shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, wincing as pain flared through your side. "I might need some healing."

"Might?"

You groaned, defeated. "Definitely. I definitely need some healing."

Shadowheart sighed, but there was something smug in the way she set her armor aside and motioned for you to sit. "Unbelievable."

You slumped down beside her, biting back a hiss of pain as you did. A soft, warm glow spread from her fingertips as she channeled her magic, the soothing energy flowing through your body and mending the worst of your injuries.

And then—

"Oh, you poor thing," she cooed, her tone suddenly dripping with mock sympathy. "Did the big bad fight not go your way?"

Your eyes snapped open. "What?"

She patted your head. Patted you, like you were some foolish child who had fallen off a horse. "Didn’t listen to me, did you? Nooo, of course not. That would have been smart."

You groaned. "Shadowheart—"

"Shhh," she hushed you, dramatically brushing a hand over your hair. "The grown-up is talking."

You scowled, but she only smirked, her fingers tilting your chin up so she could inspect your nose.

"Hmm," she mused, tapping it lightly, "you’re lucky it’s not completely broken. Still, it looks like it hurts."

"It does hurt," you grumbled. "Which is why I came to you."

"And here I thought you were just visiting because you enjoy my company," she teased, her lips quirking into a smirk.

You let out a long-suffering sigh. "You’re never going to let this go, are you?"

Her grin widened. "Absolutely not."

Shadowheart took her time finishing up her healing, making a show of carefully wiping the last of the blood from your lip with a damp cloth. It was almost gentle—almost—except for the way she was clearly relishing every second of your embarrassment.

"There," she said finally, tossing the cloth aside. "All patched up."

"Thanks," you muttered.

But before you could even think of making a dignified exit, she smirked.

"Now," she said, nudging you backwards onto her bedroll, "lie down. You’re officially on time out."

You groaned. "Oh, come on—"

"Nope. You acted like a reckless child, so I suppose I’ll just have to treat you like one," she said, patting the spot beside her with a mocking little smile. "Now, be good and rest, darling."

You grumbled under your breath but complied, slumping onto her blankets.

Shadowheart smirked. "That’s what I thought."

And despite her teasing, despite the endless humiliation, you couldn’t help but smile a little as she settled down beside you, her fingers absently brushing against yours.

Jaheira:

You barely felt the punch land, which was probably a bad sign.

The world spun around you in a chaotic blur of overturned chairs, shattered mugs, and the thick smell of ale and sweat. Someone’s boot caught your side, sending you stumbling back against a table that definitely hadn’t been there a second ago. You were grinning like an idiot, adrenaline and drunkenness making you blissfully numb to the fact that you were very much losing this fight. And then—

"By Silvanus, you absolute disaster of a person."

Jaheira’s voice sliced through the noise, clear and exasperated. You blinked blearily toward the entrance, where your beautiful, radiant, stunning lover stood, hands on her hips, looking every inch the furious savior you never knew you needed.

"Jaheira!" you slurred, pushing yourself up with what little dignity you had left. "My love, my light—"

"You’re concussed," she deadpanned.

"—My warrior queen!" you continued, unbothered. Jaheira sighed through her nose, then rolled up the sleeves of her tunic.

"Alright," she muttered, stepping forward. "Which one of you idiots started this?"

You pointed at a random guy. "All of them!"

The nearest brute lunged at her. Big mistake.

Jaheira ducked beneath his swing effortlessly, her elbow snapping up into his gut before he could even think about retaliating. He doubled over with a wheeze, and she didn’t waste time—she caught him by the shoulder, yanked him forward, and slammed him face-first into the very same table you’d been struggling to stay upright against moments ago.

You let out a loud, drunken cheer. "*Gorgeous! Incredible! Have I ever told you how hot you are?*"

Jaheira barely spared you a glance as she sidestepped another attacker, twisting his arm behind his back and tossing him into a pile of already unconscious bodies.

"Yes," she said dryly. "Many times."

"And you never believe me!" you lamented.

Someone else tried their luck, a stocky man with more muscles than sense. Jaheira simply kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling backward into a row of barrels. He didn’t get up.

"Have I mentioned you’re the most skilled, amazing, unparalleled—"

Jaheira turned, grabbed the last remaining idiot by the collar, and headbutted him hard enough to make your skull ache. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.

"…Absolutely terrifying woman I’ve ever met?" you finished, blinking at the carnage.

The bar was a mess. Broken furniture, spilled drinks, and unconscious (or groaning) men littered the floor. Jaheira stood at the center of it all, adjusting her tunic like she’d just finished tending her garden rather than wiping out half the tavern.

Then she turned her sharp, emerald gaze to you.

"You are a menace," she said, striding over. "And a fool. And an idiot—"

"I am very concussed," you reminded her helpfully.

"And concussed," she added, before grabbing you firmly by the scruff of your robes. "Come on."

You stumbled after her as she dragged you bodily toward the exit, your feet barely keeping up. "Jaheira, my love, my storm, my—"

"Walk," she ordered.

You did. Barely. But as she pulled you through the ruined tavern, you couldn’t resist turning back to the remaining patrons—many of whom were watching in awe, some in horror, a few taking bets on whether you’d survive the night.

"I’m gonna get lucky tonight!" you announced proudly.

Jaheira didn’t even hesitate. "Say that again and I swear I’ll dunk you in the river."

You gasped dramatically. "You wouldn’t!"

She yanked you out the door and toward the road. "Try me."

You pouted but leaned into her, letting her guide you with a firm arm around your waist. Maybe you were concussed, bruised, and a complete and utter mess.

But Jaheira was here. And gods, she was magnificent.

guys they changed the Lucille font idk what to do with my life. I really loved writing this and i hope you guys enjoyed it! - Seluney xox

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