#like you too!!! YOU TOO LOVE VERY VERY MUCH volo

[nerdallwritey]

Three Little Words

Summary: “Well, this has been lovely,” Astarion said, making his way to the door leading back into the inn proper. “Anything else we should know before we head off to save the day?” He was already halfway out the door, not bothering to wait for an answer, clearly trying to make a stealthy exit.  You eyed Halsin, who nodded and retrieved the rogue by his arm before he could leave, closing the door behind both of them for good measure. “Let me go, you humongous imbecile!” Astarion pounded his free arm against Halsin’s chest before Halsin released him and refused to let him move a muscle towards the door. Astarion huffed and crossed his arms, turning his nose up at the rest of you. “Is he okay?” Isobel asked.  “This is relatively normal behavior from him, actually,” Karlach said. OR Astarion accidentally says something nice, then acts like an idiot for the rest of the day.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ (no smut) Word count: 8.3k CW: lots of Act 2 exposition, Rolan is a drunk dick, Astarion's scars, sitcom antics, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot, and more so than usual), Halsin's tits Spoilers: Spoilers for Act 2 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.) Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 7 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: PART 7 IS ALIIIIIIIIIVE!!! Thank you for waiting so patiently for this one, I had more planned for it but decided to cut it in half since I already yap too much as it is. I wanted this chapter to be a fresh enough take on the beginning of Act 2, and I hope you all enjoy! This one gets really sitcom-y at certain points which was a blast to write and I hope you have a blast reading! Part 8 is already in the works and I'm VERY excited to share that one with you all!! There's no smut in this chapter, and for that, I apologize. If all goes according to plan, Part 8 will have you covered! (Thank you to my beta @kermitwazowski, and the wonderful @arzen9 for reading!) As a reminder, last time, you fell asleep in Astarion's arms and he realized he's in love with you...

Taglist: Moved to the comment section, since tumblr hates sharing fun with friends - please let me know if you'd like to be added to the list!

You awoke to an empty bed. 

Drearily and with a tired moan, your arm flung out to search blindly in the dark, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Slowly, it came back to you - you’d made it to an inn in the Shadow Cursed Lands. You’d shared a passionate night with Astarion. Perhaps the vampire whose arms you were sure you’d fallen asleep in had rolled off the bed in the night? You inched your body to the edge of the bed, hanging your head over the side and blinking rapidly to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness. 

Nope. No trancing elf. Just a loose floorboard from the night before. 

You flopped dramatically onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. Couldn’t vampires technically hang from ceilings? Was it possible Astarion had somehow sleep… vampired? And somehow found himself snoozing upside down on the ceiling?

No, that was stupid, of course he wasn’t on the ceiling. Though you did squint and stare above you for longer than you would ever admit to anyone. 

Exhaling quietly, you sat up on your arms to scan the rest of the room before your eyes landed on a silhouette hunched in front of the drawn curtains of the room’s large window. 

Astarion was muttering quietly, his arm bent behind his back. “I… F… or is it an E? Is it even a letter?” You heard him sigh and saw his frame straighten fractionally. “What damn language is this?”

You half smiled affectionately, sitting up fully against the pillows. 

“Need some help writing a sonnet, Volo?” You swung your legs over the side of the bed and turned to face him.

Astarion jumped. “Ah!” You heard a loud crash as you saw his darkened form trip backwards over your discarded backpack.

“Astarion!” you cried, springing up from the bed and joining him on the ground. “Are you alright?” You brushed your knuckles over his cheek as he groaned lowly.

His eyes were shut tight in mild pain, but they opened after a moment to blink up at you. When he saw the concerned look on your face, he sat up quickly and backed away from you until his back made contact with your overturned backpack.

You frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Astarion smiled awkwardly. “Oh nothing, darling.” After a second, he said your name softly. 

You narrowed your eyes and stood up, striking a match and lighting the candle on the table parallel to the bed. “I don’t believe you.”

He was staring at you in a way that gave you the sense he wasn’t listening. 

“Hello?” you asked, snapping your fingers. 

Astarion shook his head, regaining focus. “Apologies, dear, you caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

You crossed your arms and smiled. “That little spill of yours kind of gave that much away.”

Astarion rose to his feet and rubbed his backside. “Yes, well…” He held his upper arm awkwardly and avoided meeting your eye. Your brow furrowed, but he continued talking. “I’ve… been tracing the scars on my back with my fingers, trying to read them by touch, but I can’t. They may as well be written in Rashemi.” 

There was something weird about his body language. Like he was trying to hide something from you, but you decided to focus on what he was telling you. Maybe if he kept talking, you’d figure out what was wrong. 

You stepped closer, pausing when he took another step back. You spoke calmly, “Let me have a look.”

“I-” he sighed. “This isn’t your problem, you know.”

“Like hells, it isn’t,” you scoffed with a smile. “Your problems are my problems now.” You stepped forward again and took his hand. He looked you in the eye before quickly looking away. “I want to help you.” You brushed your nose against his.

A chill ran through his body, and you felt his hand tremble in yours. “Fine.”

Hesitantly, he slowly turned his back towards you. 

It was rare that Astarion would purposely show you his back. You’d run your hands along the ridges of his scars numerous times, but he was reluctant to let you look at the hacked flesh directly. You assumed it was linked to the poorly hidden shame he felt towards his past, but you never looked at the marks with anything but admiration for his bravery and a sign of his survival. 

Now, seeing the scars straight on by the light of the candle, you recognized the runes as a language you’d seen written many times in books and in school growing up; Infernal. The language of the Hells.

From what little you could make out, the language was fragmented and strange. This scar was just a piece of a larger text. 

“And?” Astarion probed, looking over his shoulder at you. “What does it say?” Embarrassment and hopeful curiosity coated his words. 

“Well, it’s certainly not a poem. In fact, from what I can tell, it might be part of a devil’s pact.”

His eyes narrowed. “Infernal pact? But not even the whole text?” He turned back to face you. “What was that bastard up to?” 

“Did you ever see Cazador write in Infernal before?”

Astarion thought for a moment. “No. I could have missed it, of course, but I doubt it. Whatever he’s carved in my flesh, it’s a mystery to me.” When he realized you didn’t have some sort of quip to add, he continued. “Cazador was only figuratively hellish - there were never any devils hanging about the crypt.” 

You snorted. “I wouldn’t think there would be. Though, can you imagine Mizora in a crypt? Or Raphael? He’d probably be repulsed.” 

Astarion stiffened visibly. “Raphael… yes…”

You attempted to get his attention back on you by squeezing his hand. “What about him?”

He looked at you briefly, a slight smirk on his lips. “If anyone’s going to know about infernal contracts, he will.”

“I mean… That makes sense, I guess.”

Astarion pointed towards you excitedly. “I knew you’d see the pragmatic side.”

You tilted your head, thinking. “But Mizora’s kind of all about infernal legalese.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Sure, but Raphael has more panache. And I doubt Wyll would appreciate us summoning his devilish pact-maker.”

“Good point.”

“Unfortunately, Raphael comes and goes on his own schedule, so we’ll just have to look out for any sulfurous odors or the sound of questionable poetry.” 

That got you to smile. He smiled back, and reached out to hold your elbows lightly. “You will help me, won’t you, darling?”

“Of course I will,” you said, bending up to kiss his cheek. You felt him flinch beneath your lips. “Are you sure everything is alright? You seem awfully on edge.” 

“Me? On edge? Of course not!” His voice pitched up uncharacteristically and broke at the end. “I don’t know why that came out all squeaky because really,” he cleared his throat and lowered his voice comically, “I’m fine.”

You smiled skeptically. “If you say so.”

“Don’t worry about me, dearest,” he released your arms and knelt to go through his own bag. He pulled out a fresh shirt and slipped it over his head. “I think I’ll spend some time this morning studying the art of infernal negotiations.” He kissed you swiftly before pulling away as if you’d shocked him. “I’ll…” you caught him look down at the ring still gracing your left pinky, “see you later.” 

With that, he quickly left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving you with nothing but the sound of Harpers patrolling outside and patrons sitting by the bar.

You exhaled loudly, staring at the door after him. 

Something was definitely wrong. 

Compared to last night, when he was blissed out on your tongue, and kissing your throat with fervent passion, there was no doubt something was bothering him.

But what?

You sat back on the bed, replaying the previous night over in your head. Had you done something wrong? Had you pushed him too hard to do something he didn’t want to do?

No. No, you were fairly certain he had truly enjoyed himself with you. 

But then again, you were very new to sex. And new to Astarion, for that matter. Was it possible he could still pull one over on you, even though you felt like you could read him pretty well by now?

Regardless of whatever was going on with Astarion, it was clear that it had to do with you, based purely on his hesitancy to get close to you just now. 

Sniffing your sleep shirt and feeling suddenly self conscious, you ran a warm bath and scrubbed yourself clean of whatever grime had clung to your body since entering the Shadow Cursed Lands. 

A short time later, you found yourself exiting the bedroom, your hair damp, and fresh clothes gracing your figure. You paused in the doorway, scanning the large, open room that made up most of the first floor. Immediately, your eyes fell on the gaggle of child criminals behind the bar that you’d sicced on Astarion at the Tiefling party.

Smiling to yourself, you took a step towards the bar, only to freeze when you heard the familiarly cool tone of a tiefling wizard. 

“...There’s another bottle of Arabellan dry back there,” Rolan practically spat. “Put it on the bar, then piss off and leave me alone.”

Zaki and Meli, two of the tiefling kids, exchanged glances before Zaki upturned his nose at Rolan.

“Jaheira said we should serve drinks, but that we shouldn't serve drunks.”

Slurring his words mildly, Rolan pointed an accusatory finger at the children. “Jaheira didn’t save your ragged little tail from the cultists. I did.”

You stepped forward and made eye contact with Zaki and Meli who smirked when they recognized you. You winked at them and they nodded before turning their backs on Rolan and focusing their attentions within the bar.

“Given the constant darkness, I know it’s fairly difficult to tell the time, but I’m pretty sure it’s a little too early in the day to get this sloshed.” You took a seat beside Rolan. 

He looked over at you and rolled his eyes. “Oh. It’s you.”

You pursed your lips at his tone and rested your head on your hand. “Hi Rolan.”

“Don’t you get tired of telling people how to live their lives?” He took a big swig from his stein before scowling at you and turning away. “If you’re here to save the day again, you’re a little late this time.”

You sat up straighter, suddenly aware of the absence of Cal and Lia. “What happened? Where’s-”

“Oh, sod off,” he hissed. “I’m only here because you ‘helped’ me and my family.”

“I-”

“I was ready to cut and run back at the Grove, but you had other ideas.” Rolan gestured erratically with his mug and free hand.

You leaned in fractionally, attempting to calm him down enough to tell you what was happening. “Rolan, where-”

“Cal and Lia were taken in by your crap,” he slurred. “You convinced them to play hero, and now they’re gone.” 

You bit your lip and looked around, feeling stupid when you obviously caught no sight of the siblings. “Do you know where they are?”

Rolan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and whipped his head to look at you with a scowl. “Dead, for all I know. Or in the cult’s tower with the others who were taken.”

“Taken,” you repeated, your voice catching in your throat. You looked around frantically, taking note of the tieflings you recognized. Doing a mental headcount, it appeared that the kids were almost accounted for, minus Mol, who you knew was around here somewhere, and Arabella, who was probably with Mol, but there was a distinct lack of adults you’d met back at the Grove. You spotted Alfira sitting alone at the hearth, with Lakrissa nowhere to be seen. Zevlor was also noticeably missing. 

They must have been attacked on their way to Baldur’s Gate and taken to Moonrise. You hoped that was the worst of it, praying silently to whichever god was listening that the tieflings would be okay. 

As your eyes continued to scan the taproom, you spotted Shadowheart, Wyll, Lae’zel, and Karlach talking pointedly with Jaheira over a map spread out over her desk. Their attention was drawn away from the map for a moment when Astarion strode by them with a heavy tome from a wall of books, over to a table where Gale was reading what appeared to be a small book of poetry. It seemed as though Gale had just recently sat down without Astarion’s knowledge, because the vampire gathered up a stack of books resting on the table and rerouted to an empty one out of earshot from the wizard. 

When Astarion caught your eye, he froze momentarily and you sent him a small smile. His eyes flicked between you and Rolan, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. You shook your head minutely, causing him to turn back slowly towards his empty table and dust off the newest book you assumed was full of Infernal translations of some kind. You pretended not to notice him watching you closely.

Rolan, meanwhile, was still brooding over his ale. “Get the bottle,” he nodded at Meli, “give me the bottle - it’s not hard.”

Meli crossed his arms. “I don’t want to.”

“And I don’t want to give you a lashing,” Rolan slurred, “but I will, damn it.”

“Whoa,” you said, holding up both hands, “let’s not resort to threatening kids just because we’re angry.” 

You laid a gentle hand on Rolan’s arm, only for him to shake you off roughly. 

“How dare you tell me - me - how to live my life. After everything I’ve just said.”

Before you had a chance to respond, a flash of silver glinted before your eyes as Astarion slammed a dagger into the wood of the counter between you and Rolan. 

“Is there a problem here?” he asked, sidling up next to you, and helping himself to a bottle of red wine within reach. His books laid abandoned at his empty table not too far off.

“You gonna pay for that?” Zaki asked with a huff.

“Quiet, child whose name I’ve never cared to learn.” You crossed your arms and gave Astarion a look before he rolled his eyes and extended his neck towards you. “She’ll cover it.”

You rolled your eyes in return and reached into your pocket to hand the tiefling a gold piece. 

“I knew I liked you,” Zaki smirked before running off to show the other kids his loot. 

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Gold, darling? Really?”

“I think we’ll survive,” you said softly before pulling the knife out of the countertop and laying it gently on its side. 

Astarion caught sight of the blade and refocused his attention on the bitter wizard beside him. “As I said, is there a problem here?” His words came out like a growl and his hand flexed as if preparing to strike, before realizing his dagger was on the counter, and instead opted for a swig of his overpriced wine.

“No problem at all,” Rolan said in mock nonchalance. “It’s only that your partner here led my siblings to their doom.” He slammed his mug on the counter, earning a few curious and annoyed looks from other patrons and passing Harpers. 

“Okay good, so no problem then,” Astarion took another swig of his wine.

“Astarion,” you hissed before turning back to Rolan. “We’ll rescue them.”

“If they’re alive,” Astarion muttered. He nearly choked when you forcefully nudged him with your elbow.

“Bullshit,” Rolan snapped. “If they’re alive, I can save them. They’re my responsibility.” He downed the rest of his drink before boldly turning to face you and Astarion head on. He puffed out his chest, attempting to look bigger. “You go save the world, or your own arse, or whatever it is you do.”

“Hey,” Astarion slammed down his own bottle and rose to his full height, “your useless siblings would be lucky to be saved by her.”

“How dare you,” Rolan moved closer to Astarion, but you weaved in-between them before either of them could get their hands on the other. Patrons were starting to stare. You even caught Jaheira turning to give you a curious raise of her eyebrow.

“Both of you, cut it out.” You placed a hand on Astarion’s chest to keep him at bay, and didn’t dare to touch Rolan again. Astarion, in turn, took your hand and brought it to his mouth for a kiss. 

“Listen here, you shoddy excuse of a wizard,” Astarion clutched your hand to his chest and refused to let it go when you attempted to pry it free, “if this woman offers her help, she means it. And based on our numbers, eight, I believe, as opposed to your, what? One?”

“Astarion-”

“I’d say you should take her up on that offer.”

Rolan scoffed. “As if your oafish party could infiltrate Moonrise unnoticed. I’ll have a much easier time sneaking in by myself.”

Astarion laughed airly. “Oh, please, darling, you set one foot outside the protective barrier on this place and the shadows will come for you. You’ll go mad and join your siblings in the great beyond.”

“Astarion, please,” you said sharply and finally pulled your hand free from his grasp.

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Rolan said flatly. He got up to leave, stumbling a bit as he headed in the direction of the entrance.

Astarion crossed his arms with a smug look of triumph on his face. He called after him with the finishing blow: “Do tell the shadows I miss their cold embrace when they swallow you whole.”

The comment made Rolan turn on his heel and march back, sidestepping you and pressing an accusatory finger into Astarion’s chest. “Why is it so important to you whether my family lives or dies? Huh? Do you get some sort of… boon? From whatever devil created a fanged freak like you?”

Your eyes darted back and forth between the tiefling and the vampire, smiling awkwardly at patrons who passed by and shrugging as if to say, “Can you believe these guys?”

Astarion laughed again. “Darling, I couldn’t care less about the fate of you, or any other refugee for that matter.”

A look of confusion passed over Rolan’s face before it morphed back into a scowl. “Then why do you care about this?”

“I don’t.”

“You do!”

You stepped forward, bringing your hands up to try and offer a showing of peace. “Come on, boys. Rolan, we’d be happy to look for your siblings and help however we can. Astarion, why don’t we leave Rolan to think about it for a bit and-”

Rolan shook his head. “Oh no, I’m going after Cal and Lia on my own, and you can’t stop me.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “A mistake.”

“Leave me to my own choices, will you?!”

“Not when your choices are objectively stupid and illogical!” He took a step forward, causing Rolan to take an indignant step back. Astarion smirked and looked down his nose at his opponent. “Which is funny, seeing as how you tote yourself around as if you’re some big wizard prodigy.” He took another step forward and lowered his voice menacingly. “Why don’t you use that brain of yours and stay here, where you can’t bother anybody else?”

This time, Rolan stood his ground and raised his voice. “Why do you care?!”

“Because she cares and I love her!” 

Time froze. 

Astarion was locked in a stare down with Rolan, as if his declaration was the most obvious thing in the world and not something that had just changed everything.

I love her. 

The words replayed your mind like the most beautiful melody you’d ever heard. 

Astarion had a way of doing that; reciting words or sounds or phrases that quickly became your new favorite songs. 

But this time, you couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing.

“What?” Your hand reached out and brushed his softly.

Astarion jolted and slowly turned to look at you, sudden panic flashing over his features. “What?”

“You said-”

“Nothing. I said nothing.”

“No, you said-”

He raised his voice to speak over you. “I said something devastating to this wizard, rendering him absolutely shattered, isn’t that right, wizard?” He looked to Rolan for help, but Rolan’s eyes were wide with discomfort.

“Oh, this… was that the first-? While you were yelling at me? Yikes.” He began to back away slowly. 

Astarion lunged forward to grab him, but Rolan’s tipsiness worked to his advantage and somehow allowed him to bob out of the elf’s grasp. 

“Get back here!” Astarion floundered, but you caught him by the wrist. 

“You said you loved me!” You were smiling widely, your heart the fullest it had ever been. 

“No I didn’t!” Astarion snatched his hand out of yours and turned to face you while actively backing away. 

You laughed in thrilled disbelief. “Yes you did!”

“No I didn’t!” He crossed his arms in front of himself as if you were a demon coming to rip his unbeating heart out of his very ribs.

“You love me!”

“No I don’t!” He sounded almost like a child as he insisted he hadn’t just said the three little words you’d been so eager to hear. 

“Astarion, I-”

“Your move, Mol,” a sultry voice reached your ears, somehow piercing through your train of thought and what you had been about to confess. You scrunched your nose at the suddenly overpowering scent of cherries masking a fouler stench of sulfur. 

Astarion was frozen leaning away from you, but his eyes shifted towards the voice and then back to you before he darted in Raphael’s direction. 

“Astarion!” you called after him, hot on his heels.

He barely turned to respond. “Can’t hear you darling, important business must be attended to!”

“This is important business!” you countered.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dearest!” He came to a halt in a smaller room connected to the large tap room. You stopped short behind him, nearly slamming into his back. 

Immediately you spied Raphael sitting elegantly in front of a game of lanceboard. Mol was sitting opposite from him, squinting at the pieces and analyzing her current position. 

“You trapped me,” she said, annoyed. “I didn’t even want to take this one.”

“Calimshan rules, dear,” Raphael explained, and Astarion groaned quietly next to you. “The first piece touched is the first piece moved.”

“Boring,” Astarion muttered.

Mol huffed. “That’s garbage! No matter where the knight goes, I’m gonna lose it.”

Raphael’s tone became more stern when he instructed, “Then make the sacrifice useful. Guard your Mystra, or come for my Cyric.” 

“We should really talk,” you murmured to Astarion, who cleared his throat and drew Raphael and Mol’s attention to you instead.

Mol’s face instantly lit up when she saw you. “Look who made it! For once I saved your butt out there with Jaheira, didn’t I?” 

You returned her smile, stepping closer and pretending to punch her upper arm playfully. “You sure did. Can’t thank you enough for that, Mol.”

She gave you a smug sideways smirk. “We’re square now, chief.”

“I guess we are,” you laughed. 

“Say,” she said, “do you play lanceboard by any chance? It’s my first time playing.” 

Judging by the mischievous glint in her eye, you immediately clocked that she was lying to throw off Raphael. 

“Oh, he’s laid a fine trap for you, Mol,” came Gale’s voice over your right shoulder. 

“Where did you come from?” Astarion yelped and clutched his chest from his spot on your left.

Gale opted to ignore Astarion’s dramatic display and continued, “But it looks to me like his Cyric could be dethroned.”

You nodded, thinking back to several lanceboard games you’d played with Gale over the course of this journey. You lowered your voice and nodded at the pieces in front of Mol. “Gale’s right. Put pressure on him. Attack the pieces in front of his Cyric.” 

Mol gave you and Gale an impish grin before following through with the move you both recommended. She looked immensely satisfied when she knocked the piece guarding Raphael’s God of Lies from the board. 

Raphael raised his eyebrows, looking both proud and surprised. “My, the Theskan Double Counter-gambit. Vicious.” He chuckled darkly. “Exactly what I would have done.” 

With another self satisfied smirk, Mol removed Raphael’s Cyric from the board completely. “How’s that for Calimshan rules?”

“Brava!” Raphael said, spreading his arms out wide. “Lovely work. I see I was right to make you the offer I did.” 

Your stomach dropped. “Wait, what?”

Raphael didn’t take his eyes off Mol. “You will consider it, won’t you?”

Without another word, Mol got up and you watched as she returned to the other tiefling kids behind the bar.

“What a lovely specimen she is,” Raphael said as your eyes followed her. 

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you turned to look back at him. 

He was standing now. “A blushing apple, begging to be plucked.” He mimed the action of pulling an apple from its spot on a branch, his eyebrows furrowed to accompany his conniving smile. 

You stepped to the side, attempting to block Mol from his view. “Leave her alone, Raphael.”

He ignored your warning and changed the subject. “The Theskan move suggestion was inspired. I had no idea you played.”

Gale chuckled. “I’ve been known to dabble.”

“He’s not talking to you, purple,” Astarion spat the last word as if it were an insult. 

Gale stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “Purple has always suited me rather nicely, thank you.”

“Why are you here, Raphael?” you asked. “To play games?”

Raphael’s expression became almost unreadable. “To play the game. The vast lanceboard of souls.”

“Well that doesn’t sound legally sanctioned by the Lanceboard Committee of Baldur’s Gate,” Gale muttered. 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “I wish you would explode.”

Raphael continued, this time his voice was overly saccharine. “Don’t you worry about Mol. It goes without saying she still has the unconditional freedom to choose the only option she has left.” 

Gale leaned over to you and whispered, “Ominous, that.”

“Quiet,” Astarion hissed, causing Raphael’s attention to turn on him. 

“Now,” Raphael said, placing a hand on his hip and pointing a lazy finger at Astarion, “let’s talk about you. I sense there’s something you want to ask me.”

“I do,” Astarion said, hunching forward as if to make himself smaller, “I have a… proposal… for you.” When you turned to glance at him with wide eyes, he corrected himself. “A proposition! A request. A… deal, I suppose, for lack of a better term.”

“A proposal,” Raphael’s eyes shifted between you two, probably knowing the exact tension that was occurring between the two of you right now. 

It wouldn’t surprise you. 

He chuckled, but didn’t press further. “If you’re hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than Wyvern Whiskey.”

“This is serious business,” Astarion tried to sound firm before adding, “devil.”

Raphael smirked at him, but inclined his head to encourage Astarion to continue. 

“My old - well… A long time ago, someone carved infernal runes into my back,” Astarion explained. “They are a fragment of a contract. I’d like to know what the full contract says.” 

“Hmmmmm…” Raphael dragged out the sound far longer than necessary. 

Astarion straightened himself, attempting to look bravely back at the devil, but you saw the way he absently tapped his finger against his thigh. The way he blinked a little more frequently than normal.

You turned to Raphael, annoyed. “Don’t play games, Raphael. Help him out.”

“Oh, such impatience,” Raphael said sarcastically. When neither you nor Astarion took the bait to squabble with him, he continued. “It’s something very important to your master. But is it a love letter?” He looked pointedly at you and you did your best to keep your expression even. “A warning, perhaps? Or a deed of ownership? I could give you all the gory details.”

“So do it,” you growled, feeling extremely protective of the man to your left who’d just bared part of his soul to this devil. And Gale.

“Ah ah ah,” Raphael tsked. “You’ll have to do something for me first. Let me think about it and get back to you.”

Astarion stammered and held his arms out dramatically. “You’ll ‘get back’ to me? This is important, devil!” After a moment, he sighed. “When?”

“Don’t worry,” Raphael said, the cunning smile refusing to leave his face, “I’m motivated to help you. Scars often tell such wonderful stories - I think yours might be truly exquisite.” 

Before you could interrogate him any further, Raphael vanished in a sour smelling puff of smoke.

“Good gracious, that’s foul,” Gale plugged his nose and waved his hand in front of his face.

You coughed repeatedly, shutting your eyes tight to make sure whatever residue Raphael left behind didn’t blur your vision. When you opened them again, you saw Astarion hightailing it out of the small room and across the taproom.

“Astarion!” you called. “Get back here, you heathen!”

As Astarion went to open one of the side doors of the inn to escape speaking with you, he slammed face first into Halsin’s chest.

“Oh!” Halsin exclaimed and peeled the vampire off of his tunic. “My apologies, Astarion, I was just coming inside to check on things with Moonrise Towers.”

Astarion held a hand to his forehead. “It’s like you’re made of cement.”

You caught up with him and witnessed him slump significantly. 

“Oh, hello, darling.” His tone was jovial, but his expression was one of disappointment at having been caught so easily. 

You placed your hands on your hips. “We need to talk.”

“News of Moonrise?” Halsin asked.

“No, the others are discussing that with Jaheira over there.” You pointed your thumb over your shoulder towards Jaheira’s desk, where your companions were still listening to her and hunching over a map. “No, I need to speak with Astarion in private-”

“Excellent reminder, darling,” Astarion said, straightening up and walking past you, over to Jaheira and the others. “We simply must plan out our next move!”

You turned to watch him go and stood next to Halsin, sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of your nose.

Halsin laid a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Everything alright? I hope nothing troubles the ever growing bond between you two?”

You began walking with him over to Jaheira’s desk. “He’s just being an idiot. He told me something very interesting and I want to talk to him about it more in depth.”

Halsin nodded. “You heard about the night he ran into me in bear form.”

“No, he-” You stopped short and looked at Halsin. “What?”

“There’s the fearless leader these cubs won’t stop talking about,” Jaheira said loudly, causing you to turn away from Halsin and finish taking the last few steps over to her desk. 

You approached Astarion, who stared blankly ahead and made no attempt at hiding the large step he took away from you. You rolled your eyes and stepped forward to stand between Karlach and Shadowheart, observing the map in front of you. 

“You all have been talking for quite a bit.” You noticed different markings on the map, suggesting different routes to take towards Moonrise. “Have you figured anything out?”

Wyll crossed his arms and blew out a breath. “Only that our opponent seems to be invincible, according to Jaheira.”

“So says she,” Lae’zel placed her hands on her hips and repositioned her feet to stand tall. “She has no idea how lethal we are.”

“Ketheric was a Sharran,” Shadowheart said quietly, lost in thought. “He was building an army of Dark Justiciars beneath this village.” She turned her head to look at you. “I knew my Lady Shar’s influence here was all consuming, but… Dark Justiciars?” Her voice took on a dreamlike quality, “Only the very finest proved themselves worthy of the title. They’ve been silent for years but… an entire army? That must have been a fearsome sight.”

“Yes…” Jaheira side-eyed Shadowheart skeptically. She looked at you and said, “To bring you up to speed, General Ketheric Thorm, the Absolutist leader at Moonrise is a formidable foe that myself, my Harpers, and local druids saw to depose - we witnessed him dead and buried. But he’s returned. Not only does he live again, it seems he is no longer mortal. He has become, as Wyll said, invincible.”

“Chk,” Lae’zel rolled her eyes.

“I don’t fancy his chances,” Gale joked as he integrated himself into the group, causing Astarion to jump again.

“So help me gods, you must stop doing that.”

“Supposedly, the Harpers met Ketheric on the road commanding an army of Absolutists, intent on destroying Baldur’s Gate.” Karlach half smiled, proud to be relaying a new Jaheira tale to you. “Jaheira here saw to putting a fucking arrow through his fucking eye, only to watch the bastard pluck it out.”

“‘Like a splinter,’ in her words,” Wyll added helpfully.

Halsin whistled lowly. “Sounds like quite the nasty rival.”

Jaheira nodded. “He healed right in front of me, and chased us into the shadows. Things looked hopeless, but experience has taught me that no matter how bleak things look, there’s always hope.”

“Damn right,” Karlach grinned. 

Jaheira smiled at the tiefling, then looked around at your entire party. “You are that hope.”

Astarion gagged and rolled his eyes, earning an elbow in the side from Karlach.

“We’ll try our best,” you said.

“I was telling your companions here that while protected by your artifact,” Jaheira went on, “you can infiltrate his forces at Moonrise Towers, posing as True Souls.”

“A risky, but clever move,” Lae’zel smirked. “I like it.”

“If we can find out what makes him invincible,” Wyll said, “perhaps we can strip him of his advantage.”

Jaheira nodded. “Together, we assault his tower and put a final end to this blight.”

Astarion sniffed pompously. “You want to make use of our infection.” He placed a hand on his hip and gestured around with his free hand, “Some of us, not necessarily me, of course, I’m rather enjoying the sun when it’s not currently being banished by the Mistress of the Night-”

“Watch it,” Shadowheart warned through gritted teeth.

“Some of us,” Astarion continued, “want to be cured of it.” 

Jaheira watched him carefully. “Any cure starts with understanding the disease. Whatever magic Ketheric’s using to control these tadpoles, it must be at Moonrise.”

“Well,” Gale clapped his hands together, “sounds like we should get a move on if we plan on finding that cure any time soon.”

Jaheira looked to you. “I’ve already shared what I believe to be the best route to the Towers with your friends here.” She nodded her head towards Wyll, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Lae’zel. 

“Thank you,” you said. “Ketheric’s days are numbered - I’ll make sure of it.”

The Harper met you with a sad smile. “Without a cure for your infection, your days are numbered, yet you selflessly offer to spend them fighting alongside us. I like you.”

“Isn’t she the best?” Karlach clapped you on the shoulder, grinning, before clearing her throat. “I- I mean after you, of course.” She smiled awkwardly at Jaheira. 

Jaheira laughed, then addressed all of you: “I promise I will do everything I can to make sure you survive this.” 

Your companions offered their thanks, accompanied by a dramatic eye roll from Astarion. 

“Before you go,” Jaheira said, “there’s someone else you should meet.”

“Gods,” Astarion muttered, “we’re going to be stuck here forever if we keep yammering instead of doing.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaheira raised an eyebrow, “do you wish to be consumed by shadow?”

“If we have a choice,” Wyll said, “I’d prefer not to.”

“Good man,” she smiled at the warlock before looking around at everyone again. “You’re not our only secret weapon.” She rolled up the map laid before you all and handed it off to Wyll. “Isobel - a faithful cleric of Selûne, and a light in the darkness.” 

“Selûne?” Shadowheart wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Why would a servant to the Moonmaiden be all the way out here?”

“You’re lucky she is,” Jaheira gave Shadowheart a look, as if daring her to make another comment on the matter. “She cast the moon shield around the inn. It’s the only reason we’re still alive.” She moved to her right to point at a set of stairs in the small room off the taproom where you’d been speaking to Raphael. “She’s upstairs in her chambers. Tell her I sent you and she’ll see you through the shadows safely.” 

“We already have a lantern that protects us.” Shadowheart crossed her arms. 

“And I’m sure it’s very fine,” Jaheira said. “But lanterns have a tricky habit of going out when you need them.” When Shadowheart didn’t respond, Jaheira added, “Let’s not spurn what few gifts the gods choose to give us, hm?”

You had a feeling the “gods” she was referring to wasn’t the one Shadowheart had pledged her life to. 

“Well I, for one, can’t wait to see what this Isobel has to show us!” Astarion said, suddenly cheerful, and booking it up the stairs. 

Your party watched him go.

“What’s with him?” Karlach asked. 

“Very hot and cold, no?” Gale agreed. “I mean, more so than usual.”

“He’s being an idiot about something he said,” you sighed. “And it didn’t have anything to do with bears,” you pointed at Halsin before he could say anything. 

He simply smiled and shrugged, and followed everyone up the stairs.

“Sounds about right,” Shadowheart said. 

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes. “When has Astarion ever spoken about bears?” 

“He got drunk on one once,” you laughed. “But it wasn’t about that.”

“What was it about, then?” Wyll asked. “We’ve all said silly things we regret.”

“This wasn’t some silly thing, though” you clarified. “It was kind of important.”

Astarion ran out of a room beyond the balcony looking down into the taproom. “Would you all hurry up? I think I found her.”

You approached him as quickly as you could, trying to catch him off guard and reaching for his hand, but he dodged you and slipped back into the room. 

“Astarion!” you called and sped up even more to follow after him. 

You and the rest of the party entered into a large room - sectioned off to your right was a wall with two large doorways that lead into what appeared to be a study, complete with looming bookcases, a desk, and a fireplace. The rest of the room appeared to be a bedroom, based on the large bed with its headboard resting against the back wall, and a number of wardrobes. A large door that you assumed led outside stood next to the bed.

“Fancy digs,” Karlach murmured. 

You paused when Astarion thrust open the balcony door and revealed a woman with short white hair muttering incantations under her breath, surrounded by candles and white light.

“Now there’s a cleric of Selûne if I’ve ever seen one,” Gale said.

“And just how many of those have you come across?” Shadowheart sniffed.

“Quite a lot in my studies, actually. I’ve read about this one cleric of Selûne who-”

“Stop speaking,” Lae’zel hissed as you and your party made their way onto the balcony with Isobel. 

An orb of light appeared in Isobel’s hand and she spun her hands around it, making it grow bigger and brighter with moon magic. High above your heads, a full moon somehow shown down on you, despite Shar’s curse. The eight of you remained silent as she thrust the orb upwards where it met the barrier of the moonshield and reinforced the entire thing with a burst of light. 

Isobel looked up to admire her work before coughing weakly and turning around to face you all. “I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

“Really?” Astarion crossed his arms. “I mean, with me, I can understand, but they sound like a stampede of wild gnolls.” He gestured to the rest of you. 

Isobel gave him an amused half smile. “Please,” she extended a hand back into her room, “join me inside.” 

You purposely let the others go ahead of you and grabbed Astarion’s wrist before he could slip past you again. “I have things I need to say to you,” you said quietly.

“Perhaps later,” he responded, pulling his arm from your grasp and nearly tripping back into Isobel’s chambers. 

You rolled your eyes and followed him in, only to be addressed directly by Isobel herself.

“The True Soul who’s come to save us all.” She looked you up and down and smiled. “I’m Isobel. Pleased to meet you.” She finished with a small bow.

“And you,” you returned her bow and saw Karlach mimic it out of the corner of your eye. “We’ve been told you’re the protector of this inn - the banisher of shadows.” You wiggled your fingers as if telling small children about the boogeyman.

Isobel laughed lightly. “Myself and Our Lady are doing what we can to hold the line. I hear you and your tadpole will be our offense.” 

“Show us what to slay and it shall be done,” Lae’zel offered matter-of-factly.

Isobel scanned your group thoughtfully, the black paint around her eyes making her irises look piercingly blue. “All of you… free from the Absolute’s influence, yet able to walk among cultists. It’s almost too good to be true.”

“Uh, that it is,” Halsin said. “I, myself, remain tadpole free. Though I seek to help rid this land of the shadows that dwell here.”

“Then Our Lady thanks you most graciously,” Isobel nodded towards Halsin and he looked pleased by her approval. She turned back to you. “I’d be a poor cleric indeed not to avail of a blessing when I see one.” 

“Hear that?” Karlach nudged Wyll. “We’re a blessing.”

“We’ll certainly try to earn the praise,” Wyll chuckled. 

“Let me guess,” Isobel raised her eyebrows, assessing your group again, “Jaheira sent you all to beg a protection spell off her favorite cleric.” 

“You got it,” Gale confirmed. 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Karlach added.

“With pleasure,” Isobel laughed. 

She closed her eyes as a golden column of light overtook her entire being. Lifting an arm above her head, her entire body turned gold until the light concentrated into only the hand she had raised in the air. She brought it down and held it in front of you, palm facing outwards. 

Suddenly, you were all surrounded by the same column of golden light that enveloped Isobel, and a warm calmness overtook your senses. 

Suddenly you knew that the shadows would subside and that you all would be bathed in the peaceful light of the moon once again.

Suddenly, it felt like everything was going to be okay. 

“Tingly,” you remarked.

“Perfect,” Isobel smiled. “That spell will make you immune to the lesser effects of the shadow curse, which will get you closer to the towers.”

“Thank you,” you said, observing your limbs and noticing how they now vaguely glowed with moon magic. Your companions seemed to be doing the same.

“But,” Isobel continued, “there are places it won’t help - places where the curse is darker. Stronger.” 

“And we will destroy these stronger shadows,” Lae’zel lifted her head confidently. 

Isobel exhaled slowly. “The cultists are able to traverse even the deepest shadows, though. I don’t know how - the Harpers are trying to figure it out.”

Shadowheart, who seemed to be more interested in the glowing of her limbs than the rest of you, looked up at Isobel with a scowl. “Selûnite magic. Dark Lady forgive me.”

“Good nose,” Isobel said sarcastically. “Like a nasty little terrier.”

Lae’zel snorted. “She already proclaimed herself to be a follower of Selûne. Were you not listening?”

Shadowheart shot her a glare. 

“Well, this has been lovely,” Astarion said, making his way to the door leading back into the inn proper. “Anything else we should know before we head off to save the day?” He was already halfway out the door, not bothering to wait for an answer, clearly trying to make a stealthy exit. 

You eyed Halsin, who nodded and retrieved the rogue by his arm before he could leave, closing the door behind both of them for good measure.

“Let me go, you humongous imbecile!” Astarion pounded his free arm against Halsin’s chest before Halsin released him and refused to let him move a muscle towards the door. Astarion huffed and crossed his arms, turning his nose up at the rest of you.

“Is he okay?” Isobel asked. 

“This is relatively normal behavior from him, actually,” Karlach said. 

“But please,” you waved a hand in front of yourself, “is there anything else we should know?”

Isobel thought for a moment. “Ketheric is a frightening man. But you have something he doesn’t: allies worth having.” 

You felt a wave of pride wash over you and your companions. 

“Daw,” Karlach kicked at the floorboard under her feet. “That’s very sweet.”

Isobel gave her a small smile. “While you’re all busy at the towers, I’ll be sure to-” 

She froze. 

“Wait. Do you hear that?”

The eight of you strained to hear what she could be referring to. 

Astarion clicked his tongue loudly. “I don’t hear-”

Isobel interrupted him. “Something’s wrong.”

That’s when you finally heard it: The beating of wings followed by a man landing hard on Isobel’s balcony. He wore the uniform of a Flaming Fist, and the way his wings moved seemed new and unnatural. He stood and retracted the black, feathery abominations, before exhaling and walking into the room. 

“Hello, Isobel.”

“Marcus,” Isobel breathed, “is that you? What’s happened to you?”

Halsin leaned forward. “I take it, you know this man?”

“I’ve been blessed,” Marcus said before Isobel could answer. “You can be, too. Come with me and you can hear all about it from Ketheric himself.”

“Isobel,” you said, not taking your eyes off Marcus, “who is this man?”

“He’s a Flaming Fist!” she exclaimed. “Or was. He came with the others when we created this haven.” 

“There are more Fists here?” Wyll muttered. 

Marcus addressed Isobel, “And I thank you for your hospitality.” Then he turned towards you.

You felt the familiar squirm of your tadpole being probed. Much to your dismay, Marcus’s voice rang out inside your head. 

“True Soul, my instructions are clear: take the girl to Ketheric.”

You wrinkled your nose, hating the sensation of his unwanted presence in your brain. In an act of defiance, you needled further into his own mind. 

A haunting face swam into your mind’s eye, its instructions vivid: “nothing is more important than bringing the girl - alive.”

Isobel must have seen the sour expression on your face because she turned towards Marcus aggressively. “What’s going on? If you have something to say, say it.”

“Marcus is trying to kidnap you, Isobel” you narrowed your eyes at the Fist. You looked back at your party, all of whom were already getting into battle positions. You turned to Marcus and took one step forward, bending your knees and dropping into a fighting stance. “Looks like we’re going to have to fight our way out of this one.”

Isobel’s eyes went wide.

“Pathetic,” Marcus spat. “The Absolute sees all - your treachery will be punished!” 

“The Absolute,” Isobel repeated before scowling. “Of course.” She gave Marcus a pleading look when she said, “You can’t believe them, Marcus. Ketheric will never give you whatever it is you’ve been promised.”

Marcus chuckled darkly and spread his hideous wings. “He already has.” He looked at her dead in the eyes. “Time to go, Isobel.”

With that, he reared backwards and roared loudly, far louder than any human of his size should be able to manage. You all stood in horror as you heard screeches and roars from Winged Horrors that flew abruptly into the inn and Isobel’s room. Already, you could hear shouting and screams from down below.

Isobel lifted a hand into the air. “Moonmaiden, guide my hand!”

Before she could cast anything, Marcus let out another piercing roar, knocking you all off guard.

Gale, who’d been standing out of his range, ran forward, a spell already prepped in his hand. When his touch connected with Isobel, she vanished; invisible.

“Good thinking, Gale!” you shouted, pulling your lute off your back and strumming some inspiration in his direction. 

Karlach and Lazel were already knocking back the Winged Horrors with their weapons, while Wyll thrust his rapier towards Marcus. Halsin shifted into bear form and growled at the Fist before taking a slash at him. Shadowheart summoned a circle of Spirit Guardians and rushed into the fray.

“We need to check on the others!” you shouted above the din of the battle. “I think they’ve got it covered in here!”

Astarion twirled a dagger in his hand. “Excellent idea, my darling,” he smirked before thrusting open the doors out into the inn.

To your shock and horror, you both found Raphael standing there, nonchalantly checking his nails. 

“Ah!” he said with fake surprise when he finally acknowledged you both standing there. “Just the lovebirds I was looking for. Remember that favor I mentioned earlier?”

“Right now?!” you cried in disbelief, gesturing to the chaos around you. You witnessed Jaheira shift into a jaguar and swat a Winged Horror out of the air. 

Raphael chuckled. “Oh, I think right now is the perfect time.” He raised his hand.

You and Astarion exchanged frantic glances.

“Wait!” Astarion shouted.

Raphael snapped his fingers.

And everything went black.

[volostogekiss]

five moments when he realized how much he’s in love with you:

Warnings: Mention of suicide/death, very depressed Volo (with bad thoughts), suggested/mild violence.

GN!reader, strong reader ngl, hurt/comfort, the whole thing with Volo.. y’know. This got away from me (it’s long), and I really can’t say much about this besides I wanted to see what Volo was thinking when it came to the one he loves. :’)

1 | when you showed him the new plates you’d gathered

To put it mildly, you were fond of Volo.

To put it truthfully… you were terribly captivated by him.

It couldn’t be helped, you tried persuading yourself, since he was a rather lovely man. He’d been kind to you during all of your encounters, or perhaps it was that the majority of other villagers and Hisuian people had made it easy for you to commend any decently sympathetic behavior, really.

Either way, it was hard to repress your growing feelings for the beautiful, bright, silly little merchant.

You didn’t believe that he was just a trader, not with his ability to appear without warning like a swift spring downpour, drenching you before you had a chance to locate shelter. That was quite like him too, in how he could flood you with knowledge of all the history Hisui had to share, and yet, you still felt as if he knew something you didn’t.

Unfortunately, that only fascinated you even more.

He wasn’t like anyone else in Hisui who you knew.

True, you didn’t know many people here, but there was just something about him which complicated forgetting about him like all the rest.

Maybe it was because Volo treated you gently—like a friend, that dreamy mess of your mind suggested—and after months of being downtrodden and judged without reprieve, that was what you needed to feel alive again.

To feel cared for, to feel loved.

The beginning of your budding attraction had sprouted from his understanding advice, his surely unfounded concern for a stranger like you, and admittedly—although somewhat exaggerated in your opinion—his startling praise.

You liked to think the two of you were friends. To be fair, you knew a bit about him, that he enjoyed exploring ruins and historical sites and poring over ancient artifacts and manuscripts. When you decided on finding him for once, rather than the other way around, you told yourself as much.

You told yourself as much, so that you wouldn’t have to concede that there was another reason, concealed by your practical need for a translator, behind wanting to find him.

The past few weeks, you’d been searching for him between survey tasks to no avail, and you’d had a feeling that perhaps the man was just unwilling to be found.

If only you had known how true that had been, and that Volo enjoyed being the one to seek, rather than be sought.

On your way back to the village after a grueling expedition, it had crossed your mind that he might be craftier than you’d first suspected, and that the certain guile about him wasn’t just for wheedling a customer into buying his guild’s latest stock.

And of course, while you were pondering him, that was when he had found you.

Of course, it was when you weren’t out looking for him any longer, did he show up.

Though despite that, and despite how tired you were… you still felt yourself perking up when you saw him.

Volo was the same as always, carrying that massive pack and meandering about without a care in the world. And as he crested one of the slopes leading up to Aspiration Hill, he chirped your name, waved with a flourish like he typically did, and caused your heart to thud a bit more loudly in your chest.

You were glad to see him.

Yet you were oblivious to how painfully glad he was to see you.

He looked forward to finding you whenever he could, and he wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened. Maybe it was because you were the one who fell from the sky, maybe it was because you humored him, or maybe it was because you had a habit of keenly listening to his theories for hours. Cogita didn’t appreciate how he often prattled on—actually, he wasn’t sure anyone else did—but you…

You’d said you liked his voice, and Volo had paused, unable to say anything until you laughed.

From then on, Volo couldn’t fathom it, but every time he saw you, he had found it more and more difficult to lock away those feelings.

They welled up in his chest when he called your name again.

However, instead of returning his greeting, the first thing you did was to charge right over the hill and yell at him.

“HEY!”

At your unwarranted outburst, Volo was caught between utter shock and hiding his blatant amusement at how ruffled you were, a sight he didn’t often witness. As though confirming that you’d really been addressing him though, he merely aimed an index finger at himself.

“Yeah, you! Why are you so hard to find!?”

The merchant swore that you’d mumbled something else underneath your breath, but he was too absorbed in the fact that you’d been searching for him. Ah. A knowing grin was already curling onto his lips.

Despite how busy you were, you were looking for him. What did that say about what you thought of him?

Never one to miss an opportunity to tease you, Volo cocked his head to the side with a mischievous chuckle. “If I had known you were looking for me, my dearest friend, I would’ve surely shown up sooner!”

You did your best to remain unfazed by his pleasant words; with righteous indignation, you crossed your arms, attempting to keep up the act. Stupid, pretty merchant, too damn handsome for his own good.

…This was bad, and you needed to wake up.

“Might I know why you were so diligently looking for me?”

Volo now wiggled that pointer finger at you, and even as you fought against the urge, you wondered what it would be like to hold his hand in yours.

Warm, probably.

You pushed aside the thought, however, and averted your eyes to your satchel. You needed to compose yourself.

“Well, I remembered you’d wanted to see the plate I’d gotten from Lord Kleavor.” Fumbling in your bag for all the others you’d obtained since last running into Volo, you leveled your breathing and collected yourself. “You told me how excited you were about them, and that you were searching for a few yourself in the coastlands.”

You risked a sideways glance at him.

He hadn’t said anything, but his grin had widened, the dimple deepening beside the right of lips.

It was as if he’d been prompting you to go on, that he was interested, that he was raptly hanging onto each of your words.

So, even with your wobbling, smitten heart, you took a breath to ground yourself, then went on, “I figured since you really liked taking a look at them before, and I’m curious about them, why not show you the new ones I found so far…?”

While you withdrew a first pair of pink and brown plates from your bag, you trailed off, thankfully, for Volo was astounded, if only for a second.

You… remembered that about him. You’d come to him because you’d remembered he’d liked them.

When was the last time someone else had done that?

Almost instinctively, he was wading through a familiar melancholy at the realization, but it receded quickly when he saw how eager you appeared, how you really wanted to be around him.

“Oh, how generous of you!” laughed Volo, his tone lively as he tried to distract you from his temporary shock. “It seems you already know me, don’t you?”

He wasn’t prepared for your response, however.

You simply smiled at him.

But this smile was different than any of yours he’d seen before.

This one…

This one reached your eyes.

It brought a distinct joy to your face that was never present when you were around anyone else, almost private in how you’d guarded such an expression so vigilantly, and he suddenly, irrationally wished he could keep it for himself. He wished you would always turn to him with that smile, instead of wearing that unreadable, neutral look you’d been coerced into adopting everywhere you went in Hisui.

Oh. Against his prudent sense for what he would one day need to accomplish, Volo’s heart trembled at the thought, and that smile seemed to seal his fate.

It was then that he knew that things wouldn’t be as easy as he’d thought they’d be.

“Well, apparently not well enough to find you when I’ve been trying for weeks,” you confessed with a cheeky hum, “but that just means I’ll have to get to know you really well now, doesn’t it Volo?”

He blinked once, twice.

“You were looking for me for weeks?”

“Of course, I was!” That smile was still on your face. “You’re the only one who I could talk to about these things!”

When he’d taken in your words and seen your beaming face, all just for him, a blooming sensation of warmth and contentment flooded his heart—his poor, stony heart, having spent an eternity in isolation.

Volo wouldn’t let you know that, however, as he tipped the lid of his hat toward you and announced cheerily, “Then, the pleasure is all mine.”

You laughed, handed him the two plates, and winked at him.

“I think it’s all mine, actually.”

And Volo was sure, at that moment, even though he really should have tried to stop himself,

he loved you more than he should have. 

2 | when you appeared out of snow and ice

Volo knew that you were strong.

While that should’ve posed a problem for him and his future plans, the ridiculous empathy—yes, just empathy, he told himself—he had for you was overriding every clear thought he had about marching off across the snowy expanse and ignoring you.

It wasn’t as though you were fighting a colossus of ice, capable of ending your very life with just a snort of his glacial breath or a toss of his enormous head, rigid and unable to be tempered by anything other than brutal nature itself.

It wasn’t as though his heart jolted and splintered just a bit more every time he heard the thundering echo of the noble’s roar, felt its sinister tremor quaking beneath the earth.

He was as worried as anyone else was, he told himself again. That was why he was waiting like the others, albeit from a more distant and secure vantage.

Although, Volo supposed he wouldn’t be very safe if you were defeated and Lord Avalugg’s rampage turned deadly, so he thought it best you subdue it.

Yes, that was all.

He stamped his feet once, rubbed at his arms with his frozen fingers, and sighed again, a great puff of chalky mist rising into the frosty air.

…

But still, his heart betrayed his true feelings.

Regardless of how he tried to tint it, it was that ingratiating worry which gradually began to chill him more than the arctic weather, and he probably wouldn’t be able to hide how cold it had made him for long.

You were strong.

So why couldn’t he stop worrying?

No, Volo couldn’t cease his pitiful worrying. He couldn’t at all when with a somber cry, the icelands then fell silent, the snow once more lying in innocent clouds, and everything dulled to its lifeless shade of pale gray.

Despite his inability to see into the mire of white settling above him, his heart was brimming with hope before he could dampen it. He didn’t know how long it’d been since you’d gone to fight. Though with every minute he’d spent pacing tiny circles at the base of the mountain and imagining what could’ve gone horrendously wrong, he knew he couldn’t convince himself there was nothing personal about the way he was concerned for you.

No, he couldn’t. And he couldn’t hide his worry, melting away into unbridled relief, when finally, finally you emerged from the haze of snow and ice that had been leisurely walking its way down the slope, committed to concealing you from him for far too long.

Volo wasn’t sure when he had started running. He had heard the starchy snow crunching beneath his boots, but then he heard nothing else when you cried his name.

“Volo!”

“…!”

And then he was smiling. He was shouting your name. He was still running toward you.

The way you lit up and hobbled toward him as quickly as you could, despite how you were bruised and winded and exhausted, made the worry all worth it.

Volo knew everything was worth it, for you. 

3 | when no one else wanted you—

He saw you.

He saw you, crouching atop the grassy stones high above the fieldlands waterfall.

Every muscle in his body commanded him to rush forward, but he didn’t want to frighten you. It was a first, considering how often he liked to see you jump and whirl around to face him. You didn’t this time though, your hunched figure instead sluggishly rocking back and forth as your Decidueye huddled against you.

…because you were hurt.

Volo had seen you smattered with cuts, he had seen you worn from your battles, and he had seen you doubt yourself when you thought no one else was looking.

However, he had never seen you like this before.

You were devastated.

They had really hurt you more than they ever had before.

Volo almost wanted to curse aloud. Why would they do this to you? You had done nothing to them to warrant this—if he thought about it, he was the one to be indirectly guilty—and yet…!

…Was he really any better than them, though? He wasn’t supposed to love you, but here he was, his allegiances like dead branches clinging miserably to the tree, swaying whichever direction the wind decided it fancied, and waiting for the day they inevitably fell to uselessness.

Shaking his head, Volo dismissed the thought. No, he was better than those villagers, those people from the clans. He didn’t betray you like they had.

Yet, hissed that infernal voice in his head.

Volo didn’t want to think about it.

And he didn’t have to then, for Decidueye had straightened immediately, poised for an attack.

It was to be expected, wasn’t it? He hadn’t thought you the careless type to forgo cautiousness, especially after everything you’d just gone through, so it didn’t surprise him to see you abruptly still when your Pokémon growled.

Justifiably, your partner was wary of any more humans who might approach you.

Lifting his hands to show that he wanted no trouble, Volo held Decidueye’s gaze for a long, scrutinizing second.

It took another few before the Pokémon eventually dropped his wings to his sides.

Still, Decidueye seemed to be warning him as his sharp eyes flicked from Volo to the water racing under the ledge they were perched upon: I will not hesitate to remove you if you bring more harm to us.

Volo knew better than to antagonize your Pokémon. Silently, he nodded in acknowledgement, which appeared to satisfy Decidueye, and he then lowered his arms.

He looked at you again.

You still hadn’t moved, but you definitely knew he was there.

…He should say something, shouldn’t he?

His voice was hushed when he finally found something to say to you—not what he truly wished to say, but what he could manage from everything you knew of him.

Something that wouldn’t sound odd, coming from him. Something that would reassure you that he was still the same, even if everyone else you knew had changed. Even as Volo had thought it, he wasn’t sure he believed it, but he wasn’t about to question himself now.

You needed him to be the person you’d always known him as—the merchant, the historian, the friend you could rely on.

And so he would be.

“Strange events seem to follow you wherever you go, don’t they?”

You said nothing, but Volo didn’t press you. He knew you had heard him over the churning water.

Slowly, instead, he found his place beside you. He moved tentatively under Decidueye’s apprehensive supervision, reminding him of what would happen if he faltered.

Nonetheless, it was promising that you hadn’t pushed him away.

You permitted him to come closer, in fact, and as he shifted slightly so that his shoulder was practically touching yours, he swore you almost leaned into him.

He could feel how warm you were, even as a light breeze streaked past, but he remained where he was.

He would wait for as long as you needed.

While Volo had trekked up the cliffside, the ominous, crimson sun had been burning lowly, descending toward the charred horizon. Now, as he squinted at the warped and discolored sky, he could see it was nearly touching the mountains.

He didn’t mind that you hadn’t said anything, though it was worrying you had probably sequestered yourself here for quite a while. Volo knew when you had been banished—the miscreants hadn’t even allowed you to wake with the stretch of unnatural dawn—and given the supposed time of day now, it was certainly alarming.

“I think I should still be mad.”

Your voice was so muffled and tired and unlike anything Volo had ever known from you, that even as the noise of the surging waterfall rang in the air, he only heard you.

He was fixated only on you.

“Shouldn’t I be mad?” Your hands were curling over your arms; thankfully, Volo noticed no injuries on them. “I did everything—I fucking did everything for them, and then they threw me away when it was convenient for them.”

You sighed, flattened a leg against the ground, and slapped a hand down in frustration.

“If I stayed angry, it would help me forget about everything else, wouldn’t it? I could be so lost in how angry I was that I wouldn’t even know what I should be mad at anymore… But now I just feel empty. I don’t even know where I should go. Where I can go.”

Something stirred in Volo’s heart. He understood what that hollowness, that void felt like, but he didn’t want to imagine your suffering, screaming at nothing, tearing at yourself.

How pathetic that they couldn’t appreciate you.

They didn’t deserve you.

“If you’ll trust me,” Volo offered, and he was then aware of how you had finally raised your head, “I know of somewhere safe for you.”

You were staring at him now, though Volo had turned away from you.

He had asked you to trust him, but a shard of guilt was steadily wedging itself into the cracks of his heart.

Maybe he didn’t deserve you either.

“Volo…”

But when his name fell from your lips so reverently, he forgot that guilt. It was too easy to forget when it came to you, until it wasn’t. He needed to be here for you, and what that meant for his future, he would deal with then.

“I trust you.”

He turned back to you, saw your face for the first time since he’d arrived, and then he was pulling you close.

He wouldn’t ever forget that look upon your face.

“I will always appreciate you, even if they won’t.”

“…Thank you. It means a lot that you decided to look for me, even if that would put you in danger of their judgment, too.”

Their judgment means nothing when I will always love you.

He only tugged you closer.

You were fully leaning into him now, languishing for comfort in your vulnerable state, and Volo would give you exactly that.

It seemed you thought the same, for when Volo covered your hand with his, he finally felt you relax against him, enough so that you could speak again.

“You said that strange events seem to follow me wherever I go.”

“Yes.”

“But I think even stranger people seem to follow me, you know,” you said meaningfully, your fingers curling between his, “people who want me for who I am, unlike all the others.”

His heart fluttered. He squeezed your hand in his own answer.

Oh, you had no idea how much Volo wanted you, and no one else wanted you like he did. 

4 | the fated day on mount coronet

He wanted to apologize for being the reason you had such a look on your face. He was the one who had hurt you. He wanted to tell you that he had never meant it, but in some malevolent fold of his mind he had. He couldn’t stand it. He wanted to forget about everything. He wanted to start over, and if you had just let him—given him exactly what he wanted (but what had he truly wanted?)—then you could’ve begun again together, in a new world.

So he could have told you honestly that he loved you.

But he couldn’t.

Volo didn’t know what he could say, as you trapped him beneath you, your hands shackles around his wrists. Painted with fiery wrath as the setting sun outlined you in vivid gold, you were truly a sight to behold when you snarled his name and demanded why he had done this.

There had to be something else wrong in his mind for him to still think you were stunning amid your ire.

“Tell me.”

Your knees dug into his sides, the flexing of your hips on his distracting him for a disgraceful moment. He had let his guard down after Giratina had fled, and then here he was, pinned and at the mercy of your questioning. It was ironic he had intended to subject Arceus to the same, to wring answers from it as you were with him. He laughed. He laughed again when your grip tightened and your nails pinched his skin. Though as the creator always remained silent, he would say nothing you wanted to hear. Volo was sure his violent sneer said plenty, but when he forced himself to say something—anything, anything to pretend this had all been a farce—he knew he shouldn’t have said it.

“I hate you.”

He shouldn’t have said it. Not when your expression had then broken like a sheet of river ice, shattered by the unfortunate soul of his words that meant to drown your heart in the frigid water below. Yes, I should have. Volo wanted to convince himself that he was right to have said it. After all, you were the Chosen One, weren’t you?

You had stolen everything from him—his place before Arceus, his dreams, his world. And in it all, as foolish as he had known it was, for you were never once truly his, you had stolen even yourself from him.

It was unsurprising how much he had wanted you, and yet, he should have known how absurd those feelings were.

You should have stayed far from him; he should have made sure of it. But throughout the time you had spent with one another, months after months, you had somehow become a part of that everything he had worked for, yearned for, and so impossibly devoted himself to.

And then, you had almost become his everything too—his reason, his muse, threatening to change his mind about the plan he had set in motion long before your arrival in Hisui.

Why couldn’t you have just agreed with him?

He had shoved you off himself in your weakness, watched you fall back before springing to your feet and shouting words he told himself he couldn’t hear.

You could’ve made this easy, but you… Volo had snapped again. You just had to get in my way, with your infuriating heroism, your disgusting perseverance, your impeccable talent in battle, your delightful smile, your heart so full of love for—!

Perhaps that was why he had said he hated you. To blame you, even though Volo knew the fault was only in himself. Because he had allowed you to get in his way. Because he loved you too much to just let you go without hurting you, because he had known that you would never acquiesce to his ambitions, because he had been too stubborn to stop himself when the plates were so close, and you were so close.

But he had forced you away with his fury, tossed the final plate to you, and wished he would never see you again.

Volo had told you that too, when he abandoned you on the temple summit. Because I hate you. Because I’ve failed. Because I’m ashamed. Because I don’t deserve you. Because I—

…if he really hated you, why, then, as his feet took him farther and farther from you with every step, did his heart wish to wrench from his chest just to be with you?

No, it never could’ve been easy.

He knew why.

Because I love you.

And he always would, no matter how many times he lied to himself.

5 | when you’d found one another again, after everything

Volo should’ve known that despite his vicious words, spiked with poison and disdain and bitterness, you wouldn’t give up on him.

After all, your tenacity was one of the things he loved about you. He just hadn’t expected you to waste the entirety of it on him, so that you could cut away the thorns protecting his heart.

They were ugly spires of tarred anger and hatred, meant to seal the cracks in his heart, but never meant to heal the wounds inflicted upon him from all the awful things he could not easily let go.

All this time, he had hardly been living, fueled only by his warped sense of selfishness and selflessness between which he could no longer differentiate.

But every day, you snipped at another barb. Some days, you wrestled it off harshly. Other days, he tolerated your gentleness in prying it free. Even when you allowed those thorns to snag at you with no concern for your own safety, when you still stayed despite how he pushed you away, Volo didn’t want to admit that you were giving life back to him, one breath at a time.

If he did, he knew he would break.

And there would be no turning back for him.

“You just wish to see me break,” he’d spat at you, “so that it can be your retribution.”

Volo knew it wasn’t true. I was the one who wanted to see you break. You knew as well. He didn’t want to say that he was only lashing out, but you knew anyway.

On those days when you had to fight to twist the thorns from his heart, he would insist on wielding his insults, once more build his inadequate defenses in a futile effort to weather your assault of compassion, and scoff at how you wouldn’t just let him be.

“I forgive you, you know.”

That was always your response. If he offended you, you never said anything about it. You would only smile at him afterwards.

But the smile never reached your eyes.

And it was his fault.

He sometimes wished you would be angry with him instead, as you had been on Mount Coronet.

It had been months since his betrayal, or at least, that was how long Volo had thought it had been. Certain there were people hunting him for what he’d done, he had been wandering ever since, with no place to go but wherever his body next gave up on him. He knew he was disappointing his Pokémon. He had resorted to leaving them in their capsules, for he couldn’t bear to see their sorrow and claim responsibility for it. Every day had seemed too long for him. He had no purpose anymore, and he wouldn’t deny that he often considered if it would’ve been better for him to dwindle away without a trace.

He wouldn’t be missed, anyway.

…So why was he here?

Volo wasn’t sure if it had been weeks he’d spent in your secluded alcove, a series of rising caves carved over centuries by the highest tides of new moons. He didn’t ask when you had learned of this place, beyond the flats and by the West Sea, but you knew he was curious. It was obvious to you; most people knew he was curious about many things.

He was surprised you indulged him still: You told him that Wyrdeer had wanted to take you here when you’d called upon him after your exile.

You didn’t say why you hadn’t been able to reach the caves, though.

Volo knew why. Having seen you that day above the waterfall, he needed no more explanation. He didn’t deserve an explanation either, not when he had hurt you the same way.

No, he had hurt you more than they had.

So why hadn’t he left you yet?

He could’ve left whenever he had threatened to do so. When he had initially declared it with such vehemence, you had just agreed, shrugged, and moved on with your chores.

Somehow, your passive reply had only encouraged him to remain where he was. It was another challenge from you, wasn’t it?

…

Volo knew it wasn’t a challenge from you, but one from his own heart—to test himself, to tempt himself into deserting you again.

Even when he said he would, he never could leave.

He often watched you go, however. If he was awake when you departed, his eyes would follow you until he could see you no longer. It had been mortifying for him to realize that they would seek your figure the second you returned, too.

“You can leave if you’d like,” you had proposed plainly, assuming his fleeting glances were indicative of a wish for freedom. “I didn’t tell everybody about you. None of them are looking for you.”

He hadn’t been able to ask why.

Skeptical of your claim, Volo hadn’t understood why you had spared him from their judgment, until he saw the harrowing question on your face.

“Why would I want you banished like I had been?”

You ripped a handful of thorns out of his heart that day.

Despite that, sometimes he thought that eventually you would have enough of him, you would be the one to leave, and you wouldn’t come back. He never said it aloud, but he was grateful you were here. When you had disappeared for the first time, he had panicked, even with your note of courtesy—courtesy his behavior hadn’t merited—describing where you were traveling. He couldn’t help it. Volo feared losing you again. Even if he never told you, he looked forward to your return; he felt his heart leap against his ribs when he spotted your straw hat in the broad grassland below, when he heard your sandals scuff the cave floor with that familiar shuffle.

He had grown too used to your presence.

Or was it that he was giving in, reminded by how things had once been between you two?

He liked to think you cared, for why else would you still visit the caves, even after you had been toiling away without him? You didn’t need him, but he didn’t want to believe it was only haughty optimism inspiring such a vain question.

Then why had you bothered to take him in after discovering him, sprawled out in the mirelands, unconscious in a pool of mud, and on the precipice of crumbling to nothing? You hadn’t even informed the villagers or the clans about his foiled plot, grandiose in its failure, and about the danger that he could pose.

Because of you, he was free to wander. He never went far though, only down to the beach or to the grove ideal for his Pokémon’s sunlit naps, but he had one less worry because of you.  

Perhaps you felt you had a favor to repay, when he had done the same for you. You just didn’t want any debts to him.

Of course, then, it had to be when he was at his lowest that you found him for the first time, when he had always been the one to find you.

Of course, out of all people, you had to be the one who found him, too.

Arceus was a cruel god.

…Then why did its Chosen save him?

No. Volo knew it was wrong to think of you that way. Why did you save him?

It was shame that kept him from asking anything of you, rather than the abyssal rage that had for too long seeped into every fracture in his heart.

Volo didn’t know when he’d let that brand of his anger die out. Maybe it was the moment you had found him again. Maybe it was when you’d brushed the tangles from his hair, and he had let you, because it made him feel like this was how things should have been. Maybe it was with each barb you removed, a thread of his anger went, too.

In place of the fury that had devastated his heart, shame mourned every one of his mistakes instead, and he couldn’t bear to expel it, not when he really should regret how he’d treated you.

He was tired of it, too. He was tired of trying to convince himself that he hated you. He was tired of being alone, but he couldn’t find it in himself to admit that to you. His Pokémon enjoyed your company along with your companions’, and for that, he was glad, but even when they tried to urge him into accepting the happiness he could find with you, he couldn’t.

Why did he deserve your forgiveness?

Volo watched you sweep the dust from the cave, a laugh bubbling from you when your Hippowdon snorted in her sleep and sent the debris straight back inside.

His throat clenched.

He didn’t deserve it.

Whether you’d misconstrued his shame for the spite he’d harbored for you upon the Temple of Sinnoh or not, you revealed nothing to him. If not for the way you were more subdued, your words more measured than he’d remembered, he would’ve thought you were acting as if nothing was wrong.

Volo wasn’t sure he preferred it that way.

He knew, however, that things were indeed wrong, and it was up to him to mend, rather than destroy.

Though even as he knew so, another three days had passed before he gathered the courage necessary to broach the subject.

Like most other nights, as Togekiss slept in her nest beside him, Volo observed you dabbling in arranging flowers or inking notes into your journal before heading off to rest in a lower cavern. Tonight, under the moonlight, you were preening an assortment of pink wildflowers, white Oran blossoms, and yellow King’s Leaves in a stout clay pot when he finally spoke up.

“Why are you doing this?”

From the opposite side of the small cave, he thought he saw you flinch. Strange, that it was no insult he had hurled at you so far that elicited such a reaction from you.

“You must have other tasks to see to than to waste your time on me.”

You were plucking at the golden leaves now, adjusting them this way and that, but still, you were silent.

“So why… why are you still doing this?”

Volo wasn’t sure why he was talking so much.

Maybe it was that he really was healing, and his curiosity had returned, or that he didn’t want you to think he still hated you.

Your hands stopped moving. The stalks of the flowers sagged.

He saw you take a breath, then turn to him.

And for the first time since you had brought him here, your eyes met, and he couldn’t look away.

“I may have been a core member of the Galaxy Team, but I have my own life to live. And even if I lived how the villagers wanted me to, it would never be enough for them, would it?”

The implication of your question, one that neither of you had any predilection for answering, caused Volo to tense.

He didn’t miss the way that you stiffened as well.

“And,” you continued, your eyes never once leaving his, “if I decide that I want you in my life, I think that’s up to me, and up to you, but no one else.”

Why would you?

Volo couldn’t move.

He could only watch as you stood, the pearly moonlight dappling your figure with an array of stars, gleaming with every step you took toward him.

Before he could protest at how close you were, you had seated yourself before him, and Volo was humiliated by the pain in your eyes.

That was his fault.

He was shaking. He had thought he could do this. He still could, couldn’t he? He had to.

And then, before he had a chance to run, the words escaped him.

“How can you forgive me?”

A thousand ways Volo had envisioned asking you what had weighed on his conscience ever since you’d found him, and a thousand ways he’d imagined your response. He would ask you, shouting or crying or pleading, but even in his better dreams, you would only nod. You would nod, tell him you understood, and then you would leave before you could say you’d always truly meant that you’d forgiven him. He didn’t like to think of the nightmares, when you boasted that he’d fallen for your lie, and then you would echo his own words back to him: “I wish to see you suffer and agonize as I do.”

But here you were, smiling at him.

“I remember you once said something to me.”

How many sleepless nights did you have?

He didn’t know what he had told you that had kept you so at peace in front of him, but he couldn’t believe the words of a traitor had provided you the wisdom to forgive him.

Folding your hands across your lap, you stared off toward where the moonlight filtered in. He may have thought you were calm, but inside, you were struggling to continue.

I had many. Too many, without you.

“It was only a few months after I had met you,” you started quietly, “and I had helped return the Wall Fragment to Warden Calaba.”

Still, he wasn’t sure where you were going with this.

“You spoke of her faults that people often mentioned, that she was too stubborn, too old-fashioned.”

The cave was silent, save for the distant melodies of the retreating waves. Volo waited for them to return, heard their soaring notes as they rolled in, and his anticipation for what you would say next swelled along with them.

“But you didn’t think she really hated the Diamond Clan or the Galaxy Team—rather, you thought she simply loved the Pearl Clan very, very much.”

You turned back to him, and Volo saw only grief in your eyes.

He looked away.

“I think that you’re the same, in a way. You simply love what’s important to you very, very much.”

His breath caught in his throat.

“You love history, the ruins, myths, and the questions no one else could answer but you. You love your Pokémon. I know you love many things in Hisui. And when you love something, I think it’s natural you want to protect it.”

Volo felt your fingers on his. He was still looking away.

Nothing you were saying was like that of his dreams or his nightmares. He had a feeling you had been preparing for this very moment longer than he had.

“When I thought of that, I couldn’t hate you.”

His heart was quivering, just as his hand was in yours. Your palm was warm. He realized how cold he was then. You were warm. Your words were everything he needed to hear.

You were everything he needed.

“I couldn’t stay angry with you.”

Volo couldn’t hold on anymore. Was he hanging on, about to tumble into the chasm of his own folly, or was he waiting to finally be pulled to safety by his hope, by your salvation?

The lull of your comfort was too inviting to disregard. You were breathing into him that last breath he needed—

“I could forgive you, Volo, because I knew how much you could love, and how much you still love.”

—and then he let you pull him in.

He cried as you took him in your arms, embraced him like he meant the world to you, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

The guilt, the sorrow, the days he thought of ending it all—

he didn’t know if he could forget them, but with you, he wanted to try.

“I’m sorry.”

His apology was unending, perhaps worthless with how he repeated it as if you hadn’t heard him.

But you had. He knew you had, but he couldn’t stop the doubt.

“I know,” you said faintly.

“I didn’t hate you. I didn’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. I forgive you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Volo wasn’t sure he could stop.

Were hours passing as you held him, let his tears wet your clothes, and listened without judgment?

You were too good for him.

He didn’t know when he’d finally fallen silent, but he felt you tilt his head back, and then your lips were smoothing the wrinkle between his brows.

They touched his cheeks, his nose. His lashes fluttered over his eyes. His heart was reaching for yours, and he couldn’t fight it. He didn’t want to fight it anymore.

I love you.

You kissed his forehead, brought your warm fingers to his cheeks. Your hands smelled of flowers.

He shuddered.

“I love you, Volo,” you whispered against his lips.

And then, he knew nothing else but you.

He said your name like a word of immaculate praise, and you replied with his, a faithful murmur on the sea breeze.

I love you.

He felt your breath hitch—were you as nervous as he was?

Volo knew he was. He couldn’t go back anymore. You were his fate from the day he’d met you, and as if he had been searching his whole life for this moment, he kissed you.

A torrent of emotions crashed over him when his lips met yours completely; affection and pleasure and bliss coursed through him in wonderful harmony. It had been so long since Volo had last succumbed to such feelings that he was nearly overwhelmed. And they were because of you. You, you, you. Your lips were soft, perfect. How many times had he dreamed of kissing them? He didn’t know. His mind was fuzzy with desire, and he didn’t think he could let you go. Not when an aching heat fanned at his heart, and a pleasing tension knotted inside him, craving your touch.

I love you.

He didn’t know when his hands had found your waist, but when you gasped as he drew you closer, he was almost viscerally aware of how gravely he wanted you, needed you.

You were the same, however. Grasping fingers tugged at his hair, at his clothes. As if you couldn’t contain yourself any longer, you were pushing against him, your hips sinking into his, and when his tongue traced your lips, you moaned so splendidly.

It sent a wash of giddy ecstasy careening over him, and Volo knew he had already been hopelessly swept away by you.

Roaming across his jaw, his arms, his chest, your touch was a welcome caress, defying his qualms for as long as he held you. Subconsciously, Volo mirrored you, desperate to feel all of you against him. He tucked a leg around your waist, angled himself away for an inconvenient moment of respite, but then he dove in again, nipping at your lips between kisses, sweeping a hand over your chest—

and then he felt it.

He stopped. He drew back from you to stare at your flushed face, your brilliant eyes, as if to tell himself that yes, it was you.

Beneath his fingertips, your frantic pulse thrummed just like the intense pounding of his own heart.

Your heart. You were alive. You were here with him now.

You had shown it all to him, allowed your heart to sit in his hands, and he was blessed to feel its beat rippling with a sweet warmth through him.

And as your heart sang only for him, his heart would only ever sing for you, the one who would never let him go.

You were smiling at him, and this time, that smile reached your eyes.

He would never let you go again.

Volo would never let you go again, so that he could show you how much he still loved, without a doubt in his heart at all.

He leaned in. His lips found yours as he smiled, and finally, he could honestly tell you,

“I love you.”

[end.]

❥

[extra]

Sometime much later…

“You know, Volo, I don’t know if it was lucky or not that I found you when I did.”

“And why is that?”

“Because while it was good to at least find you, if I found you any earlier, I might have punched you.”

“…What?”

“I was really mad at you, you know.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not angry with you now, and if I was, I’d still be more inclined to do this.”

You laughed, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Grinning, Volo deepened the kiss. He was sure he could live with this instead.

[vixstarria]

Seeing stars

Welp, I wrote more porn.

Astarion x F!Tav/F!Reader

18+, smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings, jealous Astarion, soft dom Astarion, dirty talk, fingering, PIV, elf ears and more! Humour, banter and fluff mixed in per usual. Tav failing several insight checks in the process.

I also poke fun at the in-game romance mechanics, and Wyll's Act 2 scene in particular.

This is the last time they have sex before the "I want us to be something real" conversation.

Approx. 2,900 words

AO3

“You won’t believe the ludicrous encounter I just had with Wyll.” 

You burst into Astarion’s tent. Well, it was ‘Astarion’s’ tent only notionally at this point. Yours still stood, but it now served solely as storage space for your assorted junk. You had effectively moved in with Astarion, having first coerced him into replacing the wooden plank and bloodstained rags he slept on with some sensible rugs and blankets. 

Astarion lounged half-naked on one of the bedrolls, reading something by candlelight. 

“Oh?” he looked up at you. “Do tell.” 

“First the massage you promised earlier,” you said sinking down onto the floor of the tent and stripping off most of your clothes. “My back is killing me after carrying everyone all day.” 

“Oh please...” he rolled his eyes. “I recall you nearly walked into your own cloud of daggers, again, and would have if I hadn’t pulled you away in time. And then you blasted Lae’zel off a cliff. It’s a wonder we haven’t kicked you out yet.” He shook his head. “And if you’re carrying anyone, I’m the one carrying you.” 

Still, he sat up as you laid down on your stomach.  

“Who do you think you’re fooling with this modesty, darling?” he murmured, noticing that you’d kept your underwear on. “Just lose it now,” he added, as he slid it off, leaving you completely naked, before he settled over you, his fingers commencing work on your shoulders. “So what happened with Wyll?” 

“I was making my way back here, and found him... performing some kind of jig by the campfire, pretending like he didn’t know I was there.” 

“The ‘Blade of Frontiers’, dancing alone in the middle of camp?” Astarion snickered. “Did you mock him? Please tell me you mocked him.”  

“Well... I was going to, but then he asked me to dance with him, very earnestly.” 

“That scoundrel...” he mused. “And let me guess - you agreed, didn’t you?” 

“Oh trust me, at that point it would have been more awkward not to dance with him, I had to play along.” 

Astarion scoffed, with a chuckle. 

“Do you always go along with whatever people want from you just because it would be too awkward to say no?” 

"I try not to – last time I did, I ended up with a vampire who won’t stop sucking me dry,” you deflected. “I figured there was no harm in indulging him. Besides, I don’t see you dancing with me. It was kind of nice,” you teased. 

“I hate dancing,” he said. 

“Right,” you said. “I’m sure you hate dancing just as much as you hate poetry, flowers, art, cats... What else?” 

“Children,” he answered. “I also can’t stand children.” 

“No, that one I could see being true,” you grinned. 

“So anyway, you two dolts pranced around the fire to the sound of crickets, then what?” 

“And then he tried to kiss me,” you admitted, with a sigh. 

Astarion’s hands paused for a moment before resuming their work, slightly harder than before. 

“Well look at you, receiving the Duke Ravengard’s heir’s attention. Moving up in the world, hmm?” 

“I didn’t let him.” 

He laughed. 

“Is there even a single person left in camp that hasn’t tried to get into your pants, darling?” 

You had to think for a moment.  

“Are we counting Volo?” 

“Sure.” 

“Then just Karlach and Withers.” 

“Gods, I fucking love Karlach,” he murmured. “Don’t tell her I said that.” 

“Why? Getting jealous all of a sudden?” 

Astarion was silent for a few moments. 

“I just don’t understand it,” he said. “You’re with me every night. I’m at your side every day. They see us. They hear us. Still, they don’t take me – or you and me – seriously. Tell me, is there something about me that screams: ‘Please, go ahead and take my lover for yourself. Come on in and snatch her right out from under me, I don’t mind’?”  

Perhaps you’d made a bad judgment call when you thought Astarion would find the absurdity of the situation humorous rather than offensive. Still, you had to bite your cheek to keep from laughing at the dramatics he added to the delivery of the last few lines that left his mouth. 

“Stop laughing,” he said.  

“I’m not laughing,” you laughed.  

“I can feel your back muscles twitching in your efforts.” 

“Well, they’re aware this all started as a joke. Perhaps they never realised that it’s long stopped being one?” you offered. 

Astarion’s hands had been moving lower and lower along your back. They had now reached your ass and continued to rub, stroke and squeeze, as you let out a soft groan. 

“That’s not my back, Astarion.” 

One of his hands kept squeezing an ass cheek, while the other dipped to stroke you between your legs. He gave a satisfied hum when two of his fingers entered you effortlessly. 

“Maybe if they could see how wet I can make you just by rubbing your back they’d reconsider how much of a joke this is,” he said, his voice low. He continued to pump his fingers in and out – you were almost embarrassed by the loud squelching sounds that came out of you. You moaned and tried to lift your hips higher, but your legs were encased between his thighs, pinned down on the bedroll. “Do you think you’d be reacting this way to young Ravengard, darling?” 

“Stop it,” you hissed. “You know I don’t want anyone but you.” 

“Stop?” he pulled his fingers out, to your dissatisfied whine. You looked back to see him studying your slick on his fingers. “I should go smear this on his face right now... The audacity to try to get his hands on what is not his.” He licked his fingers clean instead. He turned his attention back to you.  

“Maybe if you were more vocal about your devotion to me the others wouldn’t make these mistakes.” 

His hand returned between your legs, spreading your wetness and slipping lower to tease your clit.  

“I could be... encouraged... to be more vocal about it,” you breathed, trying to grind against his hand.  

“Yes... I should make you scream my name, so they all know who you belong to.” 

His fingers returned inside you, teasing you with shallow strokes.  

“You can try,” you taunted him. 

Astarion let out an indignant huff and shifted to spread your legs open with his knees, simultaneously placing a hand on your back to firmly hold you down. You expect to feel his cock enter you, but he continued to stroke you with his fingers, turning his hand to curl them downwards.  

“Is that a challenge, darling?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You should know better by now than to bet against me,” he said, continuing to flex his fingers inside you. 

It started off pleasant enough, but rapidly grew into... more. And more. You weren’t sure what he was doing but whatever it was, it was just about making you see stars. 

You sputtered as the new sensation started to take hold of your whole being.  

“Ast… what..”  

You couldn't manage anything coherent, as his fingers continued to dig into you, gradually picking up speed and pressure. You started to squirm to try to get away despite yourself, but he simply put more weight against the hand on your back, securely pinning you to the bedroll. 

“Always getting yourself into situations you're not prepared for…" he murmured. "You're not talking your way out of this one.”

His fingers were relentless. You were worried you really would scream and wake everyone in camp. All you could do was bite down on the pillow, hoping that it would muffle your drawn-out moans. 

“Let go, darling... I know you want to.” 

It's not so much that you let go – rather, all your decorum was ripped from you, as your muscles convulsed, the orgasm rolling through your entire body. You panted and shuddered, trying to keep quiet, your hands clutching desperately at the covers beneath you, trying to hold on to anything like your life depended on it. 

Once the feeling subsided, you came back to your senses to find Astarion hovering over you, kissing the back of your neck and shoulders, grazing them with his fangs, almost but not quite hard enough to draw blood. You felt his erection rubbing against your hip. 

“Has anyone fucked you like this before?” he whispered hoarsely into your ear, his breath ragged from his own arousal. “Tell me.” 

“No,” you gasped, trying to catch your own breath.  

“I thought so,” he whispered with a smile, kissing your neck before he sat back up. 

You turned back to look at him over your shoulder. He watched you with a self-satisfied grin, his fingers returning to stroke you lightly between your legs once more. 

“Do you want me to do it again?” he purred. 

A part of you wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face after what he just put you through. Another, much larger part, wanted nothing more than to submit yourself to whatever he would do to you.  

“Yes,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“Turn around...” he narrowed his eyes mischievously. “I want to see your face this time.” 

You flipped around onto your back, under his watchful gaze. His eyes never left yours as he stroked your slit, teasing your engorged clit with his thumb, before his fingers slipped back inside you. 

You found yourself mewling in anticipation before he really even started doing anything.  

“So eager,” he smirked. “So wanton...” 

He curled his fingers again, moving his whole hand to mercilessly claw into a sweet spot you didn’t even know existed inside you.  

You tried to relax into and accept this sensation, now that you were familiar with it. A growing pressure kept building at the bottom of your stomach. It was too much. It was entirely too much. You couldn’t take more of it. You couldn’t- 

“Let go, I’ve got you...” His whisper sounded so tender in sharp contrast to the depraved way he was handling your body. 

You sobbed as what you hoped was cum gushed out of you, your legs quivering.  

“Good girl”, Astarion laughed with glee, bending down to place a kiss on your lips, continuing to stroke you lightly, “Your body reacts so perfectly to me... Do you want more?” 

“You... I want you...” you groaned, biting his lip. 

“If that’s what my good girl wants,” he purred, discarding what was left of his clothes.  

You groaned as his cock entered you, rocking your hips against his, trying to find that feeling again. 

“So wet and needy for me...” he goaded you. “I’ve completely ruined you for anyone else, haven’t I?” 

He held absolutely nothing back as he fucked you, lewd insistent sounds of skin slapping on skin combined with your shared grunts and moans disturbing what was likely otherwise a silent night. 

“Anyone awake knows exactly what I’m doing to you right now,” he rasped, voice thick.  

Your walls clenched at the thought, making him shudder and sigh as well. 

“You like that thought, don’t you..? I know you do,” he continued. “So shameless...” 

Despite yourself, you whimpered, clenching again as another orgasm started threatening to overtake you. 

“That’s it... Come for me again,” he groaned. “Come for me, my love.” 

‘My love’..? Just a figure of speech, you thought. You’d thrown that phrase around, jokingly, but it’s never sounded so... raw. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to keep hearing it.  

“Your what?” you gasped.  

He didn’t answer. Instead he caught your lips in a deep, devouring kiss, pinning your arms over your head.  

Your body gave in and you trembled under him, caught up in waves of pleasure again.  

He released your arms and eased his movements once you rode out your high, but kept kissing you, hungrily, unwilling to release your lips from his.  

Clearly, no further words of love would follow, you thought to yourself with a tinge of both relief and disappointment, deciding to let it go. 

“You’re so good to me,” you managed, breaking your lips from his. 

“Aren’t I just?” he groaned, speeding up again to chase his own release.  

You kissed your way up his jaw to his ear, pausing to nibble on his earlobe.  

You couldn’t see it, but a ditsy, open-mouthed smile started to play on his face. 

Astarion gasped with a sharp intake of breath as you continued further, running your tongue over the inside of the shell of his ear. 

“Oh sweet hells,” he sighed with pleasure, immediately grinding into your harder. 

You smiled as he tilted his head, just about pressing his ear against your lips. 

“Do you like that?” you whispered in his ear, running your tongue over it again, lifting your hands to run your fingers through his hair. You knew he did. You just wanted to hear him say it.  

“Yes... Don’t stop...” His words sounded like a desperate plea. 

You continued to gently nibble on the edge of his ear, soft moans escaping you from his movements. 

“That’s it, take what’s yours” you groaned, as his hips crashed into yours harder. 

His breathing and movements were becoming more and more frantic.  

“Astarion...” you whispered, grazing the shell of his ear with your lips. 

He let out an uncharacteristic whimper, all his usual composure slipping from him, as he bucked his hips, fucking you with quick, shallow thrusts.  

“My sweet...” you breathed against his ear. 

He came completely undone, spilling into you with forceful, jagged thrusts, before finally stilling. His whole body seemed to melt into yours as he stayed on top of you, trying to regain his breath. 

You wrapped your legs around his hips, not wanting to let go of him yet, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to lift himself from you either. Instead he trailed light, tender kisses from your neck up to your lips.  

You delicately traced the contours of Astarion’s face with your fingertips, running them from his cheekbone down to his jaw, as he leaned into your caress, gazing into your eyes.  

Astarion parted his lips slightly, as though to say something, only to seal them again. He tilted his head to kiss your knuckles as your fingers gradually made their way back up, to run through his hair. Eventually he spoke. 

“You would really choose me over the more... blatantly obvious options you have at your disposal here?” he asked quietly.  

“Haven’t I made that abundantly clear already..?” 

“Well of course you have – no one else is this good,” he said with a tired smirk. 

“I’m not talking about the...” you blinked. “You know I’m not with you just for the sex, right..?” you frowned, looking into his eyes. 

He looked away, slipping out of you and moving to lie down next to you.  

“Is that so?” he said softly.  

You found yourself suddenly feeling rattled. Was he simply fishing for compliments again, or had you been utterly oblivious to just how deep his insecurities ran this whole time..? 

“You have a wealth of other qualities that I... enjoy and appreciate,” you said, somewhat lamely.  

Astarion propped his head up on his hand and raised an eyebrow at you quizzically. There was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes despite his outward nonchalance.  

Oh for fuck’s sake, you thought. I’m not ready for any serious conversations now, especially not with cum running down my thighs.  

You turned away to grab something to wipe yourself down with. 

“A gentleman would clean up his own mess, by the way. Not one of your strong points. But you do have some virtues that make up for it. For instance... I can leave cheese unattended around you, knowing you won’t eat it.” 

Astarion went to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing.  

“You’re a treasure trove of useless information,” you continued. “But unlike some of our companions you usually keep it to yourself.” A hint of a smile played on his lips at that.  

“Your hand feels nice and cold on my forehead when I have a headache.” You laid back down next to him, mirroring the way he was lying. 

“You always smell nice, especially for a dead guy. You never hog the mirror.”   

“What about my hair, won’t you mention that?” he smiled. 

“No, fuck your hair, it makes mine look awful in comparison.”  

He chuckled at that. 

“I do rather adore the garnet puppy eyes though,” you murmured. “What else... You make me laugh, and, more importantly, I make you laugh – which is great for my ego,” you continued.  

“As long as you understand that I’m usually laughing at you,” he countered. 

“Prick... Then there’s the fact you’ve saved my life four times.”  

“Seven,” he said quietly, looking into your eyes.  

“Five.”  

“It’s seven, dear, I counted.” 

“Whatever. When it comes to battle, you’re silent but deadly,” you said. “Like a-” 

Astarion’s hand covered your mouth.  

“Do not finish that thought, darling.” 

You grinned from behind his palm.  

“I think we can be done with this conversation,” he said.  

“Wait, wait, one more...” you laughed. “You’re eccentric, unpredictable, often irrational. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”  

You smiled as Astarion groaned dramatically, covering his face with one hand.  

“Knowing I’ll get to spend another day in your mad company gives me a reason to get up in the morning,” you added, softly. 

“Come here, you sweet fool,” he whispered, drawing you against him.  

You hugged him tightly. It took so long for him to start initiating these embraces that wouldn’t lead to sex... You relished each one.  

Tomorrow, Astarion thought to himself, unbeknown to you. I have to tell her tomorrow.  

~~~~~

Follow up bonus scene

This work is part of a series - here is the master list

Next in series - Confession

AO3

Tags: @littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@spacebarbarianweird @kittenintheden - hey, I heard you like elf ears

[prismalmelonman]

Touching on Gale, Wyll, and Halsin's traumas being a bit undermined in parts of the fandom

So one thing I notice on Twitter is how some people act about the bg3 characters whose abuses were perpetuated by women.

Gale specifically for this reason (but I will touch on others)bbecause I see him dismissed super often as "can't get over his ex".

But Gale's case obviously be has the line of Mystra being like "she was my muse, my teacher, and then my lover" and sure to some that's a red flag in itself (when it comes to adults I don't really give a fuck about teacher/student) but if you view it from not only Gale's own words "ive been connected with the weave for as long as i can remember"

And that doesn't distract from his genuine love of magic of course. And it also doesn't mean that he's actually been in connection with mystra for an amount of time.

However, if you ascend Gale, and he becomes a god, you get a bunch of new little things. Tara reminiscing of course, but you get a letter from Elminster, detailing that Mystra had Elminster scope out Gale when he was eight!

And sure is that pretty cool that he's a prodigy that got the attention of the goddess of magic at that age? Yes. Mystra is, however, known in forgotten Realms lore to seek young young boys who are in tune with magic to make into her chosen. And from context clues, her chosen can be anything from Elminster and Volo, dedicated wizards who try to keep things in check, etc etc. or they're somewhat of playthings to her.

Minsc also has a conversation where me mentions that weave-touched boys in his homeland were hidden away to hone their craft, then suspecting that it was because of Mystra, given Gale's case.

Gale always seems so proud that he got to bed a goddess, and on the surface, hell yeah, that's cool.

Gale continued to have her attention even as he went to Blackstaff Academy, and Mystra eventually did take him on as an apprentice directly to her, later making him her chosen, and sleeping with him.

The reason it bothers me that people dismiss all of Gale's stuff to just "he can't get over his ex" is because that's is like almost textbook grooming? She was in his life from a young age, shaping and moulding him up as he grew up to be her perfect chosen, rewarding him by sleeping with him, and so on. And then of course casting him away when he has his folly with the netherese orb (and to be fair, it very well could have looked like to her that he was trying to seize the power himself and yes the orb does siphon off weave. That is a problem for the mistress of the weave yes).

But she also tells gale to KILL HIMSELF for her forgiveness.

Gale is much more than "unable to be over his ex" this woman was in his life since he was a kid. She's almost all he has ever known. If course it's going to be difficult for him to 1. Say no to her. 2. Get over the fact that he's lost someone that he spent his literal entire life dedicated to. Honestly if asked, I don't even think Gale would acknowledge or really see that what he went through was, in fact, abuse until it was spelled out in front of him. (Which does happen somewhat with the player character pleading to him that killing himself for mystra's forgiveness is actually horrific and that he should in fact be angry for how he was treated)

Similarly, and this one has been discussed a lot, Wyll and Mizora. Wyll was 17 and actively trying to help his people. 17, in a vulnerable state, willing to do anything to help and prove himself. Mizora very clearly took advantage of him, and regards him as a "pet", refers to him being "leashed", and so on. Personally, I do dislike the sexualization of their relationship, because it very much is also grooming (although a different type. Rather than manipulating and shaping his life from the ground up, she takes advantage of a vulnerable and desperate state to manipulate and contract Wyll into doing her bidding. I won't go too deep I to this one because it has been discussed to hell and back. But I did wanna touch on Wyll's situation as well.

Also, Halsin as well, though that has also been discussed in many retrospectives by a very good friend of mine. Halsin's trauma often get dismissed due to his polyamory, open sexual nature, and his own somewhat diminishing/dismissal of it, which honestly I love the representation of, cause for a while I did that with my own trauma. Halsin was a sex slave to a house of Lolth-Sworn drow, a matriarchal society, where the men are generally used as fodder or for breeding, though male Lolth-Sworn drow can be wizards and rise in the ranks if wizardry, but are limited everywhere else. (Minthara mentions that the third male, and every subsequent male child after third are killed for being"useless"). Halsin often referred to them as "hosts" rather than being captors, (though he does touch on that if the Player Character threatens to sell him back into slavery). Again, everything I'd have to say here for Halsin has entirely been discussed top to bottom by a friend, their link is below!!

Anyway, long story short, I dislike it a lot when Gale, Wyll, and Halsin's traumas and abuses get diminished, even if/when the character themself doesn't see or acknowledge the abuse in the same lens that we, the players, do.

[jadeazora]

Which Pokemon Villains are homophobic:

Giovanni: Would founding 🌈Rainbow Rocket🌈 count as rainbow capitalism? (It sounds like the name of a company that manufactures dildos, tbh.) I don't think he's supportive, but it doesn't bother him either. All he cares about is if you do your job well. He has men and women in his organization both thirsting for him. Have you met Archer? (His only true loves are money and power; Silver feels more like a precautionary heir.)

Archie/Maxie: are divorced. Also this was an image the official Japanese Pokemon Twitter fucking dropped with the caption "they're getting along well!" Definitely not homophobic:

Cyrus: dgaf. His whole thing is purging the world of emotion, so love's got to go too. (Pretty much everybody is under fire here.) He probably doesn't give a shit what you do in the meantime tho.

Ghetsis: 100%, no fucking doubt in my mind, regularly calls people slurs. His list of slurs is also *VERY* comprehensive.

N: Who do you think Ghetsis's favorite target is? I feel like he's completely chill with it, tho is personally entirely incapable of discerning the difference between romantic love and the love between friends.

Colress: If it isn't his "how to draw out a Pokémon's true strength" research, he doesn't care. You do you. 👍

Lysandre: His whole thing is beauty, and beauty isn't limited to gender or sexuality, and love is a beautiful thing, so why limit himself? Bro's pan.

Guzma: He takes outcast kids off the streets and gives them a home. No way he's homophobic! You got disowned? You're a fellow outcast in his eyes, and your home is with Skull now! (He's dating Plumeria, but is bi to me.)

Lusamine: initially, probably not since she's super controlling and not really a supportive mother to begin with, but since she does end her story wanting to do better for her kids, I feel like she would come around eventually and try to be better.

Piers: Nah, he's with Raihan and his little sis "fancies" Gloria. Next.

Rose: I feel like he would probably engage in some rainbow capitalism here and there, but he's generally friendlier than the other CEO-type villains personality-wise and there's several members of the Galar League who feel bi/gay (Nessa, Piers, Raihan), he wouldn't really be homophobic.

Volo: I don't think he cares that much, but if he can use homophobia to manipulate somebody, he totally would call them a slur. It really just depends what tool he has in his arsenal he feels would be the most effective way of manipulating you.

Penny: she literally calls your mom so pretty her brain glitched. I feel like she could get mad enough to doxx you if you tried to bully gay/trans kids in her presence.

Sada/Turo + the AI: As scientists, they're too wrapped up in their work to care (hell, they barely paid their own son any mind) and the AI knows being gay is something found naturally across species, so homophobia doesn't make much sense to them. Sada also strikes me as bi, and Turo strikes me as ace (with him, I think it's the outfit).

[lucky-clover-gazette]

my favorite moments from theamandafiles’s confrontation with volo. this is an adult woman talking to a screen for 7+ minutes and im obsessed with it. the dynamic she’s made up in her head for this game is so far from what’s actually happening, but also absolutely fantastic. the sneasler rant has nothing on this.

transcript under the cut:

He is so passionate about his thing, about his special interest. He really is. I am constantly losing my grip on reality. I have no room to judge Volo for a little bit of unhinged laughter and some mildly insane musings.

Hmm? Sorry, I just. I think I just realized what's going to happen. Sorry. Am I an idiot?

That was your—that was you who did the hole in the sky. Okay, mhm, all right. I got blamed for that, Volo, I don't know if you knew that. It's fine. Honestly, it's fine. Just let's keep, let's keep learning more about Volo.

Right, yeah, we did that! We did that, Volo, right? Didn't we fuckin' do that? Why don't we donate them to a museum or something? Wouldn't that be sick? Would that be fuckin' awesome if we put them in a museum for all to see?

What's—what's this? Hey, what the fuck? Who's this? Is this a prank? Surely, with the hair. Because I did not just see that you have a fuckin' Arceus hairdo.

Oh, okay! Volo's crazy! Right, right. Look at the fucking hair. Yeah! No, Volo's fucking crazy—yeah, no, he's a deranged lunatic.

Actually, yeah. Look at his eyes, oh my god. Volo's going to kill me and then cook and eat my remains. It's. It's fine. I'm fine.

Pokemon Wielder Volo? You mean (voice cracks) Gingko Guild Merchant?

You know what, Volo? I'm crazy, too. Look, I can match this. Like you said, when you said you were going to wipe out Jubilife City, I'm all for that. I am all for that. Absolutely! Yes! Let's do it. We can make this work. I am not invested in helping these people. Yeah, we live in a society? Not for long, am I right?

Just, I looked at the costume again. And his hair. He—he did his hair, you guys. And it's... bad.

First and foremost, what the fuck are you wearing? Literally, I keep looking at it. And the more you look, it's like, the more you look, the more you see.

I'm just really unpacking this... as I kick his ass. Anyway, where was I, Volo? Let me just continue to fuck you up. Volo is really doing this. Volo is really doing this. He's doing it in green pants.

He method acted an entire love story between us. Yeah, he is that crazy. He's that crazy, that he's going to let me slip through his fingers. Are you sure, Volo? You really sure? Maybe, like, that was your plan at first. Because if I may be so bold, uh, it's actually not even fucking possible for anyone to spend as much time with me as you have without falling in love with me.

Like I said, I said it before, and I will stand by that—and I'm about to beat you, by the way—

Call me. Call me, Volo! Oh wait, you can't, because we live in the fucking past, and you don't have a phone. And I do. Mhm, yeah. You know, you can't call me on your arc phone because Arceus didn't give you an arc phone, did he? Oh, poor Volo. He did his hair like Arceus and everything. And for what? Right. It was probably the green pants, Volo, honestly. And the gladiator sandals, what the fuck are you doing?

What the fuck was I thinking? God, why do I always go for these crazy ass fucking men?

I don't want to be picked by Arceus! If anything, I wanted to be picked by you! But unfortunately, I'm amazing. And Arceus loves me. I'm sorry that your little fucking hairdo didn't work to impress Arceus, and that all I had to do was literally exist and Arceus stanned the hell out of it.

What, are you going to kill me? He's going to kill me with a knife now just to get me out of the way. Like, what the hell, why does everybody want to fucking kill me?! I get it. I'm the best. I'm amazing. I'm the best that ever was. But murder is illegal, okay?

What is this? Are you fucking kidding me? What is this act? Oh, my god. Volo... this is very camp.

Volo is fucking crazy. Did I even get to heal these motherfuckers? Am I supposed to catch this motherfucker? This Satan ass Pokemon. This is Satan, I guess. And he came to, like, pull up for fucking Volo. Why? The hair? Was it the hair?

Finally, I got, like, a word in edgewise. Finally. Acorn, take this motherfucker out. Yeah. This is embarrassing for you. You're a God Pokémon? Where? You could have fucking fooled me, Giratina.

I do find it very inspiring that my little tugboat-ass Jay Jay the Jet Plane Togekiss, like, ended your entire bloodline. Mhm, yeah.

Volo! Oh, honey, sweetie, are you okay? Are you going to be okay?

He's fucking crazy. He's so crazy, Volo, I fucking love your crazy ass... but this is toxic of me to say, so, I hate it. I hate you. What was I talking about? Yeah. No, you're such a bad guy. You're the bad guy, Volo. I didn't even read that, fuck.

I know, Volo. Believe me, I would have agreed with you when those motherfuckers kicked me out in Jubilife City. I would have agreed if you had come to me then and you would've said, "Let's take down the whole fucking world. Let's end the entire planet." I would have said, "Okay. Yeah. Oh, yeah. Hell, yeah. That's exactly what I want to do right now." But you didn't. And now I'm here, and I'm... being noble, and I'm going to say, "You better stop, because this is not okay. Cut it out."

I'm crazy too, Volo, I'm so fucking crazy. I'm so unhinged, I'm crazy, nobody understands the inner workings of my mind, Volo, you don't get it.

This is your last chance to scoop me up as your partner. Honestly, Volo. That's what it is. I would fix your hair, I would. We would go back to the salon—to the salon!—I would fix it up. It's not that bad. It just needs a little shaping.

(Deep sigh) Volo, you could have had it all. I would have been your crazy bitch. We could have been Bonnie and Clyde, Volo. And we still can, honestly, if you say the word. And let me fix your hair. And also your outfit.

So I also just want to say really quickly, I noticed that you had a Togekiss, and that means that your Togepi that you had in the beginning evolved to a Togekiss. But in order to do that, I think you need to love your Togapi. So it's like, you do—you did have the capacity to love someone.

He's fucking unhinged. He's deranged, he's crazy. Like, why did his eyes go crazy like that? What the fuck?

He actually looks so good right now, like, minus the hair. The hair is so bad. Volo, that is the one and only reason Arceus did not choose you. Honestly, that's all it comes down to. Easy as that!

But I'm putting my thumb actually, on the��I'm putting it on the screen, over the weird part of your hair? I'm begging you. Let's destroy society together. Come on.

That's so sad, he's, like, hanging up his hat. Actually, please put the hat back on. He's giving me something—he's giving me the plate. Spooky plate. Yeah, that's for sure. That's for damn sure, Volo.

Why do you suddenly look so good? You know, you look deranged and crazy like a fucking lunatic. And I could have swore you off forever, but now you look so cute and good. And I'm like, what the fuck were you thinking, Volo? You threw it all away for what, the arc phone? Bitch. It's really not even that good of a phone. Honestly, there's, like, no games on it.

I don't know. I figured like, a true Arceus fanboy would be impressed and enamored by the girl who Arceus is simping for this hard. Like, if you were to date me, I'd literally bring you with me to meet Arceus, and you'd be able to live your stupid little dream.

Although I will say, for someone who so deeply wants me to fail, you giving me that last plate, that spooky plate... I dunno. It's just kind of interesting, and I am reading into it. Yes.

Volo you are fucking out of your mind. You're crazy. I tell you, you're fucking insane. Somebody wheel him off. Seriously, what the fuck? He's going out in public looking like that.

[meanbossart]

Ask compilation: DU drow, Orin, Astarion, lore things and little fun facts.

Trying to make a dent in this dang inbox. As always, thank you so much everyone for your patience and curiosity! Sorry that it is straight up no longer possible for me to reply to everyone, but I will keep doing my best within reason. Enjoy!

Absolutely! I had a lot of requests for bottom Astarion on my patreon which is why I was kind of on a roll there for a minute.

Though, for the record - I am really not very invested in strict bedroom roles at all. Or clear and distinct dominant/submissive dynamics. So please don't overthink it whenever there's a switch, no pun intended.

You wanna know how often they smash? Man, I don't know, I guess fairly often considering their lifestyle post-game (very active, often on the road).

Assuming that everyone agrees that sex doesn't have to involve penetration, I'd say once every other day or less, really depends on the circumstances though. DU drow's libido is much higher than Astarion's, but he's not an animal and can hold off fine. Astarion is likely to be pickier in regards to location and how-recently-have-we-bathed status as well.

I keep meaning to draw him, but I have like... A million things I want to do 😂 so its rough!

BUT you will at least continue to see him in ANE! And I'm sure i'm bound to draw him again in the future.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

If you mean in his bhaalist "AU", where he has the red robe and the extra scars, I imagine he would have gotten it through killing Isobel.

I think as a changeling she probably has the ability to just... Transform her hair however she likes at will, right? And based on her attitude plus some lines we get from Sceleritas about her own former-butler, it sounds like she would be really opposed to being serviced in that way, to me at least.

I see her as pretty aggressively independent with the way she operates, which is another factor that sets her apart from DU drow, who really enjoyed lording over the other Bhaalists and making an errand boy out of Sceleritas, to the point where he practically depended on their help to function.

Neither! I wasn't willing to let anyone take either of my eyes in my first playthrough, LOL.

I have since always given the Volo eye to SOMEONE, usually Gale, but I don't consider that canonical. I don't think anyone was desperate enough to let mister frumpy-hat over there ice-pick their eyes out.

He did do them himself. It was a profoundly stupid display he got caught up in because of Gortash. Also, de-handment is kind of a theme in his life, at least inside his head.

I have a comic about it planned for the future ;)

What do you mean, that's canonical to the game and everything! He loves the cuck chair!

He is an angsty 29-year old in denial. Your interpretation is still perfectly accurate.

Hates the guy. Hates when Shadowheart Astarion people joke about him being the Drizzt of his generation. Hates the guy like literally any countercultural weirdo hates Taylor Swift or the Weeknd. If he saw him at the line in the grocery store DU drow would find a way to roll his eyes loudly just so he could notice being an asshole.

Stay tuned, I'm cooking 🧑‍🍳

If you're asking about game strats, badly, LOL. Pretty sure I died twice to her in my first run and it was a rough way of being thrown into "serious" DnD combat.

With the exception of a couple of encounters that just so happened to turn out SURPRISINGLY cinematic, I'm just realizing that I actually don't think too often about how most of the fights went in real-time! I imagine Autie Ethel's in particular wasn't one that DU drow went into of his own accord, probably rather at a companion's insistence. That's as deep as I've thought about that personally.

Now... Back to game strats. I personally try to get a surprise round on her however I can by sneaking and shooting an arrow or AOE in her general location, since she always stands on roughly the same spot while invisible. I have my companions spread about the arena so we can take her clones down as fast as possible, and as soon as I identify who the real Ethel is I just have the strongest martial characters wail on her until she begs to be let go. Hers is one of the few fights that is actually pretty dang easy at this point for me - and I SUCK at this game.

That would certainly take a while! But, Bhaalist DU drow does kind of have an end goal, actually.

That might also turn into a comic eventually, but it would a rough one.

He pretty swiftly disposed of her, DU drow doesn't like being talked down to, which Minthara very promptly does. Him (and I, by extension) had very limited exposure to her and she was just kind of a speck of dust in his story in particular. Though I have since grown to adore her character in my proceeding runs where I do recruit her!

I guess if he got an invitation and it wasn't particularly painful to arrive at the venue, sure! He would specially love to take Astarion to Gale's wedding ceremony and purposely upstage him at every at every opportunity, LOL.

Yes. He got pretty freaky with the pain-priest. This is gonna sound like a lie but I made him get naked for it without even knowing there was a buff to be gained (I didn't get it, unfortunately, I don't remember whether I failed a check or if I had camp clothes toggled on, so it didn't count as being truly nude). I wasn't taking the game very seriously and just doing dumb roleplay things to see what would happen, LOL.

And I consider that canonical. I think DU drow saw the opportunity to show off his physique And had a strange inkling that this was a practice he was... Somehow familiar with.

Imagine my joy when Astarion and Shadowheart start having a back-and-forth about my absurd display. That's when i knew those were my people, to be honest.

[galedekarios]

gale, waterdeep & coinage

just musings on gale's means as well as waterdeep lore bc i love waterdeep:

Gale: Believe it or not, but I witnessed a similar standoff back at the Yawning Portal. Of course, an establishment like that invites all sorts of outlandish entertainments. Player: What's the Yawning Portal Gale: An inn in Waterdeep. Never a dull moment there. Adventurers come from all over Faerûn to try their luck down the well: Leads into the Undermountain, you see - full of death, danger, and vast amounts of treasure. Hard to resist. Player: What was the standoff about? Gale: Oh, a drow, a dragonborn, and a cleric of Cyric walk into a bar. Your standard fare. Maybe someone was cheating at cards, maybe it was some weird lovers' quarrel. In any case, out came the crossbow, and a hush fell over the entire room.devnote Player: What happened next? Gale: I stood up and yelled: 'Shadowdark ale for everyone!' The crowd cheered, the tension drained into five dozen tankards, and soon all was well again. Gale: In a place like the Yawning Portal, the most powerful magic is calling for a round of drinks. Gale: Mind you, all I did was call for ale, but you went and stood in front of that crossbow. I'd drink to that.

i will definitely take a look at the yawning portal itself at a later date (as well as other points of interest within the city) bc it's very interesting as a focal point in waterdhavian history and society.

while we can only speculate about what gale's background in terms of means, wealth and standing looked like since things like tutors and even maids were not uncommon in waterdhavian society, it is interesting to note that he - whatever his personal means at the time this event took place - felt the need to defuse the brewing fight with 'five dozen tankards'.

we do actually know how much one such tankard costs at the yawning portal:

[source]

17cp x 60 = 1020cp

this was interesting to me in terms of this meant in actual terms of coinage and wealth and money spent.

here's an overview of waterdeep's various coins:

source: volo's waterdeep enchiridion

gale spent over a 1000 nibs/copper pieces that evening (or more than one sun/platinum coin) to de-escalate a potentially lethal fight.

to put that into perspective, i'm adding this reference of prices here:

source: volo's waterdeep enchiridion

gale also attended blackstaff academy, with elminster as his mentor. the academy had costs attached with it:

Acceptance to the Academy was predicated on either demonstrating extraordinary magical aptitude (those who could not cast arcane spells were very rarely admitted) or having a particularly compelling personal history. Joining the Academy was free, however monthly dues were required to continue attendance. These fees started at 10 gp per month and increased as a student gained seniority and required more advanced tutelage. In addition, it was a requirement that any new spell that was discovered or researched by an apprentice had to be added to Blackstaff Tower's library. [source]

ten gold pieces per month as fees, although with gale being elminster's mentee, he may have chosen to assist gale and morena partially or fully with any costs that blackstaff academy may have charged.

it does sound, however his childhood may have looked like with a presumably absent father and a mother with her hands full with a young genius, able to conjure rabbits as a babe, summoning a tressym, a magma mephit who set a room on fire, as well as casting a level 3 spell (fireball) at age 8 or younger, that gale at least during the height of his career as a wizard, lived comfortably.

ending this with more food for thought and a banter between gale and karlach:

Gale: They say wealth offers a form of magic. Alas, it's one I've rarely dabbled in. Karlach: Nor I. Never had more than a few coppers in the city, and any soul coins in Avernus went straight to Zariel. Gale: Make no mistake. Souls are sold for coins up here as well. All too cheaply, in most cases.

[leggerefiore]

A fun (and potentially angsty) request, if you have the time! The final events of PLA end on a sour note for reader and Volo, with Reader eventually just up and returning to their time one day. Later on , Volo is wandering around Pasio only to find a young trainer - i guess around the preschool/kid trainer class age - looking very similar to him & the reader.

cw: volo's behaviour, reader implied to have a kid, short, not really angst, Volo is still Not A Good Guy

pairing: Volo/Reader

Volo would admit his life was full of many regrets and awful things. Being alive sometimes simply felt like a sin to him, yet he continued on to spite the horrible world he found himself in and those terrible feelings inside himself. Everything he did was solely for the pursual of his goals. The deity that avoided his grasp. Frustration still burned in his chest, but his goal had yet to pass. His intentions to pursue this path, no matter how much time it consumed were unyielding. Even in the face of a loved one.

That had been a rare thing in the merchant's life. Love. Those of his bloodline were long gone, barring another survivor. You had been truly something special, if not another painful for him to face. Arceus had sent you to intervene — Daring to choose you, an outsider, over him. It had driven him to a certain madness, but he found himself also entranced. The deity still had chosen you, and, in his pursuit of it, he had grown close to you. Far too close. The sting of your wholehearted rejection of his plans still burned inside his chest. He was truly not over it. You even had the gall to entirely vanish afterward — apparently having abandoned Hisui back for the era that you had been spit from.

Yes, Volo would admit to facing many, many painful things.

But he was nothing if not determined to put an end to it all.

Pasio intrigued him. His curiosity as an intellectual flourished and his goal felt aligned within his sight once more. Arceus's attention was on this island, choosing those among the most powerful to receive its blessing. Volo felt giddy at the plain opportunity. There was bountiful information around as well. Researchers from all around had gathered and allowed the blond to catch information as he pleased. Rei even had backed out of daring to reveal him, seemingly opting to take a “wait and see” path with him. What a fool. The so-called prince governing this place was easy enough to manipulate to his whims as well. That little man was so desperate for acknowledgement that he played easily into Volo's hands.

He readjusted his backpack as he looked around in the city centre. It was bustling as usual, many wandering around with purpose. Others vacantly moved wherever their whims called them to. Volo was just once among the crowd, leading to him sighing. It was a slow but steady progress. His apprehension lapped at him painfully even still. He wanted nothing more than to recreate this ephemeral world. As he walked, he found himself stopping as a child ran right into him.

They almost instantly pulled back and rubbed their forehead. Volo stiffened. Blonde hair fell over their left eye. His initial reaction had been similar to that of seeing Cynthia. He was not going to plead ignorance to his bloodline being continued. Except, when they looked up at him to apologise, their eyes reminded him far too much of another person. A familiar person. He swallowed. It was a little girl, far too young to be wandering around, he felt. Even in Hisui, small children were often kept to homes. “I'm sorry, mister!” Her voice was small, and her words were a bit untrained. His heart raced. He gave a perfect customer service smile and shook his head.

“No,” he spoke gently, kneeling down to her height, “It's quite alright. You seemed to be a rush, hm? Where are your parents?” His eyes peered at the pendant around her neck. The familiar teardrop shape told him so much with so little. She tilted her head at his questions, seemingly hesitant to tell a stranger that. He wanted to chuckle. So much like himself. Your name left his lips causing her to jump a little. “I'm friends with them,” he smiled so easily, “I've actually been meaning to meet with them here. Won't you take me to them?”

The little girl nodded, seemingly excited to meet one of your friends. Her small hand found his own. He gently took it. Oddly, he felt proud of the girl. He saw so much potential in her — Something of her being manifest of the relationship that you and he had shared at one point. You even cared enough to introduce her to his culture. He could have felt anger at the situation; of being left out of her life thus far, but he saw an opportunity. There was much to talk about when you two met once more.

“What's your name?” he asked, finally.

“Astrea,” she smiled.

Volo wondered how to include you both in his world.

[critterbitter]

More asks under cut! Yippee!

@scarftale-bryan Trip for trio right? If so, I'm working on a comic for that ;0 But to help answer, I've head cannoned Elesa to originally be from Sinnoh. She and the twins didn't have the greatest first meeting, but, well, you see how they turn out later in the future so all that starts subpar ends pretty well. @bat-in-disguise NICE NAME. VERY WOOBAT THEMED. Second of all AYYYY this is where I resurrect the shambling corpse of this fandom. Please. I desperately want to have more on the train men. @mynamesaplant AH,,, YOU READ MY ONE SHOT,,, Okay look. Look. I love drawing comics as much as the next person. But if there's an interest towards fanfiction maybe I'll write a bit more... HMMM. HMMMMMMMM. (But anyways THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND WORDS! They keep the hearth cozy.) @dracally3 Don't worry about the rambles! If you wander through my ask box, you'd see I ramble. A lot. That out the way-- I'm sorry to hear about the drama! Man. I got into submas towards the tail end, which I'm a bit sad about (wish I got to interact with some of the bigger creators, but they moved on to other hyperfixations and I respect that). Drama's scary though, so maybe it's for the best I dodged the entire canonball. I'm glad my silly little characterizations of found family are healing! And I wish you the best too-- here's to happy futures ahead free of drama and full of shenanigans. @saffalilac AYYY Togekiss is so cool! I (heh) also only drew volo's togekiss once but the fact you're the second person to talk about how much you love them makes me chuckle. That in mind, here's a doodle.

@chime-of-bells Hello! I remember your ask about saying how much you liked togekiss in my style. Drew some togekisses and thought you'd like them too :) @impossiblynoisyrebel AYYYY I LOVE drawing the eel dog lamprey dragon thing. Just. A tube with teeth. And giant eyes. and lovely fins. And bioluminescence!! Who doesn't love that? @onimusha095 Look look your local floating nightlight has SOME manners. (But also, Ingo and Litwick do come to an agreement at somepoint on who the ghost type can actively chew on. Emmet's fine with it. Elesa, who has less experience with Litwick's everything, probably would not be less fine with it, and Ingo really doesn't want to loose a friend.)

@magicfeatherbean4 Hello I see you're back! (I'm fine with this. I like snail mail from folks hhehe.) That out the way-- oh yeah they're DEFINITELY getting into fisticuffs when the mood strikes. And uhh Emmet starting battles only for Ingo to finish them off? Mercilessly? Without pause? Yes. YES. I am EATING this headcannon rn. Shuffling this into the comic ideas as we speak.

[charmandabear]

Office Hours: I want this like a cigarette (3/16)

Pairing: Astarion/Named F!Tav Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.9k Tags/Warnings: semi-public sex, under the desk blowjob, vampire biting/blood, chair sex, wildly unprofessional behavior (full list on ao3)

Summary:

Ancunín makes Rosalind feel so gods damned flustered, there simply has to be a way to get her revenge.

Okay, I know I goobered it and released this chapter a week late, but I'm hoping to make up for it with the fact that a) the Masterlist will be out momentarily, and 2) you're getting chapters 3 and 4 at the same time. And chapter 4 is almost entirely new stuff! But that's for the next post.

Next chapter ~ Read it on AO3 ~ Masterlist Office Hours playlist on Spotify

Ever since Rosalind slept with Ancunín — or, perhaps more accurately, he fucked her mercilessly over his desk — she hasn’t been able to get him out of her head. It's a little embarrassing, frankly. Every time she passes him in the hallway, a single glance over those round wire frames has her suppressing the moan that bubbles in her throat. One whiff of his fragrance and her pussy clenches in a Pavlovian response.

Standing in front of her mailbox in the main office, she reads a thrilling update from Volo about season selection. The next meeting is going to be even more brainstorming. Lovely.

Rosalind can smell him before she hears him, and the heat creeps up the back of her neck. He comes up behind her, standing closer than is probably necessary, and reaches above her head to empty his own mailbox.

“Pardon,” he says politely, but she feels like he’s going out of his way to brush against her. A shiver runs down her spine as he very gently grazes the back of her neck while shuffling through the papers.

He turns and starts chatting amicably with Hope. How can he stay so cool when Rosalind is practically in shambles? She pretends that she’s still reading the short memo just to collect herself. When he finally leaves the main office, she manages to turn around and imitate some semblance of a normal person. Hope catches her eye and frowns.

“Is everything alright with you? You're looking a little flushed,” she asks, genuine concern coloring her voice. Rosalind twists her face into a smile, hoping that it reads as gratitude rather than annoyance.

“Yeah, I'm fine, thank you. Probably just a little dehydrated,” she says, putting a little extra rasp in her voice to help sell the story.

“I’m about to leave for lunch, I could grab you something from the student union, if you're thirsty.” She smiles sweetly, fully unaware of the double entendre.

“I'm good, I have some water back in my office. I appreciate the offer, though.” The smile is now plastered to Rosalind’s face as she moves to leave the office. She bumps into Karlach while trying to make a hasty exit.

“Gods, soldier, you okay? You look like you just got out of a sauna.” She claps Rosalind on the shoulder and her knees buckle. The technical director had spent 10 years in the army, so Rosalind couldn’t fault her for the nickname, or the smack to the shoulder, for that matter.

“Just a little thirsty, is all,” she replies, continuing to scoot her way out of the office.

“Yeah ya are!” Karlach points two finger guns at her and flashes a big suggestive smile. Rosalind freezes for a half second, then realizes that Karlach is making a generic lewd joke and not pointedly calling her out for her current condition. Rosalind awkwardly finger guns back as she finally slips through the doorway and books it to her office.

She sits down at her desk and grabs her water bottle, taking a long sip. It's unbelievable how much of a hold he has on her. She thinks back to her bathtub fantasy from a few days ago. She could not have predicted the dynamic more incorrectly. She really thought that she would be the one in control, that she would have him coming undone for her.

That’s one of the few positive memories of her relationship with Aradin. He was a condescending ass — frankly, not too dissimilar to Ancunín. But when she got him into the bedroom, it didn’t take much to turn him into a pathetic whimpering mess. Her favorite thing was to ride his face, finally getting him to shut the fuck up. She shakes her head to clear it of the memory.

Instead, she lets the image of Ancunín pounding into her while pushing her face into his desk flood her mind, setting her heart racing. Her breath hitches slightly as the memory plays out vividly, like her own personal erotica.

“It must be rather exciting, whatever's got your blood going that way.” His sultry voice interrupts her debaucherous thoughts and she yelps in surprise. She glares at him leaning in the doorframe, hands in his pockets with his unbuttoned collar poking out from beneath a charcoal sweater. Looking like an absolute gods damned treat. He chuckles and saunters into her office, settling into one of the chairs across from her desk and crossing his lithe legs. Rosalind grumbles; despite her newfound attraction, he's still an arrogant little shit.

“I thought you couldn't come in uninvited,” she scowls, keeping her voice low for fear of someone overhearing.

“I don't recall being invited to come last time, but you didn't seem to mind,” he says with that little giggle of his, and Rosalind crosses her arms with a petulant pout. “Regardless, the rule only applies to homes, not individual rooms within a public university.”

Her frown deepens, unsure if he's being patronizing or not. “Is there something I can help you with, or are you just here to frustrate me?” She leans forward on her desk, trying to imitate his casual authority. She isn’t terribly successful.

“You seem to be doing that perfectly well yourself, the way I could hear your arteries pumping from down the hall.” His smile widens, flashing just a hint of fang, and her resolve weakens. He stands and stretches his arms above his head, his sweater raising just enough to show off a sliver of porcelain skin. Okay, now I’m positive he’s just doing this to annoy me.

“When you have a free moment, stop by my office, I have something to show you,” he drawls, an almost bored lilt coloring his tone. “And do try to keep that heart of yours under control, it’s distracting to the point of vulgarity.” He glances at her over his glasses one more time before retreating into the hall again.

Rosalind crosses her legs, trying to ease the ache between her thighs. He's absolutely insufferable. And he’s so much worse now that he knows he has this power. Well fine, if he has something to show me, he can walk it over his damn self. I’m staying right here. She wrenches open her laptop in an attempt to distract herself with work.

***

It’s a few days later when Rosalind finds herself in the student union, waiting for a coffee to help fight off the bitter cold. Out of the corner of her eye she spots the fight choreographer for the play currently in rehearsals. The PhD candidate studying githyanki history has an assistantship with the theatre department as fight choreographer for at least one play per semester.

“Lae’zel!” she calls, waving at the grad student. She spots Rosalind and walks over, expressionless.

“Greetings,” she says in a tone that Rosalind would attribute to anyone else as cold. But she’s grown accustomed to the gith’s less animated manner of speech.

“Hey, how are rehearsals for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern going?” Rosalind asks conversationally, and Lae’zel scowls.

“Not as well as I’d hoped. These students of yours have absolutely zero combat training, save Varrl, of course,” she says flatly, the disappointment all too evident in her voice.

“That makes sense, I’m sure he’ll make for an excellent Lead Player,” Rosalind replies as the barista calls her name. She turns to grab her coffee and when she turns back around, Ancunín is strolling up behind Lae’zel, snowflakes dotted across his black peacoat. Rosalind’s stomach clenches when she sees him, and she’s almost grateful for his dark round sunglasses that hide those piercing red eyes of his.

“Tut tut, Professor, don’t you know all that caffeine is bad for your heart?” he coos with a vicious smile as he shakes the snow from his hair. Rosalind can already feel her cheeks flushing, but she’s determined to keep her cool.

“Dr. Ancunín, I didn’t realize you were so concerned for my heart,” she retorts with the most aloof energy she can muster.

Lae’zel shifts her eyes between the two of them briefly before apparently deciding to ignore whatever tension she can sense. “I’m glad you are both here, for I have a query regarding the character of Hamlet. He is in this play very little, and I cannot glean his fighting style from the minimal source material.”

“Did you read Hamlet as a part of your prep?” Rosalind gives her a quizzical look, and Lae’zel stares at her matter-of-factly.

“No, why would I bother wasting my time with that?” she asks earnestly. Rosalind opens her mouth to respond and then closes it, realizing that she can’t argue otherwise.

“Hamlet would have impeccable sword fighting technique as the son of a king,” Ancunín answers Lae’zel’s initial question, but keeps his eyes fixed on Rosalind. “He’d be well-trained. Disciplined.”

She’s furious at how quickly he can make her heart pound in her ears. The corner of his lips twitch upward and she knows he can hear it, too. But she’s determined to maintain the upper hand.

“He’s also a bit of a show off, and extremely arrogant.” She holds Ancunín’s gaze for a moment longer before looking at Lae’zel. “This is for the fight on the pirate ship at the end, correct?” Lae’zel nods, so Rosalind continues, “Yeah, I would imagine he’s fairly careless, completely self-absorbed, and ultimately a coward when it becomes too much for him to handle.” Ancunín’s smile grows wickedly as Lae’zel contemplates Rosalind’s analysis.

“Yes, that does make sense to his character, particularly given his escape and the end of the scene,” she says with a nod, and then looks back at them pointedly. “And professors, if fornication is required to maintain a healthy working relationship, please, do not include me in your foreplay. It’s rather unprofessional, and rather sloppy.”

Mortified, Rosalind splutters, “We are not sleeping together!” in the exact same moment that Ancunín smirks, “Last I checked, she likes it sloppy.”

Rosalind whirls around on him, wishing that she knew any magic at all that could cause him psychic damage. Lae’zel simply rolls her eyes with a quiet, “Ch’k,” before stalking off, leaving them to simmer in their awkward moment.

“You can’t say that shit in front of my colleagues!” she hisses at him, and his smile turns downright impish.

“Oh don’t give me that, like you weren’t having fun,” he sneers, and she clamps her mouth shut. The problem is that she was having fun, before he took it too far.

“Ass,” she grumbles and takes a swig of her coffee as she stomps out the student union, his giggle ringing in her ears like a bell.

***

Back in her office she seethes at her desk, rapping her fingertips rhythmically against its surface. She needs to find a way to get her revenge, to somehow make him feel as flustered and uncomfortable as he does to her. A small, reasonable voice in the back of her head reminds her that escalating this power struggle will not end well, but her stubborn pride quashes the thought down.

Without having a fully formed plan, Rosalind finds herself walking towards Ancunín’s office. She takes a moment before knocking on the door, smoothing down the front of her dress and tousling her hair to give it a little more volume.

Suddenly the door opens and her student Mol comes barrelling out in a huff.

“D’you believe this berk? Gettin’ on my tail for ‘academic integrity.’ Ain't nobody more integrous than me!” she grumbles, adjusting her bag angrily. She turns her heated gaze to Rosalind. “Can you talk to your boyfriend and tell him to leave me alone?” she spits and Rosalind splutters involuntarily.

“Mol, we’re not—”

“Come off it, miss. Everyone sees the way you look at ‘im. Just work your magic so I can get back to gettin’ a college education.” And without another word, she's off. It’s been less than a tenday, the students couldn’t possibly be gossiping already, could they?

She shakes her head and steps into his office. It's just as cozy as last time, warm light emanating from lamps in every corner to compensate for the blackout curtains over the windows. She strides up to his desk and slams her hands down on it.

“Please tell me you’re not so stupid to tell the students about what happened,” she scowls, and he glares at her.

“Gods no, I’m a vampire, not a monster,” he hisses back before taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “No, that girl is just too clever for her own good. I’d almost respect it if she didn’t get on my last nerve.”

She crosses around to the other side of his desk and leans against the edge, letting her skirt ride up ever so slightly. She catches his gaze flicking down to her thigh before he puts his glasses back on and looks up at her from his chair. “Speaking of vampire,” she says, hoping she’s not too obvious in the way that she shakes her hair clear of her neck. “How do you get around campus without burning up in the sun?”

“Darling, I didn’t realize you were so concerned for my skin,” he flashes a self-assured smile, clearly pleased that he’s able to use her flirty banter against her. He casually rests his hand just above her knee, but Rosalind doesn’t miss the way his eyes narrow with a mild suspicion.

“Maybe I’m just curious,” she says, nonchalantly examining her nails. “Maybe I’m invested.” She trails her fingers down his wrist and plays with the buttons of his cuff.

“Just a concerned citizen?” He visibly relaxes as his hand absentmindedly begins to slide up her leg, stopping just under the hem of her skirt. “If you must know, it’s only the direct sunlight that causes harm. If I’m sufficiently covered up, and the cloud cover is thick enough, then I’m safe.” He squeezes her thigh on the word “thick” and her breath catches in her throat.

“Didn’t you say you had something to show me?” she asks in a raspy voice. She wants to kick herself; she was determined to not give him the satisfaction by bringing it up.

“Hmm, now that was several days ago, what makes you so certain I still have it?” he asks in an overly performative sing-song voice.

“Well if you don’t have it, then I guess I’ll head out—” Rosalind turns to leave but he catches her wrist and pulls her down until she’s straddling his lap. Before her logical mind has time to protest, she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and rolling her hips into him, pleased that she can feel the beginnings of an erection. He lets out a little puff of air that can almost be mistaken for a moan. She takes a deep breath and arches her back, letting her ample tits graze along his lips. He runs his nose along the neckline of her dress and slides his hand underneath her skirt to cup her ass. Her mouth drops open silently as she grinds into him harder, aching for any bit of friction.

Then a knock at the door.

They both freeze and stare at one another. There’s a muffled voice on the other side.

“Dr. Ancunín, do you have a minute? I have something extremely important to tell you,” Dr. Dekarios from the School of the Weave shouts through the door.

Rosalind has no idea what possesses him to instinctually reply, “Just a minute!” and the two of them share a silently mouthed exchange.

-What the fuck are you doing?

-I don't know, I panicked!

-What am I supposed to do?

-Hide, perhaps?

Without thinking she slides off his lap and hides under the desk. Just in time, too, as Dr. Dekarios doesn't wait for permission to open the door and waltz right in.

“Dr. Ancunín, thank goodness, I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” Rosalind can hear the arcana history professor rush in and eagerly sit down in one of the red velvet lounge chairs across from Astarion’s desk. She groans internally with the realization that she might be stuck here for an unbearably long time.

“Actually, Dr. Dekarios, I was on my way out,” Astarion says as he starts to stand before quickly reversing that decision. Rosalind realizes with a smug sense of satisfaction that he’s still slightly aroused.

“Completely understand, I'll keep this brief, then. So, the other day, you and I spoke of the use of bardic magic and its position amongst playwrights in Renaissance England.”

“Yes, I recall,” Astarion responds through gritted teeth. He sinks back down in his chair, resigned to sitting through this conversation.

“And how it was common practice at the time to use magic from the College of Swords as decreed by Elizabeth? Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Beaumont and Fletcher, they all used College of Swords magic.” Dr. Dekarios’ voice increases in pitch with his excitement. Rosalind suppresses a sigh, preparing herself for a long wait in this cramped space. It would be uncomfortable for a thin person to fit, nevermind her, especially while trying to keep out of the way of Astarion’s long legs.

Although…

What if she didn’t keep out of the way? What if she just… brushed her hand along his thigh…

Astarion coughs to hide the sudden intake of breath her touch causes. He crosses his legs and she smiles knowing it's to give himself a little reprieve. A feeling I know all too well.

“Yes,” Astarion says, his voice frustratingly even, “I recall your enthusiasm in telling me this.”

Rosalind assesses his body language, trying to read his response. Is he into this? Is this a game he wants to play? She decides to test her luck again, dragging her fingers up his thigh more deliberately. His leg quivers and he shifts his posture as the arcana professor continues.

“Well, I had a thought. Consider this: Shakespeare brought about a major shift in how we think of the Western theatrical canon as it pertains to bard magic, correct?”

She shifts forward and squishes her tits into his knees that are now pinched tightly together. She slides her hands up his inner thighs, prying them apart slightly. She leans into his legs further as her hands continue their journey upward, squeezing as they get to the top of his thigh.

He kicks suddenly, a soft thump into the back of the desk. Is it a warning, telling her to stop? She pulls back and glances up at him, but the top of the desk obscures most of his face. All she can tell is that he continues to stiffly nod while Dekarios rambles.

“And remind me, what other major storytelling convention did Shakespeare also shift during this time?” Rosalind makes a face, and she honestly can't tell if he’s actually asking, or giving Astarion a mini exam in his own specialty.

She waits for some sort of response from him. After a moment, he lets his thighs fall open and gently nudges her hip with the side of his shoe. No, his foot.

This motherfucker is playing footsie.

Oh he is definitely into her little game.

She pushes his legs open again, this time sliding her hands all the way up to his cock, and she can feel it twitch beneath the wool of his pants. She gently strokes him and his hips give a subtle twist into her.

“I'm not sure—” Astarion begins, but stops short when his voice cracks. She nuzzles his bulge, running her lips across it as it hardens. She slips a hand under him and gives his balls a gentle squeeze. She can hear his breath stutter, but it's unlikely that Dekarios can as he quickly answers his own question.

“The humors, correct? My understanding of non-magic literature isn't fully up to snuff, but I am correct in remembering this, yes?”

Rosalind licks a fat stripe across the fabric and she hears a metallic click above her head, like his watch just made sudden contact with the surface of the desk. She can imagine the veins in his hands bulging as he clasps them together tightly.

“Hm, no, ah yes, you are correct. Most English Renaissance playwrights understood characters as a balance or imbalance of the four humors.” Astarion manages to keep his voice relatively steady despite the slight stammering, and Rosalind is determined to up her game. She reaches up to undo his belt buckle as quietly and efficiently as possible. Luckily, she’s able to hide the noise within Dekarios’ exclamation.

“Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking! So, hear me out. What if these two gradual changes were related? In moving away from College of Swords magic, Shakespeare felt less constrained by the four humors. Or perhaps the other way around?”

She reaches into his pants to free his cock, now fully hard, and teases her fingers along his shaft. His hips buck a little more forcefully, as though controlling his movement is growing more difficult. She grips his pelvis tightly, holding it in place, and relishing having the upper hand for once. She didn’t expect it would be quite like this, but she’s not complaining. She flicks the tip of her tongue across his slit and his hips twitch again under her hands.

“Could be…” is all Astarion can manage to reply. Hopefully at this point Dekarios is in a full-on oration and he won't need to contribute much, if at all.

She pops the head of his cock into her mouth, working the underside of it with her tongue. She clamps her forearms down on either side of his lap, pulling him closer and letting her tits brush his inner thighs. She squirms, the slick feeling between her legs and the heady lust making her dizzy until a miniscule moan works its way into her mouth. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, she can only hope, but she’s certain that Astarion can feel the vibration by the way his hips jerk again. His face above, or at least what she can see of it, gives little away.

“And this could even,” Dekarios continues, showing no sign of awareness of anything else happening in the room, “signal the shift into realism, could it not? Beginning with Shakespeare and culminating with Chekhov and Ibsen in the nineteenth century?”

She takes in more of him, relaxing her tongue and letting him fill her mouth, discovering his taste. He almost lifts off his chair in his attempt to thrust into her, and she uses it as a way to take him in deeper. Her jaw is beginning to ache with how slow she’s going, but it's worth it to feel Astarion’s frustrated discomfort.

He takes a slow breath before speaking again.

“You know who would absolutely love this discovery of yours?” His voice is low, smooth, as she bobs her mouth on his cock. “Professor Tavlin of the theatre department. Her office is right down the hall.”

She chokes and he deftly covers the sound of her gag with a cough.

“Bless you,” Dekarios says after a fraction of hesitation. Then he continues as though there was no interruption at all.

“Then I shall share my findings with her! Down the hall, you say?”

“Room 208.”

“Excellent!” Dekarios stands and Rosalind wraps her hand around the base of Astarion's shaft, letting some saliva dribble out of her mouth to lubricate it. She can hear the wizard quickly make his way out the door.

“Gale!” Astarion yelps as she twists her hand and swirls her tongue in tandem. He clears his throat and corrects his decorum. “Dr. Dekarios, the door, please.”

“Oh, of course! Apologies,” he says with slight chagrin, and the door latches with a dry click. Astarion rolls his chair back and grabs Rosalind’s hair, pulling her out from under the desk.

“You saucy little minx,” he growls and she stumbles forward, their lips crashing together. He breaks the kiss by yanking her hair back, and his eyes sparkle wildly over the wire frames. He roughly turns her around and pulls her into his lap, his shaft pressing into the cleft of her ass. “Having fun with your little games?” he hisses in her ear as he pulls her dress up with one hand, the other sliding down below the waistband of her leggings.

“You certainly seemed to be,” she says with a breathless giggle that gets cut off by a gasp as his fingers slide easily through her folds before finding her clit. The hand on her dress slides over her breast, pinching her nipple into hardness as she arches against him.

She reaches her arm behind his neck, twisting her fingers into his silver curls to keep herself braced against him. He makes quick little circles around her clit with his ring and middle fingers while continuing to grope her breast with his other hand. Her head falls back onto his shoulder while she breathes heavily, writhing beneath his touch. He presses sloppy kisses to her shoulder, licking and nipping without sinking his fangs into her.

“Fuck, please, bite me,” she whines, clutching onto his hair and pushing him against the crook of her neck. She can feel his lips stretch into a smile before he bites down, and she slaps a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in bliss. The sensation is such an overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure, the initial ice cold shard that melts into a lightheadedness bordering on sublime. The fingers on her clit slow and his grip slackens as he loses himself in her blood, and she whimpers needily, rutting her hips into his hand.

Just as Rosalind’s vision starts to darken, Astarion unlatches and roughly pushes her off his lap, spinning her around by the waist and easily tearing through her leggings and underwear.

This man is wracking up quite the clothing bill.

He pulls her back into his lap, barely taking the time to line himself up before sinking her down onto his cock. He shoves his fingers into her mouth and she moans around them, the taste of her own juices flooding her tongue. He keeps his other hand firm on her lower back as he thrusts up into her.

“Gods, fuck,” she groans, words muffled by his fingers as she continues to roll her hips into his, pushing her cleavage into his mouth. He pulls the neckline of her dress down to expose her breast, taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking lightly. She breathes heavily and tries to stifle the noise of her moans by pressing her open mouth into his hair. She can smell that citrusy fragrance he wears and her fingers claw into him.

“Please, I’m— Astarion,” she whimpers before clamping her mouth shut and burying her face into his ear.

“Fuck— look at me,” he growls, and her eyes lock onto his as his glasses slide down his nose. He pulls her into a rough kiss to keep her quiet, and he tastes faintly of iron.

He fucks into her harder as she bounces on his cock, her needy whimpers growing louder against his lips. The piercing pain of his nails digging into her ass and the grunting deep in his throat as he approaches his release send her rocketing to her climax. She comes with an explosive cry that gets swallowed into his kiss. She continues to ride out the waves of her orgasm as she feels his, his hips thrusting upward as his dick throbs with the pulse of his semen.

They finally slow, the sticky mess between them squelching loudly. They listen intently past the sound of their heavy breathing to try to detect any indication that someone overheard. When they deem it safe, Rosalind lets out a sigh of relief before the two of them dissolve into giggles. He drops his forehead onto her shoulder as she rests her cheek on his sweaty mass of curls.

They disentangle themselves from one another and she winces slightly at the feeling of him sliding out of her pussy. She gets a better look at him, her blood still smeared on his lips and chin, his now flaccid dick slumped above his waistband. She’s certain she can't look much better, dress rucked up around her waist, one tit hanging out over the neckline.

They methodically put themselves back together, Astarion stuffing his wet dick back into his pants, Rosalind straightening her dress and hair. She catches his gaze again and somehow he still manages to make her blush, but this time bringing a feeling of warmth and giddiness rather than frustration and embarrassment. He reaches out to tuck a wayward lock behind her ear.

“Next time, can we please have sex in your office?” he says with a teasing chuckle. She swats his chest playfully only to find herself drawn into him, not wanting to pull her hand away. It's strangely romantic, and if she were able to think clearly, his hands snaking around her waist might bother her. But her head is still spinning and her cunt is still throbbing with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and little could upset her right now.

That is, until the doorknob turns and Dekarios pops his head back in.

“Looks like she’s not—” His voice dies off quickly when he realizes what he's walked in on. He coughs, mumbles an incoherent apology, and backs out quickly.

“I swear to the gods I'm getting a scroll of arcane lock for that damn door,” he growls under his breath, and she leans her forehead against his chest with an exhausted sigh.

[volostogekiss]

hello… do you have any thoughts on adorably clingy Volo? Wanting so much attention and love he can’t get enough of it?

ohh that’s a good one! yes, i have some thoughts :3c

I think when you initially start showing him affection, even the smallest things, like just holding his hand or reaching up to brush some leaves out of his hair, that makes his heart warm in a way he can’t quite understand at first. I think it’s because he’s so touch-starved that he doesn’t realize how much he’d missed being comforted with the warmth of someone else’s love, so tangible and real, that he subconsciously latches onto it so so sincerely. It’s as if that will make up for all the years he’d spent alone. Oh, and I’m sure you can make up for all those years.

❥ When he’s more aware of how he feels about you, Volo eases himself into it. I think how quickly he begins truly enjoying your attention and little acts of love depends on how often you show him that affection, but once you start, he knows what it’s like, and he’ll slowly want more. It’s the small things with him at first, too: He takes your hand before you have a chance to grab his, or he straightens out the overcoat that’d bunched up near your shoulders, or he takes it upon himself to sweep away the dust on your pants. When you realize that he’s reciprocating because he wants you to give him that same attention, you really should, or the subtlest pout might show up on his lips. (And that pout becomes more obvious the longer you’re around him.)

❥ Once he’s very comfortable with your affection, he’ll just start asking you to indulge him, though. He’s kind of dramatic but only because he realizes how much you’re affecting him, and that he needs you. “My love, why don’t you kiss me? I’ve been dreadfully lonely.” Meaningful winks and wandering hands. If you tell him that you’ve literally been by his side all day, he’ll just ignore you and play silly. “Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve last hugged you!” Volo’s not asking anymore, he’ll just start doing. Sweeping you up into a hug, nuzzling into your neck, kissing your cheeks and then your lips in a surprise you won’t see coming until it happens. He really doesn’t want to let you go, and it’s a fight to get him to do anything else besides that. But who wants Volo to let them go?

❥ If you’re not paying him enough attention, and he just can’t get enough of you, Volo is certainly the type of man to not quite show or tell you directly that he’s impatient or fed up, minus the little hints you’ve probably picked up on—that slight pursing of his lips, huffing beneath his breath, or even a few mild complaints here and there. But he’ll definitely go and show you once he’s reached his limit, pressing you up somewhere and showering you in his affection. Preferably away from prying eyes, unless he’s trying to make someone jealous.

❥ Though Volo turns to mush when you treat him the same, and especially when you’re gentle with him. It’s when he least expects you to turn to him with such kindness and love that he always falls apart beneath your touch, even if he’s still standing. You know, however, the effect that you have on him. His eye is slightly glazed over, there’s that meaningful pink on his cheeks, and he’s silent for just a little too long. (It’s cute.) It happens often when you spend a quiet moment together, as if he can’t believe that you’re giving him your love. You might have to wake him up from his blissful disbelief with a reminder of how real you are—he’ll certainly appreciate that! Volo loves you a lot, and after all, he’s just terrible at letting you go.

[brodygold]

Golden Army: Dragon Heist Part 2

Part 1 here

The Golden Army headed through the city of Waterdeep, looking for Floon, who had been missing since last night. Brody knew time was of the essence for finding missing people. The more time that passed, the fewer clues they could find. Volo (and his monetary reward) was counting on them. He fiddled with his lute as the mid afternoon sun beat down on them.

"Alright bros. Let's split up to cover more ground. Me, Ross, and Daniel will check out The Skewered Dragon and see if anyone saw him leave. Scott, Henry, and Grayden, I want you bros to check the surrounding area for any clues. Any questions?"

"Just one, Brody. Did Volo give you a description of Floon to work with?" Grayden asked, "That seems like something important."

"He sure did, Grayden. Floon is a well dressed man of average height with long red hair. He was wearing a quote 'very ugly pearl necklace with a seashell on it' end quote."

"That's not a lot to go off of, bro" Henry added.

"I know, bro. But we want that reward money so we gotta find the guy. Now let's go! Meet back here in an hour."

And so the party split off, ready to find the missing man.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you sure there's going to be clues here?"

"Of course, bro! There's gonna be clues all over- OH WHAT IS THAT!?" Scott ran over to a nearby store window, putting his head against the glass.

"Scott, now is not the time for window shopping innit. We gotta look for Floon." Henry sighed.

"But look at that big plushie! I want it!"

Grayden sighed and looked down as his two teammates got into yet another argument about wants versus needs. That's when he spotted something glistening on the sidewalk: A rather ugly pearl necklace with a pink seashell attached.

"Interesting..."

Grayden looked back up, an idea forming in his head. "Hey Scott, do you want to take a look around inside?"

"Oh don't tell me you're taking his side in this bro."

"Not at all. I just want to speak to the owner for a second."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Skewered Dragon had definitely seen better days. The front facing windows were completely smashed in and a ship's anchor was lodged in the roof. It was definitely the seedy part of town, that much Brody was sure of.

"Why would a well-off man come drinking someplace like this?" He wondered.

The inside of the tavern didn't look much better. The decor was very much nautical, and the dockworker patrons only added to the setting. Brody and Ross walked up to the bartender while Daniel approached the various patrons to see if anyone else was there last night.

"Hey there bro. We're looking for a man named Floon Blaagmar. Well dressed, long red hair, ugly necklace around his neck. Sound familiar?"

"Can't say me memory's too good right now, especially not for strangers. Maybe some coin would loosen me tongue." The bartender smirked.

Ross pulled out one of his many knives and stuck it in the counter. "Maybe some blood would loosen it too. Wanna find out, mate?"

The bartender visibly gulped. "Fine. Worth a shot anyhow. Guy's a regular here. He drank with two men that night, one after the other. He and the second man left around midnight after some drinks and a round of Three Dragon Ante."

One of the patrons Daniel was talking with interrupted. "Are youse talking about Renaer Neverember? Stuck up noble who loves to rub our faces in it."

"You mean the son of former Open Lord Dagult Neverember? I thought he'd have been in Neverwinter with his father." Daniel howled.

"Well I guess he wanted to stick around," another patron added, "not like it did 'em any good. A group of men followed the two of them out last night. Dunno what happened next but can't have been good. One had a tattoo of a snake on his neck."

A snake tattoo? That could only mean one thing.

"The Zhentarim are involved." Brody whispered.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the hour passed, the two groups met back up to discuss what they'd found.

"A group of Zhents followed Floon and his drinking partner out of the tavern. They came in this direction." Brody said as the others approached. He noticed Scott holding a plushie in his hands and cried for their finances.

"They were attacked outside of the Old Xoblob Shop. The owner saw five men attack the two, one of whom had a snake tattoo on his neck. We also found Floon's necklace." Grayden added.

"Wow that is ugly." Daniel commented.

"Apparently the Zhents have a warehouse they use on Candle Lane. Might get some clues if we look there." Brody wondered just what they would find at the warehouse of a rival mercenary group. One with much more influence but a much worse reputation.

"So what are we waiting for? Let's go find our guys!" Ross exclaimed, holding his dagger in the air for emphasis.

"Technically we're only looking for Floon."

"I'll bet rescuing a noble will bring us a lot of cash though, bros!" Scott said in excitement, the plushie shaking as he spoke animatedly.

"You got it, bro. To Candle Lane!"

Candle Lane wasn't very far away, and the group arrived at the warehouse in a matter of minutes, a snake imprinted on the door telling the Golden Army they had the right place. Of course, the door was locked.

"I've got this bros. One second." Ross pulled out his trusty tools and got to work, unlocking the door with a few flicks of the wrist.

"Alright bros. We're going to be doing this quietly," Brody whispered, "We sneak in, look for clues, and get out before anyone notices us. Understood?"

"Yes Cap." The others spoke in unison.

"Good. I'll go first." Brody opened the door to the warehouse slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible. Inside he spotted a group of four raven-esque creatures, huddled together in the center of the room. All was quiet until the sound of the floor creaking alerted everyone in the room to their presence.

"Oops." Brody whispered.

"INTRUDERS!"

To be continued...

Want to join the Golden Army for real? Contact me, @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001

[kharmii]

The two Ginkgo Guild merchants discussing how Volo is sleeping on the job while sniffing togepi like a child with a stuffed animal.

Under the cut, Volo meets AZ another immortal who is much, much more elderly than he is.

Togepi: *toddles along* Wow! Look at all these flowers! Such a lot! *sees torkoal* Huh!?

Togepi: Hey! You there! *to herself* He's kind of a strange person. Bigger than Lord Volo. *to the man* Do you like flowers?

Ah, Mr. Volo!

Volo: Looking for some pokemon?

Mysterious Man: Ah, I'm just traveling.

Volo: Wow! Did you come from far away?

Mysterious Man: ....far west of here....

*sees Volo thinking* ....what?

Volo: No, whether it was luggage or food, it was something I'd never seen around here before.

But you've been using it for a long time and taking good care of it. Have you been traveling for a long time?

Mysterious Man: ....................

Volo: Excuse me! It's a merchant's nature to check out unusual people and things!

Mysterious Man: ....................

Volo: ... Was that a rude question? Forget it...

Mysterious Man: Three thousand years. I've been traveling for nearly 3,000 years.

Volo: ...You've got to be kidding! You're funny!

You have a unique way of communicating!

What kind of Pokemon would you be willing to meet in 3,000 years?

Mysterious Man: *thinking* In the end, questions abound...

*floette chirps*

Mysterious Man: ...Floette: A Pokémon that appears with a single flower

This is one of them, not uncommon in my area.

(Pokemon talk among themselves)

Togepi: Three years?

I don't really get it, but it's been a really long journey.

Torkoal: Can you believe this story, young lady?

Togepi: That person doesn't seem to be lying.

Torkoal: Kohoho...kohoho....you're so smart, young lady.

Togepi: And friend floette? Do you like flowers? I'd like to meet you too.

Torkoal: Kohoho....

Volo: *thinks* From the way he talks... it seems he's not lying about searching for Pokemon...

*out loud* It's not a rare animal, but it's a wonderful one for you, isn't it?

In search of the best one, we travel through time and travel all over the place...

It's a very dreamy story!

Mysterious Man: ....................

Volo: I'll support you! That's how life should be! Me too!

Mysterious Man: Stop it!

The pain that never seems to end...

It's not what you call life. It's hell.

Volo: ...I'm sorry if I offended you.

I have no idea what 3,000 years means, but I think it's wonderful to be able to pursue your dreams over time.

...I mean, what is 3,000 years?

Mysterious Man: Are you kidding?! *lays down* I'm tired. I'll take a little rest.

Volo: Oh, I see... Good night then.

Togepi: Was that person angry?

Torkoal: Cough cough... Oh no...

Mysterious Man: I guess I was just remembering the past.

Togepi: You like flowers, don't you?

What I had before.

Volo: Wait...are you leaving already?

Mysterious Man: *mumbles* You wanted to hear my story.

To live longer than most people and pursue your dreams means to suffer longer than most people.

It means that I am the only one who will be cut off from this world.

This body of mine is from the world... from the dreams I seek...

I guess it's a punishment. Do not step in...!

Volo: Hehehe... is this a punishment...?

But if I could live a long life... Haha... that's true...

Mysterious Man: Hey... are you saying you don't understand?

Volo: I'd love to meet you again, even in a hundred years, and hear your travel stories again!

It all depends on how you look at it, right? As for myself...I want to take my time to learn about the world! I want to pursue my dreams...

If the world is going to punish us for our curiosity, then we don't need such a ridiculous world!

Mysterious Man: I don't know what dreams you have...

You can't extend your lifespan!

Volo: But if you can achieve your dream.

Even the world... if you can live a long time, as long as you like...!

Well then!

How did you get that body?!?!?!

Volo: Please wait. Tell me a little more...

Togepi: ···a little bit. That's not fair. Something like this.

Torkoal: Sorry, little girl.

I can't let you know the details.

Volo: Wow, what a surprise!

To think that so many Pokémon have been hiding their presence up until now...

Like a trained soldier. Looks like a weapon.

(Mysterious Man looks at Volo with surprise)

Volo: *continues* Hehe... but you yourself seem to be more sensitive and honest than you look...

*thinks to himself* There are so many unfamiliar Pokemon... Should I use that to forcefully scatter them?

No... Is it really necessary to know this man's secret and expose my own?

Mysterious Man: …a hundred years later

If we ever meet, I'll let you know.

Volo: ...I get it! I'll have to work hard until then!

*thinks to himself* It's interesting to think about ways to extend lifespan, but it's like buying insurance.

It would be best if my current plan goes smoothly.

Torkoal: See you soon, girl. Thank you. It was fun.

Togepi: ...I hope I can meet Floette soon.

Best regards to Friend Floette.

Torkoal: Cough cough... thank you little girl. Thank you.

I pray that we won't meet in a hundred years' time...

Gible: What do you mean?

Togepi: This is what I mean. Couples with height differences.

(LOL, AZ is ten foot tall to Volo's 6'3". Togepi is about 13 inches tall, and floette is about the same height as Togepi)

Art credit: ベティ@betty07_09 Twitter.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 15

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Damen, who as a prince of the blood did not excel at wagon repairs, nodded knowledgeably,

love this slightly snarky oxymoronic moment from the narration. fake it til you make it!

‘Hey!’ Laurent called out. He was pulling himself up from the front wheel onto the wagon top. He had a swathe of yellow silk in his hand, and he stood on the wagon waving it colourfully at the squadron. ‘Hey you! Akielons!’

i think this entire bit is going to be so much funnier and rewarding after having done 2.5 books of intense analysis, which has made me essentially conclude that laurent and to a slightly lesser degree damen are a gifted and naturally-inclined improv comedy duo, even in the most dangerous and horrifying situations. horny despite the horrors? nah, “yes, and”-ing despite the horrors

It was too late to stop it. Too late to grab at Laurent’s ankle. The squadron had seen them. Brief visions of strangling Laurent weren’t helpful.

The officer in question was identifiable by his superior horse.

"superior horse"

‘You are merchants?’ ‘We are.’ ‘What name?’ said the officer. ‘Charls,’ said Damen, who was the only merchant he knew.

very thankful that they recycle the charls name from the inn but don’t bring up volo again. for reasons

‘You are Charls the renowned Veretian cloth merchant?’ said the officer sceptically, as if this was a name well known to him.

the absurdity here is perfectly escalated. of COURSE charls is well-known, they cannot catch a fucking break!!

also i just love the idea of these cultures essentially regarding merchants as celebrity figures. like is charls an influencer. he’s so popular that even people in the opposing nation have no choice but to stan

‘No,’ said Laurent, as if this was the most foolish thing in the world. ‘I am Charls the renowned Veretian cloth merchant. This is my assistant. Lamen.’

i like how laurent’s correction isn’t “of course he isn’t this public figure you know and like, neither of us are” in order to steer clear of having to prove their identities, but instead it’s ‘i’m the public figure you know and like, because i can actually sell this bit’

also admittedly some of the comedy in king’s rising does not work for me. especially the more fanfic-y stuff. but laurent using the ship name for him and damen in the text as a fake name is so fucking funny and i love it

(sorry i couldn't help myself)

The officer said, ‘We’re patrolling for Damianos of Akielos.’ ‘Who’s Damianos of Akielos?’ said Laurent.

‘He’s the King’s son,’ Damen heard himself saying, ‘Kastor’s brother.’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lamen. Prince Damianos is dead,’ said Laurent.

Then, to the officer: ‘I apologise for my assistant. He doesn’t keep up with Akielon affairs.’ ‘On the contrary, it’s believed Damianos of Akielos is alive, and that he crossed into this province with his men six days ago.’ The officer gestured to his squadron, waving them forward. ‘Damianos is in Akielos.’ To Damen’s disbelief, he was waving them forward to mend the wagon. One of the soldiers asked Nikandros for a wooden block to brace the wheel. Nikandros passed it to him wordlessly. Nikandros had the slightly stupefied look that Damen remembered from several of his own adventures with Laurent.

this scene works so well because of everything that came before it. just… absolutely perfect

‘When your wagon is repaired, we can ride with you to the inn,’ said the officer. ‘You’ll be quite safe. The rest of the garrison is stationed there.’ He used the same tone that Laurent had used when he had said, ‘Who’s Damianos?’ It was suddenly obvious that they were not free from suspicion. A provincial officer might not feel comfortable confronting a well-known merchant on the road and searching his wagons. But at an inn, he could set his men to investigate the wagons at his leisure. And why risk a fight with a dozen guards on the road, when you could simply escort them back to the waiting arms of your garrison? ‘Thank you, officer,’ said Laurent without hesitating. ‘Lead on.’

damen doing my analysis for me!

It was a common enough arrangement in the provinces: merchants and travellers of good birth appreciated and even subsidised a military presence, which elevated an establishment over the usual public houses where not even a slave, if they possessed a shred of respectability, would risk eating.

in akielos, it’s apparently more respectable to be enslaved than poor. boooooooo

‘Very well.’ Laurent showed no sign of hesitation whatsoever. ‘Come, Lamen.’

i think in-universe laurent isn’t using it as a ship name, but as a pun to call damen “lame.” because he’s a bitch

‘This is Charls the renowned Veretian cloth merchant.’ ‘That isn’t Charls the renowned Veretian cloth merchant.’ The innkeeper looked at Laurent. ‘I can assure you that I am.’ ‘I can assure you. Charls the renowned merchant is already here.’ There was a pause.

‘Who is this impostor claiming to be m—’ They came face to face with Charls the Veretian cloth merchant.

laurent is getting ready to “yes, and” the shit out of this

Charls took one look at the unmistakable blue eyes and blond hair of his Prince, who he had last seen in Damen’s lap dressed as a pet in a tavern at Nesson. His eyes widened. Then, with a truly heroic effort: ‘Charls!’ said Charls.

no notes. delightful situation.

‘If he is Charls, then who are you?’ said the officer to Charls. ‘I,’ said Charls, ‘am—’ ‘He is Charls, I have known him these eight years,’ said the innkeeper. ‘That’s right. He is Charls. I am Charls. We are cousins,’ said Charls, gamely, ‘named after our grandfather. Charls.’ ‘Thank you, Charls, this man believes I am the King of Akielos,’ said Laurent. ‘I simply meant that you might be an agent of the King,’ said Stavos irritably. ‘An agent of the King when he has raised taxes and threatens to bankrupt the entire cloth industry?’ said Laurent.

laurent in this scene is me like 70% of the time playing dungeons and dragons. yessss girl pull in local politics and economics to make people accept your credibility

‘There is no need to apologise, Stavos. Your vigilance does you credit.’ Laurent gave a stiff little bow of his own. Then he drew off his riding cloak and passed it to Damen to carry.

‘In disguise again!’ Charls said sotto voce as he drew Laurent over to his table by the fire. ‘What is it this time? A mission for the Crown? A secret rendezvous? No fear, Your Highness—it’s my honour to keep your secret.’

charls deserves his celebrity status. i’m obsessed. he’s like, “oh goodness how delightful! i wonder what fun games of deception the king of vere and his little boyfriend are playing now!”

‘This is my assistant Guilliame.’ ‘This is my assistant Lamen,’ said Laurent.

laurent gets to be himself but damen doesn’t. lmaoooo

Laurent found a seat close to Charls and the silk merchant Mathelin. Lamen was relegated to a small three-legged stool at the table end.

loving how the narrative is now just calling damen “lamen”

It was decent wine and there were no flutists or dancing boys, which was the best one could hope for at a public inn, Damen thought.

WELL DAMEN I THINK THAT’S PROBABLY BETTER THAN PEOPLE SPECIFICALLY ENSLAVED AND GROOMED TO PROVIDE ENTERTAINMENT FOR THE RULING CLASS BUT MAYBE THAT’S JUST ME

Guilliame came to talk to him, since they were the same rank. ‘Lamen. That’s an unusual name.’ ‘It’s Patran,’ said Damen. ‘You speak very good Akielon,’ he said, loudly and slowly. ‘Thank you,’ said Damen.

picturing him like yzma in the sombrero

Nikandros had to stand awkwardly by the end of the table when he arrived. He frowned when he realised he had to give his report to Laurent. ‘The wagons are unpacked. Charls.’

nonconsensual improv

‘We usually operate in Delfeur, but I’ve been forced to come south. Nikandros is completely useless as the Kyros,’ Laurent said, loudly enough for Nikandros to hear him. ‘He doesn’t know the first thing about cloth.’ ‘That is so true,’ agreed Mathelin. Charls said, ‘He disallowed trading in Kemptian silk, and when I tried to sell silk from Varenne he taxed it at five sols a bolt!’

this is the best day of laurent’s life

nikandros private twitter vent #15. obviously. also does this count as an hr complaint? gonna say no—but i think nikandros would still file it out of spite

‘Charls met the Prince of Vere once,’ Guilliame said to Damen, lowering his voice to the conspiratorial, ‘in a tavern in Nesson, disguised as a,’ lowering it further, ‘prostitute.’ Damen looked over at Laurent, who was deep in conversation, letting his eyes pass slowly over every familiar feature, the cool expression tipped with gold in the firelight. He said, ‘Did he?’ ‘Charls said, think of the most expensive pet you’ve ever seen, then double it.’ ‘Really?’ said Damen. ‘Of course, Charls knew who he was right away, because he couldn’t hide his princely style, and nobility of spirit.’ ‘Of course,’ said Damen.

two possibilities here:

1) charls is lying about recognizing laurent immediately as a flex for his friends (most likely)

2) charls did recognize laurent and was just like “go off i guess”

Across the table, Laurent was asking questions about cultural differences in trade. Veretians liked ornate fabrics and dyes, weavings and ornamentations, Charls said, but Akielons had a sharper focus on quality, and their textiles were in truth more sophisticated, every aspect of the weave revealed by their deceptively simple styles. In some ways, it was harder to trade here. ‘Maybe you could encourage Akielons to wear sleeves. You’d sell more cloth,’ said Laurent. Everyone laughed politely at the joke, and then speculative looks crossed one or two faces, as if this young cousin of Charls’s might have stumbled by accident onto a good idea.

this is perfect for several reasons:

1) laurent using his political intelligence to make a genuinely helpful suggestion, foreshadowing that he will be a great leader

2) laurent dunking on akielion fashion in front of damen, which he has done several times before, but this time damen can’t argue

3) laurent further mocking damen, who dropped a fucking pitcher because of his exposed arms, by suggesting that his entire culture start wearing sleeves en masse so such situations would not occur again. iconic.

4) we actually get a sense that it might have worked. because laurent really is just That Bitch.

the wagons where Jokaste was spending the night, along with Guion’s wife, Loyse.

so we’ve got an akielion noblewoman, who had the bastard child of one of the two princes as a means of social mobility, having a hostage sleepover with the mourning and resentful wife of a veretian noble whose son died as a result of her husband’s unforgivable choice of letting said son be assaulted as a means of social climbing. very fun girl’s night circumstances

Damen the assistant checked in on both the soldiers and the wagons,

so he’s called damen again? but he’s called lamen in like two paragraphs. did someone else get the name damen? i don’t see that on the page. maybe it’s just distinguishing based on who’s perceiving him? i don’t know it’s fine i don’t need to understand every little detail (this is going to bother me until i find a coherent pattern or forget entirely)

One of the inn men came out with a lantern in his hand traversing the courtyard to tell Lamen that his room was prepared, second door to the right.

okay so i think it’s “lamen” when he’s interacting with the inn people, “damen” with his own people, and a mixture of both with charls and the merchant’s guild

He ascended the stairs. Without the lantern, there was quite a bit of unlit gloom,

He had exchanged his Akielon cotton for an oversized Veretian bed shirt, loose and trailing laces. And he had dragged all of the bedding from the small Akielon-style bed and heaped it in front of the fire, even dragging the clean mattress down to join the smaller pallet there.

didn’t they do something similar with the fireplace in the nesson inn scene? i get that we’re getting a lot of parallels and it’s great

Damen looked at the bedding, and said, carefully, ‘The innsman sent me here.’

“carefully” he’s like “uhhhh i don’t want to be presumptive but am i about to get laid”

‘At my instruction,’ said Laurent.

“yes. yes you are about to get laid."

Damen felt his heart begin to pound, even as he held himself still and tried not to make any dangerous assumptions.

damen i can read you like a book (literally)

Laurent said, ‘It’s our last chance for a real bed before the Kingsmeet.’

this is brutal, knowing that laurent almost certainly intends to turn himself in at this point :(

‘I need to bathe.’ He said it into Laurent’s ear, let his lips find the sensitive skin just behind it. They were kissing again, deep, heated kisses. ‘So go and bathe.’ He found himself pushed backwards, looking at Laurent across a stretch of space. Leaned against the wall, Laurent indicated to the small wooden door with his chin. His pale brows arched. ‘Or do you expect me to attend you?’

unlike previous sex scenes, they’re actually taking a breather and considering it beforehand. making the conditions how they both actually want them to be. i like that a lot, as opposed to the last sex scene, where it was all very sudden and impulsive. my guess is that i will love this scene for the reasons i disliked the last—they represent the two different ways damen and laurent respectively experience and prefer to express desire. damen’s is overwhelming and raw and primal (“you like it simple”), while laurent’s well-considered and gradual and within his own control. i think it’s very clear which my preference is, and i do stand by the suggestion that the last scene wasn’t as Good as damen felt like it was—but i also acknowledge that i’m just more on the laurentian side of things, and part of a relationship is indulging things that your partner desires that might not be your exact preference. in chapter 12, laurent is indulging damen. in this chapter, damen is more indulging laurent.

The evidence of planning was in fact very like Laurent, though Damen had never experienced it from him quite in this context before.

congrats buddy, you’re about to

(also i love and am saddened by the idea of laurent having a list of things he’d like to do with damen before turning himself in, and just kind of methodically assembling the circumstances to make sure he can experience it all)

Laurent didn’t follow him in, but left him to wash, a utilitarian task.

damen’s bath trauma is definitely an ongoing thing, and i like how we’re seeing how it can slowly heal. we’ve gone from Very Bad associations to Neutral associations—utilitarianism. eventually we’ll get to Good, but there’s still a way to go.

Here, too, was evidence of planning, and he could see it now for what it was: the lit candles, the joint bedding, and Laurent himself, clean and dressed in a bed shirt.

He thought of Laurent, waiting for him expectantly. It was charming, because it was clear that Laurent was unsure exactly what to do, yet, typically, had acted to take control of everything.

it better be charming or else i’m personally screwed. who said that

‘First time to entertain a lover?’ Just saying the word made him flush, and he saw Laurent flush too.

cheesy ass line

Laurent said, ‘Are you bathed?’ ‘Yes,’ said Damen. Laurent was standing on the other side of the room, near the stripped-down bed. He looked tense in the flame light, a nervy steeling of himself. Laurent said, ‘Take a step back.’

i like how we’re subtly seeing that laurent has been identifying the reasons that doing this specific sex act makes him anxious, and actively seeking to create circumstances where he can feel safe. he wants damen to be clean. he wants to be the one giving verbal instructions. he does not want to be touched. verbalizing those things makes it slightly less overwhelming, and allows him to consciously experience this, rather than just saying “i don’t care, do whatever you want.” and that’s amazing.

‘Take off the towel,’ said Laurent.

dead girl walking…

Virgins and the inexperienced tended to get nervous, which he enjoyed as a challenge to be overcome, hesitancy turned into eagerness and pleasure. It pleased some deep part of him to see in Laurent the flickering of a similar reaction. Laurent eventually lifted his gaze from the place where it had, instinctively, dropped. He let Laurent see him, see his nakedness was on display, the strident fact of his arousal. The flames in the stone hearth were too loud as they consumed the young cut wood. ‘Don’t touch me,’ said Laurent. And dropped to his knees on the floor of the inn.

god this is SO fucking good. laurent puts himself face-to-face with a source of trauma and abuse, sets his boundaries so he can feel safe, and decides to challenge that trauma head-on (PUN NOT INTENDED)

(slightly related, i just recently wrote my first earnest sex scene ever in a self-insert fic for another fandom and it is a LOT like this one. which is funny, bc that wasn’t really was i was trying to do, but i guess it rubbed off on me when i read it back in may. and i’m a lot like laurent, soooooooo)

oh also, damen’s perception of laurent being a cute nervous virgin, when in reality he’s like fighting demons with his bare hands, is yknow. more of the same stuff i comment on, where it’s good that he doesn’t see laurent as a victim but also lacks the understanding that we have and it’s paradoxically frustrating and nice

Damen’s pulse escalated wildly, even as he tried rather desperately not to presume that any other action would necessarily follow from this one.

yeah damen he’s definitely on his knees to rearrange the rug

(it’s nice that he’s trying to show restraint, especially after the last scene. not that he did anything WRONG last time, but he seems to be noticing that this is something laurent wants and needs to control)

Laurent was going to do it. When you see a panther opening its jaws you don’t get your dick out.

i listened to an interview with cs pacat where she was commenting on the way people always portray giving head or being penetrated as an inherently demeaning activity, like it’s always showing that the person doing it is weak, but she pushes back like uhhhh no. when you see a panther opening its jaws you don’t get your dick out

also telling is that one of laurent’s first (and arguably most memorable) acts of dominance over damen was forcing him to have someone else give him head, which very much made him the weaker and demeaned person in the situation, even if damen ultimately kinda just shrugged it off bc he was already so casual about sex before meeting laurent and also like. had sex slaves

The idea of the frigid Prince of Vere sucking his cock was impossible.

was

Laurent’s eyes were very dark, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, clearly struggling with something, as he leant in again.

i am very grateful that laurent exists as a character and is written the way he is

He hadn’t imagined it like this. He knew Laurent’s mouth, knew its vicious capability. He knew it as Laurent’s primary weapon. In his daily life, Laurent held his lips taut, repressing their lush shape into a hard line, his mouth cruel curves. Damen had seen Laurent eviscerate people with that mouth. Now Laurent’s lips were given over to pleasure, his words traded for Damen’s cock.

this is one of my favorite lines/paragraphs in the entire series. definitely the best one related to eroticism. it’s so much more rewarding for damen to have laurent, who he genuinely respects for his brilliance and sharp tongue, willingly and mindfully taking him despite his anxieties out of desire and determination, than for a slave with no personality to do what they’ve been groomed to do, or someone damen only shallowly understands like jokaste to basically use him for social clout. it’s also more rewarding to me personally as a reader for this to happen, as opposed to laurent just being like “i don’t care, do what you want” with very little mindfulness or control and damen just taking him like that, which is what happened in chapter 12. ultimately i think it’s more of a matter of taste and personal preference, which of those situations a reader prefers. both make sense for the characters they feature in control, and tell us useful things in understanding who they are and how they feel.

It was clear that Laurent didn’t know how to process the fact that he was turned on, and that part of his wariness was that he was uncertain what was next, one of the strange gaps in his experience that Damen couldn’t predict.

fuck… that’s so sad. but a really good detail and i’m glad it’s there.

In the dim light, Laurent said, ‘A fair exchange, is it?’ ‘I don’t know. What do you want?’

i’m trying to figure out what exactly this means. is laurent asking for something in return, as a way to minimize his own vulnerability here? what does the “i don’t know” mean, then? it almost sounds like laurent is referring to some previous conversation between them. ughhh i feel lazy. is it just bc damen gave laurent head in a previous scene? laurent being aware that he gives really good head (because [redacted]), basically teasing damen that he (laurent) gives better head and they both know it, and therefore a true fair exchange would include damen giving him a little extra? and damen teasingly being like “mayyybbbeeee, depends on what you want ;)”

‘Show me,’ said Laurent, ‘how it could be.’

damen understands this as “how it could be if we were together as we’ve fantasized about, without any of the war shit and courting conventionally”

laurent means that, but also, “how it could be if i’m not being assaulted or dissociating. because with what i’m about to do—turning myself in to be killed—i’m never gonna have it”

‘I would court you,’ said Damen, ‘with all the grace and courtesy that you deserve.’ He undid the first lace on Laurent’s shirt, and the fabric began to open, a glimpse of the hollow of his throat. Laurent’s lips were parted, his breath hardly stirring. Damen said, ‘There’d be no lies between us.’ He opened the second lace, felt the low throb of his own pulse, the warmth of Laurent’s skin as his fingers moved to the third. ‘We’d have time,’ Damen said, ‘to be together.’ And in the warm flame light, he lifted his hand and cupped Laurent’s cheek, and then leaned in, and kissed him on the lips, gently.

figuratively and literally undressing him. also this is so hot. anyway

He felt Laurent’s shock, as though he had not expected to be kissed after what he had just done.

stopppp

The way Laurent kissed was nothing like the way he did anything else. It was simple and without artifice, as if kissing were serious.

this scene is interesting, because it’s kind of written like they haven’t done stuff like kissing and intimacy together before. is it kind of an indication that damen subconsciously recognizes that this is the first laurent has allowed himself to be fully present? bc i think that is what’s happening here

The kiss deepened at Laurent’s bidding.

“at laurent’s bidding” let’s fucking gooooooo. man who has struggled to prove he’s in control of a world that hates him for 2.5 books has been willingly given control by someone who deeply respects and cares for him, who has said that he trusts him to treat him well

the sort of proprietary touch he wouldn’t have dreamed of before tonight, and still half expected Laurent to kill him for. Laurent made a small sound of encouragement, breaking off the kiss for a moment and closing his eyes, all his attention on Damen’s touch.

yeah this works for me. lol. in chapter 12 it’s like, there damen was getting off on laurent’s lack of control or mindfulness, the fact that his defenses had just completely fallen and he was being “honest,” so much so that he almost acted like a slave. but here, laurent is mindful about his choice to make himself vulnerable, and damen both sees and respects him for the complex and snippy and very un-slavelike person he is. the amazing thing here is that laurent isn’t pushing back or away, but he’s also not dissociating or pretending to be someone or something he isn’t—in fact, he’s pushing himself to be there despite his hesitation, and trusting damen to treat him well.

‘You like it slow.’ He dipped his head near Laurent’s ear. ‘Yes.’

I FUCKING KNEW “YOU LIKE IT SIMPLE” WAS GOING TO CONTINUE TO BE RELEVANT

do i even need to spell it out, how that line so perfectly works with "you like it slow"? holy fucking shit.

Laurent’s overfine skin was more sensitive than his own, though during the day Laurent ruthlessly strapped himself into the most severe clothing possible. He wondered if Laurent repressed sensation for the same reason that he struggled to admit it now, his jaw taut.

i love this little observation, wow. laurent represses feelings because he tends to experience them more deeply or sensitively than other people. this means that when he protects himself from harm, he’s also protecting himself from pleasure—because to laurent, as a victim of sexual abuse especially, pleasure and harm come hand-in-hand. we get to see damen figure this out on the page, even without the context of the regent, and accurately suspects that laurent’s “struggle to admit it” runs deeper than just being a flustered virgin, which is what he had previously assumed.

It was Laurent who pushed him down onto the bedding. Laurent’s hands were on him. Laurent touched him as if to learn the shape and feel of his body, as if to catalogue every part of him and commit it to memory.

HMMM I WONDER WHY HE’S TRYING TO CATALOGUE AND MEMORIZE HERE

Laurent broke off, and appeared to have come to a decision, his breathing quickened but controlled. ‘Make me come,’ he said, and placed Damen’s hand between his legs.

checking another thing off the bucket list! i feel like laurent had almost an intimacy contingency plan here: if i do a and still feel comfortable and present, then i’ll try to do b. and then c, if i haven’t been overstimulated or triggered yet. all the way down the list

‘Like that?’ No. Slower.

remember when laurent gave very similar directions to ancel as he gave damen head back in book 1?

“You’re more likely to win a game if you don’t play your whole hand at once,’ said Laurent. ‘Start more slowly.”

turns out the key to pleasuring laurent really was hidden in plain sight the entire time ;) it is the game he likes, after all

His own body’s renewed interest had grown from lazy arousal to primed, heavy; ready to mount, even as he put it aside to watch Laurent attempt to let his guard down.

“ready to mount” damen don’t be cringe

He felt the repression when it came, the hard restraint that Laurent exerted over his body, his stomach clenching, a muscle moving in his jaw. He knew what it signalled. Damen didn’t stop moving his hand.

so he didn’t come? am i reading that right?

‘Don’t like to come?’ ‘Is that a problem?’ His breathing shallow, Laurent didn’t quite manage the approximation of his usual tone. ‘Not for me. I’ll tell you how it was when I’m done.’

damen: you seem to be having a weird time with this (teasing to ease the intensity of whatever dark shit is going on in laurent’s head) laurent: is the matter of how one does or does not come a problem damen: not for me, i come all the time and i’m awesome at it. how about we come together and compare our experiences

they’re ridiculous. i love them

Laurent swore, once, succinctly,

he took Laurent in his hand and said, ‘Come on, then.’ It felt ridiculously daring to tell Laurent in any respect what to do. The first thrust against him was deliberate, a push of heat into his hand. Laurent’s eyes were on his. He could feel that it was new for Laurent to do this, just as it was new for him to feel like he was receiving it. He wondered if Laurent had ever fucked anyone in earnest, and he realised with a jolt of shock that Laurent hadn’t. The flood of heat that came at that wasn’t comfortable. And then like Laurent he was suddenly somewhere he had never been.

cool way for the playing field to be evened between them—the idea of bottoming makes damen feel similarly confused and inexperienced but undeniably aroused to laurent in like most sexual situations

‘I’ve,’ said Damen, ‘never—’ ‘Nor have I,’ said Laurent. ‘You’d be my first.’

damen jots that down for later (laurent doesn’t think there’s going to be a later)

Laurent said, ‘I thought that in Akielos, a First Night was special.’ ‘For a slave it is,’ said Damen. ‘For a slave it means everything.’

“you like it simple”

damen has realized there is so much more to loving a real person than the simplicity of having semi-ritualistic sex with slaves groomed to only care about his pleasure and not their own, for whom the pinnacle of existence is getting fucked. laurent has a lot more going on than just his sexuality, and so does damen. and they truly know and love each other, and demonstrate that in ways that aren't just sexual.

for a slave, this means everything—everything in the absence of any other purpose, because slaves aren’t allowed to have any other purpose. for a person with purpose beyond sex, this means SOMETHING. and it’s something they’ve actually chosen to care about and pursue, because they want it without having to be groomed. and that’s why free will is sexy.

Climax hit even though they were not inside each other’s bodies, but joined together, one.

it’s dangerous to come alone

He felt Laurent shifting, too soon. ‘I’ll get—’

i like how his trauma responses don’t like magically disappear once he lets himself get off. in fact were are reminded of them immediately

He knew that Laurent was fastidious after lovemaking, and he liked that he knew it, liked that he was learning Laurent’s idiosyncracies. Laurent paused, touching his fingers to the wooden edge of the table and just breathing in the dim light. Laurent’s post-coital habits were also an excuse, covering a need to take a moment to himself, and Damen knew that, too.

He sipped from the shallow cup that Laurent provided, and poured water for Laurent in turn, which Laurent didn’t seem to expect.

too easy to point out the metaphor there

Damen stretched out comfortably, and waited for Laurent to do the same. That took minutes longer than it would have with any other lover.

he likes it slow!!

‘You’re still wearing it.’ He couldn’t help but say it. Laurent’s wrist was heavy with gold, like the colour of his hair in the firelight. ‘So are you.’ ‘Tell me why.’ ‘You know why,’ said Laurent.

i think this might be the closest thing we get to an “i love you”

‘There will be no Patran princess, or daughter of the Empire.’

THERE'S NOT GOING TO BE A PATRAN PRINCESS, YOU STUPID SLUT

‘It’s your duty to continue your line.’

damen is projecting. he’s realizing how much he wants to marry laurent and truly Have Him, but it’s in conflict with his obligation as king to create an heir. so i guess that’s also why we have plot device baby

He didn’t know why he said it.

don’t worry man we’ve got our people (me) on it

‘No. I’m the last. My line ends with me.’ Damen turned, to find Laurent was not looking back at him, but also had his eyes on some point in the dim light. Laurent’s voice was quiet. ‘I have never said that to anyone before.’

a few implications here. most likely perceived by damen: he’s ashamed of his bloodline and the bad people in it, including himself. probably intended by laurent: he’s not going to have a chance to continue the bloodline even if he wanted to, because he’s going to turn himself in and get killed

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ said Laurent. ‘I always thought that I’d have to face my uncle alone.’

i hate it here. just TALK TO HIM AND FIND ANOTHER SOLUTION (something laurent has been unwilling to do several times in this series, and each time it has been a mistake)

laurent has gotten so comfortable conferring with damen re: plans and strategy, as long as the goal is to protect other people. what makes this different is that the only person who will be “harmed” by this plan is laurent himself, and laurent doesn’t believe that he deserves to live, especially if his death means everyone else can win. strong vs weak stuff is still deeply internalized. he does not expect himself to be able to get out of this one by killing a guy with a chair—he’s walking into the situation knowing the regent is stronger, and the best he can do is pave the way for damen to exercise his own strength in opposition

‘You’re not alone,’ said Damen. Laurent didn’t answer, but he did give a smile, and reached out to touch Damen, wordlessly.

yet

it is interesting how we went from laurent keeping secrets from damen in order to punish him and limit the amount of intimacy and care they can show each other, to laurent keeping secrets from damen in order to save him and relishing every second of intimacy and care they have left

Charls’s wagon train lent them respectability

literally an influencer

When the days got too hot, they retreated to inns and wayhouses, and once a large farmhouse where they ate bread, hard cheese and figs, and Akielon sweets of honey and nuts that attracted wasps in the sticky heat.

do you think akielos also has slaves to provide fine goods and foods for the ruling class? is it just a sex thing?

‘So you ministered to his household.’ ‘And to his boys,’ said Paschal. Damen said nothing.

i think damen definitely suspects [redacted] deep down, maybe he thinks laurent would have told him already if it were true?

‘I see that you used to be a slave, and that Charls has freed you,’ Guilliame said to him, as they prepared to part ways. Guilliame spoke very earnestly. ‘I want you to know that Charls and I have never traded in slaves.’ Damen looked out at the weird beauty of the gnarled landscape. He heard himself say, ‘Damianos will end slavery when he becomes King.’

LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nikandros was looking at Laurent. ‘He’s very—’ ‘You get used to it,’ said Damen, with a little wellspring of joy inside him, because that wasn’t really true.

AWWWWWW this is a love confession too

And that was strange. To be here, so close to the end of his own plans. So close to the end, really, of everything.

oh my god laurentttt

To be where he’d never dreamed he would be, and to know that by morning, this would be finished, or at least, his part in it.

STOP

Then, because there should be no witnesses to this, he dismissed the guards. All bad things were done in the dark.

Jokaste watched all of this happen and didn’t flinch from it, nor did she scream or plead for help, as he had thought she would not.

i really like “as he had thought she would not”

He said, ‘I think it’s Kastor’s child.’ Jokaste didn’t answer him, and there was a silence in which her gaze was on him. Laurent regarded her in turn. Around them, the camp stayed quiet, no sounds except for the breeze and the night. ‘I think you saw it clearly, in those twilight days in Akielos. The end was coming, and Damianos wouldn’t listen to anyone. The only way to save his life was to persuade Kastor to send him as a slave to Vere. To do that you had to be in Kastor’s bed.’

is laurent accusing her of loving damen and trying to save him, in a very manipulative and roundabout way? because that is what he’s doing right now. which is neat. i like these two together

It gave something away. And she was angry about it, and for the first time she was afraid. He said, ‘I think it’s Kastor’s child, because I don’t think you would use Damen’s child against him.’

“because you love him. i know this, because i’m just like you and i love him”

‘You mean, the only difference between us is that I chose the wrong brother?’ As the stars began to drift across the sky, Laurent thought about Nicaise, standing in the courtyard with a handful of sapphires. ‘I don’t think you chose,’ said Laurent.

WOAH okay gotta unpack that. is laurent thinking of nicaise in regards to what he (laurent) didn’t and couldn’t do to save him? at this time where he’s doing something to save people he cares about? or is he comparing jokaste to nicaise, in that they both had to fraternize with nobility in a way that was technically their “choice” but very much informed by money and society? or is he comparing the baby that he’s giving himself up to save to nicaise, that’s why he cares so deeply about saving it, and he has no choice? none of these feel quite right.

“nicaise in the courtyard with a handful of sapphires” i forget what exactly this refers to. is it when nicaise is about to warn laurent, and fails to? is that the last time laurent saw him alive? is he likening nicaise’s lack of autonomy in the situation with the regent, and the efforts he took to help laurent despite it, to jokaste telling kastor to spare damen? these imperfect attempts at helping others within a situation that robs a person of their control, which an observer could identify as stupid or useless? just like what laurent is doing right now?? yeah. i think that might be it

[archersartcorner]

fuck. fuck man. I was scrolling through your PLA stuff at one am and I’m going to cry. Wonderful shit. Love your redesigns. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go cry in a corner over Ginter.

Ahhhh thank you so much!! I’m still happy with a lot of my old PLA drawings, so I’m glad to see that people still like them too! Ginter and Volo were a very fun duo to think about and explore <3

Have a lil doodle of the goobers! Just joking around~ they adore each other hehe