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have-a-treato · 8 months

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These Hands

Gale x gn!reader, Gale x gn!Tav

Content/Tags: Soft, slow, NSFW, service top Tav/reader, oral, penetration, short, one-shot

Context: Between the ending of Act 2 and the beginning of Act 3, on the road to Baldur's Gate. Light spoilers for the end of Act 2, Gales overall story and a non-spoilery reference to the Act 2 romance scene.

Word count: 2.3k

“You should be with me in this… Let me-“ With one last kiss to his palm, you bring his hand to your chest, resting just over your heart. “I’m already here with you.” Your hips still with your next words, “I love you. Let me show you.”

Fic List AO3

After the battle with Ketheric Thorm the group has finally made its way on the road to Baldur’s Gate. The days have been long, and with many still recovering from the battle, everyone has decided to take a well-earned day of rest before continuing the last leg of the journey to the city.

Gale had unsurprisingly and generously produced a cozy space for you both to laze the day away in. His space is now closer to a library than a tent, with bookshelves lining a spun illusion of a tower room, plush carpets laid out on every inch of the floor, and a quiet fire burning in a hearth on one wall.

You grinned at him when first stepping inside, “Your home? In Waterdeep?” You teased him.

“I didn’t show you before, so now felt as good a time as any. Nothing in all the realms is more relaxing than my library,” he said with a decidedly pretentious tone.

With a knowing grin, you held up your hands in acquiescence and headed for the pile of pillows tucked between two of the bookshelves. Who were you to argue with a wizard about his tower?

Now, you’ve stirred from a long nap nestled into Gale’s side on the pillows as he reads a large tome picked up from somewhere on the journey. Probably the Sharran temple.

“Mmm… this was a great idea, I must admit.” You mumble into his shoulder as you wake.

Gale winds his arm around your hip, tucking you even closer. “That implies you had doubts about our afternoon of languor, and I must say I’m a bit offended. I have great ideas. Particularly when it comes to you.”

You let out a groggy snort as you stretch your free arm across his chest, continuing your ascent back to the waking world.

He turns his head away from his book to nuzzle your hair, “Go back to sleep,” he mumbles into your scalp. “You took some hard hits during the battle with Thorm. Or are you hungry? I can whip up the stew you like. Or could I interest you in a book from my vast collection? I have one in mind I think you’ll find fascinating. Or-“

You cut him off when you start quietly chuckling into his shoulder. This man nearly met his own end and yet he seeks to serve you.

“I’ll advise you it is unwise to laugh at a man’s stew.” He says with a grin.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, a soft smile on your lips, and wiggle out of his hold to straddle his middle. You gently remove that hefty tome of his and set it aside. Your hand shifts up his chest to lightly, absently trace the lines of his orb sigil along his neck.

“I only realized that I’d like to do something for you,” you say softly.

Gale’s grin falters momentarily, “I could not ask more of you, who have already given me everything.”

Your heart soars at his words, but you know Gale. You know just how deserving he is of everything you have to offer, yet he would not ask for it. He would not ask for anything for fear of not being worthy of it, despite all you’ve shared together. He must be shown how deserving he is, you decide. Slowly, perhaps he will come to see that he can receive the same love and care that he graces you with.

His hands reach for you after you’ve paused too long in your contemplating, but you catch his wrists. Closing your eyes, you plant a soft kiss at his right wrist, listening to his small, somewhat awed sigh at the touch. Your plan takes form in your mind, and you drop his left hand to begin work on his right. Beginning at his wrist, your thumbs move in small circles, massaging the muscle and small joints. As you move up toward to his elbow and back down to the wrist, squeezing lightly to continue massaging, Gale lets out another sigh. Your lips twitch at his easily coaxed reactions. He clearly enjoys this attention - why not let himself ask for more? You move to his hand, methodically rubbing down the length of each finger. You get a little lost in your task, enjoying the feel of his skin as you finish with the right and move to the left. Gale’s life as a prodigy shows in his hands. Not soft, as one might imagine for a wizard, but slightly rough and dry from the constant turning of pages, of wielding a staff, of pulling from the Weave. These hands have worshiped your skin, have clinched victories, have created wonders. They are precious. Glancing up at him, he has a bemused expression but attempts to hide it with that ever-present grin. You bring both hands up to your lips to kiss his knuckles. A few small scars decorate the tops of his hands, and you take a moment to give each one their own attentions.

“Hmm…” you sigh with your lips brushing over his fingers. “These hands have done so much.”

“These hands can do more,” he says with a lift of his brows.

You chuckle, giving an index finger a little nip. “Oh yes, I’m acquainted with their skills.” You eye him mischievously, licking the tip of that same finger with your tongue. A tease. “I would know what these hands desire.”

“They want for nothing where you are concerned. How can they grant your desires? Now, there is the better question.” He replies.

Not good enough. You hold his gaze again, trying to let him see your openness, your earnestness to give him something of yourself that he deserves. Something he didn’t have to earn by being anything other than himself. You slide your tongue around that finger, bringing it into your mouth, sucking lightly from knuckle to tip.

“Nothing?” You whisper, “Nothing at all?”

His eyes are locked with yours, and you sense him tense beneath you slightly. The jovial mask of Gale of Waterdeep slips a little; in his eyes you see that yearning you suspected was there all along. They search your face, looking for deception, for conditional affection, perhaps even outright lies. But they will find none, and you will prove it to him over and over and over again. You press and encouraging kiss to his palms, catching the movement of his throat as he swallows nervously.

“You.” He says lowly. “Always you.”

Reverently placing his hands down, you lean in, taking his face between your palms. “You have me. Wholly.” You breathe onto his lips. The kiss is a brush of skin at first, then confident as he attempts to take the lead, dancing that talented tongue with yours to drive you mad. You nip at his lower lip to take back control, slowing the pace. Softly sucking on his lip as you pull back, you give him your eyes full of that openness to reassure him, as your hands move lower.

Slowly you release the buckle of his tunic, pushing the fabric up over his torso, planting treasuring kisses along his chest as you head down to his trousers. His hands make a gentle protest in your hair, but you place them back at his sides, a quiet question in your eyes as you continue. You can see the uncertainty in his gaze, the hesitation to bask in your attention, and the mix of excitement and curiosity for what you will do next. Which will win out?

He gives a soft, tentative smile as your signal to continue. You unfasten the ties for his trousers with an easy smile, tugging them down just enough, and do the same for his underwear. The moment is too precious to interrupt with disrobing completely. You are singularly focused on showing this man, in some small way, just how much you care for him.

His cock bobs, half-hard, as you reveal it. You take him in hand, pausing again with that question in your eyes as you bend down. His chest rises and falls in anticipation as he gives you a slight nod, reaching out a hand to thread through your hair loosely. Starting at the base, you give him a long, thorough lick, keeping his gaze all the while. The throaty noise Gale releases in response is delicious in your ears – you want more. His cock stiffens fully in your hand now, and you put your lips around the tip, circling and sucking. The hand in your hair twitches. More. You hear a hiss as you swallow him fully, pulling back up to flick your tongue at the sensitive underside of his head, then pushing back down, sucking hard this time. That hiss turns into a huff as your pace quickens, squeezing the base of him with your fingers. More. You want even more. Even though this is about Gale, you might be a little selfish. You want to see the faces he’s making, how his chest is heaving, how his arms are flexing to restrain himself, the shape his mouth makes with each sound. With a few last licks and sucks, you pull off, too eager to make those visions a reality. You sit up and lick your lips, watching his face as he pants and reaches for you.

You shake your head, backing off to impatiently remove your underthings. Crawling back to straddle him, you take that hand that reached out up to your mouth to kiss his wrist. You position yourself and begin to sink down slowly, almost teasingly onto his cock. His breath hitches with each rise and fall of your hips as you take him inside you. This - this is what you wanted. His rapturous expression as he fits inside you, as you squeeze him, as you bite the meat of his thumb in your own ecstasy. He is yours, and you will worship him as he deserves. Fully seated, you begin to slowly rock your hips. This isn’t a race, isn’t lewd, isn’t about your pleasure. It is intimate, and full of your will to prove him worthy of you, worthy of his own life. You kiss each knuckle of his fingers as you continue that slow, sensual rocking. His eyes are heavy-lidded, jaw slack, chest rising and falling with his panting breath as he takes in the sight of you. You are both mostly clothed, and yet it is somehow all the more passionate for it.

“I…”, he breathes, then clears his throat nervously. “I won’t last much longer with you like this.”

“Then let go,” you say softly. “This isn’t about me.”

His expression remains conflicted, flitting between pleasure and confusion of your focused attention. “You should be with me in this… Let me-“

With one last kiss to his palm, you bring his hand to your chest, resting just over your heart. “I’m already here with you.” Your hips still with your next words, “I love you. Let me show you.”

His breath shudders as your hips restart their languid rhythm. Your hand rests over his on your chest, his other hand grasping your hip as you rock, lift up slightly, and sink back down into another rocking motion. All slow, liquid movements. Your gazes are locked, your chests lifting with the same breaths, your mouths softly open with the same tender sounds of desire. The hand at your hip squeezes, and you feel his hips start to meet yours in kind. A long groan escapes him as he quickly thrusts up into you.

“Yes,” you breathe. You lean forward as his eyes fall shut, taking in his face as he comes. His cheeks flush, his brows furrow, his breath rushes out in quick pants; then all slows and relaxes into bliss. Your rhythm doesn’t stop, riding him through the high and leading him back down again. The light sheen of sweat on his brow earns a kiss from you, and you rest your head there, patiently waiting for him to return to you. His breath slows, and his eyes blink open sluggishly. That soft, wicked grin of his returns, but you notice the lingering astonishment behind his eyes, as if he still can’t quite believe you’re real despite everything.

“For once I think I’ve rendered you speechless.”

A light chuckle escapes him as he catches his breath, “Very nearly.” He swallows, “That was…”

You interrupt his search for words with a quiet kiss. You’d rather leave the moment as it is. It needs no description, only the understanding that you did it for him because you love him. You pull away with a tender caress of his cheek, sitting back and pulling his tunic back down, his trousers back up as you lift off of him. You sense him watching you, still likely contemplating if you are amongst the illusions of this room. Quietly you re-dress in your underthings and bestow more kisses on his hands as you rejoin him among the pillows on your knees. “I recall mention of stew, but what about a cup of tea first?”

“That sounds lovely.” He says with a smile. Before he can even twitch a muscle, you’ve lifted up again and are strolling toward the very real small table near the hearth housing a teapot with ready-made tea the Wizard of Waterdeep keeps magically warmed with an environmental spell. In a few moments, you’re striding back with two cups, warmed to the perfect temperature and ready to sip. You place Gale’s cup atop the tome he was perusing earlier, earning you a slightly scandalized look as he swipes the cup up, taking a sip. You chuckle to yourself as you re-take your place at his side on the pillows. As he sets his cup down – not on a book this time – you snatch his hands again.

Placing one at your cheek and one to your lips you whisper, “I can’t get enough of these hands.”

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Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

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blkgirl-writing · 1 month

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Refuge for the Wicked

"Sharing a Blanket" from flufftober (In march)

Gale Dekarios x Durge!reader

Summary: You can't escape the faded memories of your haunted past, and sleep is nothing but a nightmare. Gale can't seem to sleep either. Maybe some extra warmth will help.

A/N: Prompt from @flufftober

(spring), I started late so I just started on 6! I might go back and write the first few. Also writing alongside my wonderful friend @ficbrish who made this fic happen, thank you! Also thanks to Jane Eyre for being my background audiobook and reminding me of big words.

TW: Dark Urge reader, (vague morbid thoughts, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of anxiety attacks), fluffy overall dw.

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In the dead of night, when the fireflies and stars lit up the sky, the air was too quiet to stand. Your head buzzed like frantic bees in a fallen hive, trying everything to get out, the brutal bloodied images flashing across your vision. No refuge for the wicked, You'd told yourself over and over, when sleep couldn't take you. But, You had been proven wrong.

Gale hadn't had the best rest either, used to the comforts of his tower, his warm tressym on his lap, and endless books to ease his mind into sleep. He had seen you turning in your sleep, and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder, whispering an invitation to his own tent. You had refused, worried about your cruel hands during slumber. but gods above, any sound had to be better than bitter silence, and one thing you knew about Gale, was that there would never be stale air.

It became pattern, after a few nights. The others would sleep, and you'd sneak away to his cozy corner, and Gale would talk. About anything, really. Gale shared his fondest memories, read a chapter from his small stash of literature, and even teach you a few simple spells. Your favorite was when he'd recite the most romantic poems. They felt warm, somehow. stirring something deep within you. Those nights, you'd rest peacefully, no dreams or nightmares, just darkness. Gale's voice became the only comfort in your world. And even nights he could sleep effortlessly, you found yourself wandering into his tent, curled up in the opposite corner from him.

This night, however, neither of you could sleep, and yet there was still quiet. It felt like hours,

"It's certainly cold tonight," Gale muttered.

"I can start another fire closer?" You offered.

"No no no, let me." At a snap of his fingers, a flame appeared in the dirt just in front of his tent. Never wavering and never moving, just taking the edge off the nipping air.

A few more moments passed, and you tucked your knees to your chest, hands cupped over your mouth to stop the numbness from climbing further up your fingers.

"Come here, you're freezing to death," Gale pulled the blanket over, opening up a space for you right next to him. Maybe he saw your hesitation, or maybe he wanted you next to him just as much as you wanted him, but he outstretched his hand to yours, his soft but calloused fingers wrapping around your frozen ones, and ever so gently pulled you towards him. Knowing it wasn't just an empty offer was enough for you to settle into him, his arm wrapped carefully around your waist, your head nestled into his shoulder, and finally, warmth enveloping your body underneath his big, heavy blanket.

"Thank you." This...was nice.

"Any time." His fingers played with a loose thread on the blanket, just by your hip. "You're more than welcome to keep your things here."

"Oh," Was all you managed, eyes fluttering away from his face for a moment. this closeness was something to be afraid of, you knew deep down you were supposed to be alone. But in his arms, you felt a calmness that you'd never known before. But you felt like you didn't deserve that bliss. "I don't need a tent or anything."

"I'm very sure you could manage on your own, but you don't have to." Gale spoke softly, almost like he was telling a secret, a small smile forming"You've spoiled me, I can't quite sleep right without you next to me."

You blinked, staring into the flicker of the fire before you. All you could think about was the soft fabric on your skin, so opposite from the biting that ran through your blood, and the warmth he brought from his touch, his body comforting and steady against yours. "Are you saying you miss me, Gale?"

"Quite a bit, actually." You could feel his eyes on you, but you hadn't dared to look, not yet. You knew there was kindness in his stare, it sent shivers down your spine, a sign that you didn't deserve the caring offer he implied, asked of. Your body rejected that but gods above did you want nothing but it. Because with him, Your mind was free, heart full, body light.

"I would really love that." You replied. Finally, a smile, from happiness, and not morbidity. You leaned further into him, intertwining your legs with his, Gale resting his head on top of yours, placing a barely noticeable kiss on your forehead.

"I'm glad you spoke to me."

'Hm?" Gale spoke, voice low and gravely, clearly between the realm of wake and sleep.

"I'm glad, that you spoke to me, to come to your tent that night."

"Oh," Gale rolled further into you, getting more comfortable, "I wish I had sooner." and with that, he drifted into sleep, the fire extinguishing in a wisp. Leaving you to think about his words, and your thoughts. You truly did love, that he invited you once, and again to stay, and he really meant it.

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just before sunrise was when you silently awoke from more night terrors. Astarion still off in the woods, surely feeding. otherwise, everyone was sound asleep. Or so you thought.

You had a few minutes in your own thoughts, sitting up and staring blankly into the dim glow of the distant campfire. Gale, with his big heart and smart mouth, won you over, no denying it anymore. It was clear when your small respite of nightmares, dreams filled with him, almost fighting to keep you sane.

"Good morning." Gale leaned on his hand, looking at you with a groggy fondness, like you were the sunrise and sunset, beautiful and full of life. His eyes nearly glimmered when he looked at you through his sleepy eyes.

"I thought you were asleep." You smiled, cozying back into the warm blanket, the cold morning air still too crisp, or you just used it as an excuse to be close to him again. And as if he read your thoughts, he drew you closer to him with a gentle touch.

"Stay" He whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, oh gods above his voice sounded like warm whiskey and the smoothness of turning new pages. "-please"

Well, there was no denying that. You couldn't pry yourself away from Gale. You held him tight, as if he'd wake up and realize his mistake, you had mistaken his words and actions and never felt this comfort again. His warm breath tickled your lower neck, his head on your chest, eyes barely open, but fixated on you. under the blanket, shielded from the light of the day, heavy eyes not daring to look away from his.

He smiled. A soft smile, but full of light. His lips were slightly chapped, eyes tinted red, details you missed upon his face at a distance, now fully on display as you tilted down. lips inches from his.

Your eyes flickered closed as he sank further into you. Gale enveloped you, body and soul, connecting in a sleepy haze, melting into a kiss. Only stopping for air, a mumbled word, and another kiss. Countless kisses, ending in peaceful slumber.

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TAGLIST

Please reach out if you wish to be added!!

@shyminnie07 @makers-breath @claryvoyantfray @black-sapphic @fapqueen

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grandmother-goblin · 7 months

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When Soap Isn't Enough

Ao3 - Masterlist

Summary: No matter how many times Astarion scrubbed himself down, he just couldn't feel clean. So he accepts Cas's offer to help him out.

Relationships: Astarion x Female!Tav

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 2.4k

Tags: Hair washing, references to past trauma, non-sexual nudity.

Astarion tilted his head back onto the lip of the bathtub and closed his eyes, enjoying the heat of the clean water and the soothing aroma of lavender scented bath oil. It was technically his second bath of the evening. The first one had been dedicated to ridding himself of so much filth he was surprised he was allowed through the doors of the Elfsong. The second was just for his own sanity.

As if traversing the sewers beneath Baldur’s Gate wasn’t bad enough, some lunatic had summoned an army of grease mephits and one thing led to another and… well, Gale blew them up. But not before one of them managed to slime Astarion head to toe. Blinded and covered in grease, the little bastard then shoved him into a puddle of sludge. But everyone was so concentrated on surviving the encounter, Astarion did not have time to feel embarrassed about his condition.

The only thing Cas could offer him on the long walk back to the Elfsong was a cloak and a few rags to wipe himself up. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was better than nothing and he appreciated the gesture.

He was also grateful that Cas had gotten them a separate room from the others. It meant that fewer people got to see him in such a state, and he enjoyed the privacy it afforded him and Cas for several reasons.

The space wasn’t very big. Beside the washroom, all their room had was a bed big enough for two and a dresser to keep their belongings. But it was cozy. Rich wood tones and warm lantern light gave the place a very homey feel. He kind of liked it.

Astarion splashed a bit of water on his face. No matter how many times he scrubbed himself down, he still felt the grease. It wasn’t there. He could see it wasn’t there. But, somehow, he still felt like he couldn’t get clean.

“Astarion?” Cas called from the outside the washroom, her voice just loud enough to hear through the thick wooden door. “Do you mind if I pop in for a second? I just want to grab my hairbrush. I promise I won’t look.”

He rolled his eyes. “Darling, you’ve already seen everything,” he said and picked up the bar of soap again. “The door’s unlocked.”

Cas slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. Though he really didn’t mind if she looked, she kept her eyes off of him. Instead, she made a beeline for the vanity and quickly found her hairbrush. “Are you starting to feel better?”

“Mostly,” he said and began to scrub his arm with soap again. “But I still feel like there’s grease everywhere. On my skin, under my fingernails, in my hair. I’m sitting in water and I’m still probably flammable.”

There was a soft snort of laughter. “Want to try washing with some vinegar?”

The suggestion made Astarion’s lip curl with disgust. “I’m trying to smell better, my love, not worse,” he said and started washing his other arm. “Though if you have any more of that lavender scented shampoo, I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“Of course,” Cas replied brightly and retrieved the bar of shampoo from her toiletry bag. “Do you have any interest in letting me wash your hair for you?”

Astarion’s brow drew together as his hand paused mid-scrub. “Wash my hair?” he repeated back dumbly. “Why?”

She shrugged. “It feels good and I want to,” she said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “No pressure. Just thought I would put the offer out there.”

“I— Why are you like this?” he asked, making her laugh again. “You know how I feel about you being too nice to me.”

It was a conversation they had countless times in a dozen different ways. The answer was always the same, but he still struggled to wrap his head around it. It was because she cared about him. She cared about him in a way that no one else ever had. With patience and respect, but willing to stand her ground with him when she needed to. Even if she flooded him with sweet gestures, they all came from the heart.

For Cas, one of the main ways she showed affection was through physical touch. Due to his complicated feelings towards sex and other such activities, they decided to have a more caste relationship for a while. Given how frequently they found themselves tangled in blankets during the early stages of their relationship, Astarion thought Cas would have some difficulty with the change.

But she didn’t.

It had been almost a month, and Cas never once tried to pressure him into anything more. Though there were a few instances where their kisses turned a little too heated, she never had a problem with pulling back. Never got upset with him for denying her the physical pleasure she so clearly craved.

Of course, Astarion didn’t hold it against her. She still had certain needs, and he was glad that she didn’t try to deny that for his sake. But he was also glad that she respected his wishes and didn’t try to guilt him over his decision.

Cas held out the bar of shampoo to him and said, “Up to you.”

“Fine,” he replied, sounding about as enthusiastic as a teenager who had been told to wash dishes. “Just try not to get soap in my eyes.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to get soap in your eyes,” she said as if he were being completely ridiculous. Then she pulled the stool in front of the vanity over to the tub and took a seat behind him. “Sit forward a bit so I don’t get water outside the tub.”

A little reluctantly, he did as he was told, letting his arm rest atop his bent knees as casually as he could. Yet, despite his outward demeanor, his stomach knotted and his throat tightened. He couldn’t quite place why.

Cas had seen him naked plenty of times between changing his clothes in front of her or when they went to bed together. So it wasn’t his nudity.

Maybe it was just the position.

Naked, vulnerable, with his back presented to someone seated behind him. His teeth clenched as his fingers dug into his leg, hidden beneath the soapy water. He exhaled, but tried to make the sound seem bored or impatient instead of a calming exercise. It wasn’t Cazador, and there wasn’t a knife. It was Cas, and a fucking bar of soap.

He needed to pull himself together.

“Close your eyes for a second,” Cas said as she dipped a cup into the water.

As soon as he closed his eyes water cascaded over his hair and down his neck. It was warm and soothing. Then she poured another cup of water on him, slowly, until every bit of his hair was dripping wet.

Ever so carefully, Cas ran her fingers through his hair and pulled it back away from his face. A little smile came to his lips. “How would you feel if I started slicking my hair back?”

“I have no opposition as long as you don’t use so much product that your hair looks crunchy.”

He furrowed his brow. “Crunchy?”

“Like Raphael’s.”

“His hair looks more greasy than anything.”

Cas hummed, sounding skeptical, and lathered up the bar of shampoo. “Take a closer look next time he slithers out of Hell. I bet if you touched it it would sound like a crumpled newspaper.”

“I’m not risking getting grease on myself again to find out what that devil’s hair sounds like,” he said, sounding indignant even as he wanted to smile.

It was funny how that worked. One second he was slipping back into one of his worst memories, and then the next Cas was making him want to laugh. It was so easy. It felt almost natural. That whenever he began to slip into darkness, she was always right there ready to direct him towards the light. Sometimes without trying at all.

Cas tilted his head back gently and began to work her soapy fingers through his hair. She started near his hairline, rubbing her fingertips in tiny circles as she worked her way over his scalp. It felt nice. Really nice.

Soon, Astarion found himself closing his eyes. The smell of lavender, the warm water of the bath, and a soothing massage relaxed the bundle of anxiety in his belly. Most of it, at least. Even though he knew in his heart that Cas wouldn’t take advantage of him, he couldn’t completely suppress that twinge of fear.

Part of him still expected Cas to push him. To trail her fingers down his chest, or to dip her hand beneath the water and tread even lower. Cas had never done something like that, and he didn’t think she ever would, but the worry lingered. That, somehow, this kind and sweet woman he knew was just a facade. That Cas was just like everyone else who wanted him just for his body.

Cas placed her hand just above his brow and said, “Keep your eyes closed.” Shielding his face the best she could, she washed away the shampoo. Between each rinse, she massaged his scalp and combed her fingers delicately through his hair.

“I think I got all the grease out,” she said and dunked her hands in the water to remove the lingering suds on her skin. “I have a light oil for your hair if you’d like. It smells nice and it’ll make your hair soft and easy to comb.”

It sounded wonderful. Especially the thought of her fingers gliding through his hair again as he melted into her touch. But his stomach knotted, and he shook his head. “I think I’m alright, my love,” he said and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. “Thank you.”

If Cas was at all disappointed by his refusal, it didn’t show on her face. She just gave his hand a little squeeze. Then she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his damp forehead and said, “Any time.”

With that, she dried her hands off on a towel hanging over the edge of the tub and put the stool back under the vanity. Then she picked up her hairbrush and started towards the door. “I’ll see you in a bit,” she said and gave him a smile before she left the room.

Astarion sighed once he heard the door click shut behind her. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he already regretted turning down her offer. If her shampooing his hair was anything to judge by, it would have been just as nice and relaxing. Maybe they could even talk about something else as ridiculous as what sound Raphael’s hair would make. Who knew? He certainly didn’t because he had let his fear get the better of him.

Yet Cas was patient and she didn’t seem to take it personally. There was just only so much touching he could handle before his train of thought ventured down a dark path. No matter how he tried to redirect it towards the light, he wasn’t always in control, and his mind went there anyway. As frustrating as it was, and though he knew he was safe (or as safe as he could be) with Cas, two centuries of conditioning didn’t go away overnight.

Still, he was getting better. Little by little. And Cas was there with him for every step of the way.

After he scrubbed his body down with soap one more time, he drained the tub and toweled off, finally feeling like all the grease was gone. His hair especially felt good. His hair was still a little damp when he changed into his pajamas.

Cas had gotten the pajamas for him as a gift, and thought neither of them slept, they were soft and nice to lounge in while he did his trance. Just simple, loose, burgundy pants and a stretchy, long-sleeved, gray shirt. Nothing fancy, but he didn’t really need fancy so long as he was comfortable.

When he exited the washroom, he found Cas lounging on the bed clad in her own pajamas, a pencil in hand as she jotted down something in her journal. She glanced up at him and gave him a soft smile. Like she was simply happy to see him. It still felt so strange, no matter how many times she gave him that look. “Feeling better?” she asked, closing her journal to give him her full attention.

The mattress dipped as Astarion sat beside her. He used the movement to tuck her against his side, his arm wrapped around her lithe frame and her head tucked under his chin. “Much better, darling,” he said and rolled onto his back and pulled her fully on top of him. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had someone wash my hair like that before”

She pushed up with her hands on either side of his head, relieving him of some of her weight. “How did you feel about it?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t be opposed to doing it again,” he said as he let his hands wander from her ribcage, to her hips, down to lightly grip her upper thighs. “Perhaps, next time, you might join me in the tub.”

Cas smiled at him. “I don’t think we’d both fit.”

“Not with that attitude,” he said, earning himself a laugh because she was right. Even if the idea sounded nice, there was no way they could both fit comfortably. “I bet this place has a room with a bigger tub. They have to, right? For half-orcs or goliaths or other massive folk. Those would surely fit two little elves.”

She hummed. “If you want to ask the owner to switch rooms, be my guest,” she said, effectively putting the ball in his court. Leaving the decision up to him, with no real pressure one way or another.

“I bet they’d have bigger beds too.” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled her down for a kiss. Something chaste and sweet, and he could feel her smiling into it.

Gods. He might very well be in love with her.

“I’ll ask about it tomorrow,” he said. Despite his earlier nerves, it was something he still wanted to do. Especially with Cas. It might be good for him, he thought. Just a small way to be intimate with her that didn’t involve sex.

It would take more than just soap to wash away all of his complicated feelings towards intimacy. Perhaps, he would never be rid of it entirely. But it was a start.

That was something.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic

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princess-leaorgana · 8 days

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Summary: After the takedown of The Absolute, Zelphie finds her city in need of more help and her home destroyed. She won't stop helping, but who can help her?

Rolan x Tav (Zelphie; ~30y.o AFAB, Sorcerer, Tiefling, not really described physically on purpose <3)

M/F

Author's Note: I fucking love tielfings. Along with this being a budding romance/smut/fluff/word vomit fanfiction, it's also my case study in DnD 5e tieflings, how they act, what sets them apart from humans and devils and elves. That being said, I have a few artistic liberties in here as well where I couldn't find a straight answer, if you'll amuse me.

Warnings - Spoilers for Baldur's Gate 3, alcohol consumption, mild hints of abuse, and OH DEAR is that my smut I left out? Oh, that's a lot of smut. I'm so embarrassed.

Chapter One Two Three

While dinner was being prepared, Rolan helped Zelphie with her room. She had done a lot of shopping for furnishings. New curtains for the balcony window, new blankets and pillows for her bed. She had gone clothes shopping as well and she pushed him away from snooping through her new dresses, stockings and tunics. They would share dinner with each other and Lajy on the balcony. Zelphie made a fun decision to place down the old furnishings of her room on the balcony to create a nice sitting space while they ate. It was cozy, very intimate. Sitting down on plush pillows and a thick blanket on a balcony of a wizard’s tower, drinking wine, eating and watching the sunset next to Rolan seemed divine to Zelphie. As they ate, they did what felt right for a budding couple, asking each other questions. They now knew each other’s favorite flower, color, wine and sweet treat.

‘So…if you can remember, as you told me you were young when you were left on your own, is Zelphie your real name?’ He asked her and she swirled her wine glass a little.

‘No, the matron of the orphanage named me. I was named after her parrot,’ she said and Rolan shook his head.

‘That is not true,’ he sighed, almost annoyed at her story.

‘I swear it is! At least that’s what she told me. She told me she named me after the parrot because I never learned how to shut up and be peaceful,’ she said and Rolan snorted.

‘Alright, that I believe,’ he said and she nudged him.

‘How about you?’

‘I’ve always been Rolan,’ he answered her and cleared his throat. It was incredibly common in tiefling culture for tieflings to change their names. Many didn’t even have last names. Tieflings did not have a great societal sense of a family unit. Their children ran wild and some parents who did try to raise their children were ripped from their children, just like Zelphie and Rolan’s had been. The state of the orphans she had met at the Emerald Grove was normal, unfortunately. At least this was true for the tieflings of the Sword Coast.

‘What was your mother’s name?’ She asked and Rolan smiled.

‘Dayryn,’ he answered softly and leaned against the tower’s wall. ‘She was the most wonderful person in the world. Just imagine, if you will, the person who is the reason for Lia’s bravery and passion and Cal’s loyalty and kindness,’ he began and Zelphie just smiled. What a wonderful thing to say. ‘And, to her credit, most of my brilliance,’ he added with a smirk and Zelphie laughed, but shook her head.

‘She might have fueled the flames, but she did not spark them, Rolan,’ she said and he looked down at her. ‘Trust me, with the rows I’ve had with wizards and warlocks all my life, you have something more special than books can teach and devils can promise,’ she said, and she had been hiding a little secret from him. Rolan was a powerful mage, there was no mistaking that. When she first met him, he was incredibly boisterous about his talents, which was very funny to hear as he had gone on and on in front of Mystra’s previous chosen, Gale. But when she heard of Rolan’s power in the Shadowfell Lands and saw it for herself about a month ago, she knew Rolan was special. He was very hard working and well read, she wouldn’t take that from him. But he was born with a talent.

‘I’m sure there was a compliment in there,’ he said and she nodded.

‘Yes, I mean, I don’t know if you were born this way Rolan, but your magic is….different. I didn’t go to Blackstaff or perfect my craft as an apprentice. I don’t know what the spells I yield are called. Sorcerers just…do. Like blinking or breathing. Because of that our magic that a wizard may learn is always a little unique. Very strong but also unique. Does that make sense?’ She asked and Rolan simply nodded. ‘I didn’t notice it at first…but when you cast a magic missile, it has the potential to stun. That’s not something a wizard is taught. You can cast mage armor on a person wearing armor. That is not something that is taught. Gale made that remark to me a while back, about you. He noticed it right away. Were you…did you always have a connection to the Weave, when you were very young?’ She asked and Rolan frowned and nodded slowly. ‘Then…maybe…you are just a very very well read sorcerer.’ Rolan was frozen and a little tense. Zelphie had only meant for her words to be complimentary, but it seemed to not have that effect. ‘Rolan?’

‘I’m not a sorcerer,’ he said and seemed to relax a little and sipped his wine. ‘I worked very, very hard for what I have-‘

‘Of course! Oh! Rolan, I don’t mean to say all of that to insult your education. Oh, no, no I’m so sorry. Obviously everything you have accomplished in your life is incredible. I mean, wizards usually get so far up the chain because they are privileged. Gale grew up a spoiled only child in Waterdeep. Lorroakan had his family name to raise him to the top, you, you did all of this yourself.’ She rambled quickly and Rolan sighed. ‘And bully for me, I think sorcerers are impressive people.’ She said and tilted her head. Rolan’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

‘Well, of course…I just-‘ Zelphie giggled and shook her head.

‘Hush you,’ she said and leaned up for a kiss. He was very happy to oblige her. Happy to kiss her and very happy to not be in trouble for insulting her. She was just as happy. She still couldn’t believe herself. Kissing him, enjoying his company as they lounged on her new beautiful balcony. She sighed happily against his lips and she felt his arm slowly coil around her waist, pulling her closer to him. ‘Stubborn wizard,’ she muttered against his lips and he growled a little laugh. Another almost fight, and she dissolved it with grace, as she always did. This wasn’t very normal for him but he was very happy about it. He was stubborn, he knew he was stubborn. He was proud of being stubborn. His stubbornness got him where he was right now. With a little help, of course. Help from the woman who was kissing him on a balcony as the sunset on the sea in front of them.

His arm pulled her tighter, the ease in which he was able to move her made her feel good. She liked that neediness and strength. He pulled her so close she felt it only natural to get as close to him as she could. With care and patience, she crawled into Rolan’s lap. She was timid in case he would object, but no protests came from him. Just a tighter grip on her waist. Her dress lifted to her thighs and Rolan touched her thigh and laughed. She barely pulled away from him, just enough to speak.

‘What’s so funny?’ She whispered and he nipped at her bottom lip.

‘Fucking stockings,’ he muttered a pinched the soft fabric that created a barrier between her thigh and his hand. Her heart melted, hearing his voice so low and soft. Almost demanding. She could have passed out.

‘They are a nuisance, aren’t they?’ She asked and lowered her face, her lips finding the delicate skin of his neck. He shivered and sighed at her touch. ‘Good thing they don’t go all the way up,’ she muttered. Rolan was frozen for a second, and then moved his hand up her thigh slowly, until his fingertips could feel her delicate skin. She shivered and lifted her head to look at him.

‘I would…like to be a gentleman,’ he whispered, his hand moving a little more and his thumb rubbing soft circles on her inner thigh. She gasped at his new touch, that look on his face, she was lust drunk, completely different from the drunk she was earlier.

‘I’ll give you permission if that will help,’ she whispered back and his hand inched closer.

‘Whatever my lady requests,’ he whispered back, daring her, daring her to ask him.

‘Touch me Rolan,’ she said and he leaned back down to kiss her. As he did, she felt his thumb gently stroke her bare slit and she moaned happily against him.

‘Oh, maybe you aren’t my lady. Stockings but…no underwear? Tut tut, my dear,’ he said playfully and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

‘I promise I’ll behave next time, Master Rolan,’ she muttered and his fingers parted her lips. She moaned once more and rolled her hips into his hand.

‘Oooh, now, don’t be so greedy, I’ll give you what you need,’ he muttered into her ear and she whined, only grinding her hips harder. ‘Oh, my little hero is so desperate, isn’t she?’ He chuckled. ‘Up with you, love,’ he said and his hand moved from her groin to her hip, patting her backside a little. With a little whine, Zelphie stood up and was followed quickly by Rolan. A little too naturally, Rolan took her hand and walked her back inside. ‘Now, you be good for me and sit on the bed,’ he told her and she eagerly obeyed. For some reason, she didn’t picture him to be so commanding in the bedroom, but his confidence scaled his whole personality. Very fortunate for her, she did like it. She’d never been led before, it felt very nice. She sat on the bed, her tail beating the mattress with excitement. Rolan watched it for a moment and walked over to her. ‘My happy little sorceress, are you happy?’ He asked, getting close enough that Zelphie spread her legs easily. He tipped her chin gently and she nodded.

‘Happy is a very poor word, but yes, I am happy,’ she said and he chuckled.

‘What’s a better word?’ He asked her and she looked up at the ceiling.

‘Hmmmm….delighted, excited, enraptured, curious, a little nervous,’ she said with a giggle and Rolan’s smile just kept growing. He was terribly handsome. ‘Incredibly aroused,’ she said, running her hand down his robes. They were made of a very heavy velvet. He was a showman. Down his chest and torso her hands went before they landed to his middle, where she felt his erection.

‘You feel what you do to me?’ He asked her and she nodded, rubbing the area and he sighed out. ‘Oh, very good,’ he told her and slowly guided her face to look to the side. She easily moved her head, feeling his eyes on her, baring into her. His fingers left her chin and his nails pulled the fabric of her collar and he sighed, not gaining the access he wanted. ‘This needs to go,’ he told her and she stopped rubbing him. She placed her hands in the delicate buttons on her shoulder, but he took over. She looked back up at him, watching him fuss easily over her collar.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ she said softly, she was so lightheaded from lust and love she barely registered that her mouth opened. His yellow eyes moved from her shoulder to her face and he stopped moving for a moment, then returned back to his work.

‘You’re drunk again,’ he said and she shook her head.

‘Drunk, maybe, but not like I was earlier. This has nothing to do with alcohol. You are the potion that has my brain in a chokehold,’ she told him and reached up to his face, cupping his cheek. He was just in control. He had lost it. He had gotten her collar loose and he looked back at her. ‘Everything you do just…sets my heart on fire, Rolan,’ she told him and he searched her face. ‘You are devastatingly beautiful.’

‘Do you really think that?’ He asked her softly and she nodded.

‘Yes, I think that because you are. Your strong jaw, those beautiful eyes, I love your nose,’ she said and his brows furrowed and she giggled. ‘I do, it’s so sharp and I love the little bump,’ she said and his nose wrinkled. She laughed again and shook her head. ‘Yes, that nose,’ she confirmed and he laughed.

‘I’m sorry, but getting accolades from you is…hard to believe,’ he told her and she tilted her head. She let go of his face and slipped the rest of her dress off, sitting almost completely naked in front of him. He swallowed hard when he looked at her properly. There she was. He would have loved to control himself and be a gentleman, but his eyes traveled down her neck to her collarbone, she had freckles on her shoulders. Her breasts were beautiful and he felt his hands reaching out to touch them. Her chest heaved with a heavy breath and he glanced back at her face to make sure this was alright. She was just looking back at him. He had been in control, but now he seemed timid.

‘I’m all yours, it’s alright,’ she told him softly and she saw him swallow hard. He took in a deep breath and breathed out.

‘Lie back on the mattress,’ he requested, his voice cracking a little. She smiled and scooted up on the bed and began to remove her long stockings. ‘Mmmmm, leave those on, please,’ he told her and she giggled. As she climbed up on the bed, her tail curled to an S-shape and Rolan quickly began to undress. She sat down and watched him closely. She chewed on her lip as his robes fell around him. She ogled him a little less subtly than he had just done to her. Her grip on her own lip hardened as she took in his body. He really was beautiful. He had such a strong, lean frame. The ridges on his chest were beautiful and symmetrical. He caught her and smiled, confident that look on her face wasn’t faked. ‘I told you to lie down,’ he told her and she giggled and obeyed, lying on her back. Quickly, Rolan climbed into the bed, crawling over her. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly. She wrapped her arms around his neck. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip and she sighed happily. Her tail curled around his leg and he chuckled. ‘Greedy, greedy little thing,’ he whispered and his lips moved to her jaw, trailing kissing down to her neck. He leaned up a little and moved her face to the side once more and let out a very satisfied breath.

‘What are you looking at?’ She asked and he leaned down to kiss her neck.

‘Your lovely neck,’ he whispered and his hand traveled down the side of her body, giving her skin bumps and a shiver. She gasped at the light touch of his nails on her skin. Damn anyone who assumed a wizard wasn’t good with their hands. With ease and allowed access from Zelphie, Rolan’s hand returned to her middle as his kisses met her breasts. ‘Mmmmm…so ready for me already, my dear, very good girl,’ he said, feeling her warmth and wetness. She gasped in delight, his fingers teasing her, his lips on her nipple.

‘Oh!’ She squealed and gasped, which only egged Rolan on.

‘Shhhh…they’ll hear you down in the city,’ he whispered playfully.

‘Let them,’ she moaned. Her hips twitched as his fingers found her sensitive little nub.

‘Oh, lucky me, you’ll have to indulge me. I’m a bit pent up…so I’ll need some time to play. I want you to unravel, I want you delirious, begging,’ he told her, sitting up. ‘And when you have completely lost your senses, I’ll take what I’ve worked for and fuck you through this bed,’ he said, kneeling in between her legs, his thumb still rubbing her clit in a steady motion. She leaned up on her elbows and he leaned down, kissing her thighs, biting their sensitive skin. She gasped and yelped a little at the feeling of his teeth breaking her skin. He made eye contact with her and she let out another loud moan. He removed his teeth from her skin and kissed her gently in the same spot. His kisses again traveled until she felt him in her middle. His tongue ran up to his thumb and she sighed.

‘Oh…oh Rolan…t-that-‘ she couldn’t finish. His thumb rubbed her clit and his tongue entered her, attempting to lick her clean. Her head hung back in ecstasy. He hummed happily against her and she continued to moan. He felt wonderful, loving, needy, demanding. Warmth ran through her body and she relaxed, lying back on the bed, her left hand finding the top of his head and grabbed at his hair. ‘That feels so good, you’re so good,’ she moaned and he grinned, but continued eating her out, not changing anything about his movements. If they were working there was no reason to change. He wanted to feel her melt on him. Her moans and cries and shakes were killing him. He was doing everything he could not to sit up and fuck her properly. But he knew, he knew he would spend himself quickly. It had been a long time for him. Their first time must be perfect. Or at least memorable. He felt powerful watching his lovely sorceress unwind. And gods she tasted delicious.

He got what he wanted, very quickly. Her ragged breaths slowly became a little louder and more deep and he felt her hips roll up. Her hands left his hair and she held his horns.

‘That’s my girl, that’s my little love, cum for me,’ he said and her grip on his horns tightened and her thighs tightened around his head.

‘Oh! Oh fuck! Yes!’ She cried and Rolan felt her muscles contracting. He lapped up as much of her as he could handle and sat up. She let her grip on him go and he laughed proudly, wiping his face. He watched her writhe for a moment longer and she looked up at him. Her body was perfect for him. The spines down her collarbone to her breasts were delicate. He leaned over and kissed her mouth and she moaned, kissing him back.

‘Gorgeous,’ he whispered and without moving his face from hers, he lifted her hips back up and she gasped when she felt his erection right up against her. ‘Are you alright?’ He asked her and she nodded. ‘Speak, my love,’ he whispered and she swallowed hard. What had he done to her?

‘I’m alright, Rolan, I need you,’ she said and rubbed herself against him. ‘Please,’ she whispered and Rolan pushed inside of her slowly, making her whimper. He groaned loudly and stopped moving.

‘Gods you feel wonderful,’ he groaned and slowly began to thrust in and out of her. Each thrust was slow but still made Zelphie call out a little sound with each one. He felt wonderful. He leaned his forehead to hers, bending her a little, and her moans got louder. ‘Is it alright?’ He asked and she opened her red eyes to look into his yellow ones. ‘Am I alright?’ He asked her and she nodded, completely unable to speak. Just little cries and moans, so she leaned up to kiss him, her hands on his face. He had one hand holding himself up, on the bed beside her, the other hand had a very firm grip on her hip. She felt his nails clawing a little anytime he moved back in her. The sensation was nice, possession and neediness. She trusted Rolan not to really hurt her. It made her feel good to be needed so desperately by him. She felt beautiful, more than she felt if he were to simply call her that.

‘Oh gods,’ she cried when he made a simple change in pace. Her hands moved to his hair, tangling her fingers in his once neat locks. His thrusting became eager, and she gave back as she could, arching her back for him. ‘I love you,’ she muttered and his lips caught hers. She heard him whimper, feeling the vibrations of his lips against hers.

‘I-I can’t-‘ he stammered and she felt his whole body on her. His face was in her neck, shuddering and with two hard thrusts he shook and sighed out, trying to catch his breath. She still held him close. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ he whispered and she caught his lips again. Her kiss was tender.

‘Don’t apologize, that was magnificent, you are wonderful,’ she whispered to him and he kissed her once more.

‘You are…you are perfection, the way you feel, those sounds you sing so sweetly, I couldn’t help it,’ he continued and she laughed.

‘There is no higher compliment,’ she told him, her fingers stroking his hair back, which had completely fallen from its neat little knot. He sighed and rolled off of her, she gave out a little wince when she felt him leave her completely. He didn’t look as happy as she felt. ‘Rolan….are you alright?’ She asked and rolled onto her side. She placed a hand on his chest and he sighed, taking her hand.

‘I thought I had more in me…but…well, when you said you loved me I just…’ he sighed and closed his eyes. She laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

‘Please, Rolan, I mean it, I feel wonderful. And you are all to blame, please tell me you feel the same,’ she said and he opened his eyes to look at her.

‘Zelphie, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like that. I’m just afraid you think me….’ He didn’t finish and she smirked.

‘Well, if you’re going to be stubborn about it,’ she said and he grunted, which made her laugh. ‘You make it up to me in the morning, hm?’ She asked him and littered the side of his face with kisses. ‘But until then, enjoy the afterglow, because I’m going to,’ she told him and he rolled over to face her.

‘I consider myself incredibly lucky,’ he told her. ‘Being here with you, you know…the party all those months ago, the light show? It was to impress you,’ he said and she laughed. He sighed heavily. ‘I mean it,’ he told her and she shook her head, still laughing.

‘I believe you, I’m laughing because I was enamored with you at that party. And neither of us were brave enough to admit it,’ she said and he finally smiled.

‘It was probably for the best, romance back then was probably not the best of plans,’ he said and placed his hand on her cheek.

‘I won’t regret anything, I’m very happy right now,’ she told him and she felt his tail curling around her leg. ‘Stay with me tonight,’ she whispered and he grinned.

‘Of course but uhm…if we could migrate…I uhm…I’d like to be in my own room, if that is alright. I would have brought us there in the first place had I assumed we would…’ he said and she smiled.

‘Whatever would make you comfortable. I’m very adaptable,’ she told him and he nodded.

‘Come then, let us not get too comfortable here,’ he said and grunted as he sat up. She sat up with him and when she climbed off the bed and walked to her wardrobe, finding a nightdress and a robe to wear for the quick journey across the hallway. Once she removed her stockings, she pulled her nightdress over her head. She felt the fabric fall from her head to around her body. It felt wonderful. Her skin was so sensitive. Before she could pull on her robe, Rolan walked up behind her. She hummed happily as she felt his hands on her hips. ‘Now you are devastating…’ he whispered and kissed her neck. She shivered at his touch and the feel of his lips and breath on her neck. She leaned back in him, his hands ran up her sides, grabbing at her breasts, just to feel them.

‘You better not start anything you cannot finish,’ she told him playfully. He chuckled against her skin, meaning only to play, to touch, he was too tempted by her. He nipped at her skin and little and she giggled. ‘You have a biting fixation, don’t you?’ She asked and he laughed. She could still feel the small sting of his little love bite on her thigh.

‘I suppose I do, or maybe it’s just that I’ve had a taste of my favorite treat,’ he purred into her neck and she continued to giggle. The rush of joy, lust and the feeling of his lips were driving her mad. His hands were terribly needy, but gentle. His thumbs stroked her nipples through her gown. She sighed softly. ‘Mmmmm, maybe I will be able to pay you back sooner than morning,’ he muttered and gave her neck one last little bite and walked away from her. She almost fell over. Instead, as he dressed himself, she pulled on her night robe and called for the little kitten.

‘Come now Lajy,’ she said and made a little sound from her lips to coax the kitten from the balcony. He came running and Zelphie shut the balcony door, a little embarrassed that it had been left open. ‘Lucky me, it seems I’m getting everything I want today,’ she hummed happily and Rolan laughed as he lazily redid the buttons of his robes. It wouldn’t be staying on much longer.

‘Tell me then that you wish for at least one more glass of wine, a hot bath and then a deep deep slumber?’ He asked her and she grinned.

‘You read my mind, I’m terribly lucky,’ she said and he held out his hand for her. She smiled and picked her little kitten up and took Rolan’s hand. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. ‘Even luckier now,’ she said and he gave her quite the proud smirk. He radiated joy and pride and that made her even happier. The couple left Zelphie’s room and made it to Rolan’s. She hadn’t been to the master bedroom before, why would she have? It was incredibly clear that Rolan had fully renovated this room. Not a glimmer of Lorroakan was left. The room was warm, a fireplace roaring a blue flame. It was bright but had no heat. The rest of the room was dark, but incredibly illuminated. Along with the blue flame, the ceiling had an illusion cast on it, a brightly lit night sky. Zelphie placed the kitten on the floor, but did not take her eyes off of the effect.

‘It’s not too jarring, is it?’ Rolan asked and she smiled at him and shook her head.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said softly and he smiled.

‘I hope you can sleep through it, I…I need it, to sleep,’ he said and Zelphie tilted her head.

‘Afraid of the dark?’ She asked and he nodded.

‘Yes,’ he said, very simply. ‘Well, uneasy to sleep in the dark, it was never dark where I lived,’ he said and Zelphie’s mouth opened a little, remembering exactly where Rolan was from. Elturel. Elturel, a capital city that had descended to Avernus, suspended over the River Styx, had been a daylight city. She knew very little about it, but the city was under the constant glow of a light source referred to as The Companion.

‘That must have been so strange…never seeing night,’ she said and he shrugged.

‘It was all we knew until The Descent,’ he told her and she nodded. ‘So, I sleep with a little light on,’ he said and she looked back up and smiled.

‘Was The Companion this bright, or brighter?’ She asked and he grinned, happy for her curiosity.

‘Bright as the sun, but none of the heat. It would be as bright as a spring day while it was snowing,’ he said and she laughed a little. That was joyful. She didn’t think she could deal with that much light, but it was better than the reverse. ‘But, after The Descent, we’ve had to make due with evolving our sleeping schedules. Once on the Sword Coast, after all tieflings were expelled from Elturel, I used to sleep during the day, although that proved to be very dangerous. Everyone else we traveled with seemed to be able to cope with the night sky, but…I never really could. So, this is my compromise. I hope it does not disturb you,’ he said and she looked back at him.

‘I don’t see how it could. It’s so beautiful, you amaze me with how talented you are,’ she said and his cheeks burnt up. ‘The other day you were in such awe of my concentration on a little mage hand, but you’ve had this just going on and on? Don’t you ever be impressed with me again,’ she said and he laughed.

‘Well, that is…very nice to hear,’ he said and got himself undressed.

Rolan ran the couple a bath, which Zelphie was very excited about. As lovely as their recent activity had been, she hated going to bed less than clean. The past tenday had proven to her that she still felt that way, even after her less luxurious adventures. Rolan had a large bedroom, it had an adjoining washroom, a wine rack, a desk and seating area, Zelphie could have lived in just this one room her whole life and have been happy. He also had a balcony that faced the west, looking to the mountains and sea. She looked down at fuzzy little Eliminster and wondered what he thought of the giant room. He was snoozing on a lounge chair. Zelphie poured two glasses of wine and met him in the washroom.

‘Now this is terribly luxurious, wine in a bath,’ she said, handing Rolan both glasses so that she could undress and set into the water. Boiling hot, exactly as she liked it. As she sat in the large tub, Rolan handed her her glass and he got in carefully, able to balance his own glass, sitting across from her.

‘It is the very first thing I did after calling Cal and Lia to the tower,’ he said, smiling. ‘That might have been the strangest day of my life, back at home, my family home, I was desperate to work under a man like Lorroakan. I would never have dreamed this is the situation I would find myself in. I had a lot of work to do, but that night, I needed to just…soak it all in, so to speak,’ he explained and she nodded.

‘For what it’s worth Rolan, I’m still coming to terms with the events that happened this year. When everything was over, I thought it was so strange that I would be going home, living a normal life, and going back to work. It’s what I wanted, but it felt almost wrong,’ she explained to him and took a sip of wine. He laughed lightly and was clearly in thought from what she said.

‘Back to work? What on Toril did you used to do for work?’ He asked her and she frowned.

‘I worked with a jeweler in the upper city,’ she said and took another quick sip of wine. ‘I was…I helped set stones in gold and silver and bronze,’ she explained and Rolan frowned. Zelphie didn’t really want to discuss her past work. She was a setter for a jeweler in the upper city, and she did set precious gems, but that was not all she did for her employer’s clients. Rolan took a moment, but asked against his better judgment.

‘What has you so upset about that?’ He asked. She took a deep sigh into her wine.

‘I don’t think you want to know, Rolan. I don’t…I don’t have good stories about my past employment. Either I lie to you, or you will be upset and I don’t wish to lie to you or sour the mood,’ she told him and his frown only deepened.

‘Did your last employer treat you like my last employer?’ He asked her softly and she shrugged.

‘She never touched me…but…I was a bit of a…’ she huffed and looked at him. ‘Until the refugees from Elturel came to Baldur’s Gate, tieflings were very rare in the city and some patriars found me…exotic,’ she began and Rolan’s face turned to a scowl, full of disgust. She glanced at him and looked away. She didn’t like that look on him. She swore she felt the water get hotter. ‘I shouldn’t have told you,’ she said softly and Rolan looked up and away from her.

‘Where was this?’ He asked, a cracking in his voice.

‘Like I said, it was in the Upper City, so it’s probably rubble. I think this tower is the only thing standing,’ she explained quickly. ‘Rolan, please, I shouldn’t have said anything,’ she told him and leaned forward. She placed her goblet on the side of the bath and climbed into his lap. ‘Please, don’t be upset,’ she told him softly, but he was terribly tense. She wrapped one arm around his neck and placed her free hand on his face. ‘Please,’ she begged and he looked up at her.

‘Tell me who she is,’ he asked her as calmly as he could. Zelphie chewed on her bottom lip. She was very angry with herself for upsetting him. He didn’t need to know about her past. Not that. It didn’t matter, that was well over. No one could touch her again, she was safe. ‘I’ll drop it if you tell me,’ he told her and she frowned but sighed, relenting.

‘It was in The Wide, called Love’s Secret. It was owned by a woman named Mayleen Starheart. Although, I would place a bet that was not her real name,’ she said and Rolan sighed and nodded. He sipped his wine and placed his goblet down. He would keep his promise to her for now. His arms wrapped around her and she leaned down to kiss him. She felt him relax and she leaned back up. ‘You know, I never pictured your hair would be this long,’ she said and her finger twisted around a lock behind his neck. He smiled at her.

‘If I want to keep it long, I must keep it neat,’ he told her and she nodded.

‘Could I wash it for you?’ Rolan’s eyes widened at her question and he nodded. She climbed off of his lap and he reached behind him for his soap. She took it as he dunked his head back, soaking his hair. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ she said, sitting up high and he turned himself around, laying back, his back against her chest.

‘Is that alright?’ He asked her and she hummed. He felt like a weighted blanket on her.

‘Wonderful,’ she told him and began to rub the soap into his scalp just at his hairline, along the crowns of his horns. ‘You Lia and Cal all have fully black horns,’ she mused and he hummed. ‘I’m terribly jealous.’

‘Your horns are beautiful,’ he told her quickly and she laughed. ‘I meant it, they are very large, but they are so…graceful. They only enhance your beauty, my darling,’ he told her and she smiled, continuing her work in his hair.

‘Thank you, Master Rolan,’ she said with a smirk. He laughed, she felt the vibrations of his body against her chest.

‘We are naked, newly coupled, your fingers are in my hair which all on its own is stirring something in me, and you keep calling me Master Rolan,’ he said happily. ‘You need to stop that,’ he told her and she smiled proudly.

‘I told you earlier, I’m all yours, I think that’s a very fitting title for me to call you,’ she said and Rolan quickly submerged into the water again. After a moment under the water, Zelphie was laughing loudly. Now he was being silly. He re-emerged and quickly ran his hands through his hair to get the water out, and he got right out of the bath. ‘Uh-oh,’ she said, still laughing a bit as Rolan turned around, grabbing a towel to dry himself off.

‘Uh-oh is correct, and you’ll be in much more trouble if you don’t get that heavenly body out of that bath and into my bed,’ he told her and Zelphie almost froze. She did as she was told and got out of the bath. She grabbed herself a towel and dried herself off, glad her hair hadn’t gotten wet. Rolan gave her about ten seconds and took her hand. ‘Come come,’ he said and she smiled up at him. She might have just created a monster. He led her to his large bed, a large white blanket with dark purple satin sheets underneath. It was incredibly plush. ‘Lie back,’ he told her gently and once her head reached the pillow, he climbed on top of her. ‘You look very, very good in my bed,’ he told her and that possessive tail of hers wrapped around his leg again. He leaned down and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Her hips rolled up into him, coaxing his erection and he sighed happily. He then laughed. He laughed hard and she looked at him with wide eyes.

‘What?’ She asked, a smile growing on her face. Oh, he was incredibly silly. She loved it, she loved seeing him so happy, and she loved even more to be the center of his joy. He shook his head and kissed the side of her mouth.

‘I feel spoiled,’ he told her and lifted his head to look at her again. ‘You, you of all people in this world are in my bed. And you want me, I’m just having a hard time processing it all,’ he said and she grinned up at him.

‘I hate to boost your ego even further, but you need to know how much I am thinking the same. I really didn’t think you would ever want me, like this,’ she said and placed her hands on his face. ‘Can I show you how much I want you?’ She asked and let her tail loosen from his leg. He nodded slowly. ‘Lie on your back,’ she whispered and he did just that. Zelphie smiled and climbed over him, but stayed by his legs. She knelt between his legs and bent over, running her tongue against his erection and he sighed out with a shake in his voice.

‘Aahhh…’ he whimpered and Zelphie smiled, keeping close attention to the head of his cock, lapping at it like a cat to water. ‘Oh…you.I’m supposed to be..p-paying you back,’ he whimpered and she giggled.

‘You are,’ she whispered. He hissed and she felt him twitch. That was the truth. She wanted to pamper him. She had been earlier, washing his hair, but he needed attention elsewhere and she would give it to him. It turned her on, watching her partner be satisfied with just her mouth. She rocked her hips happily and once he was slick with her spit, she took as much as she could of him in her mouth. Rolan moaned and she felt his tail rise up between her legs, asking for them to part. She parted her knees and his tail rubbed up against her and she moaned against him.

‘Oh what a pretty thing you are…’ he muttered and she began to bob her head up and down. As she did, she naturally rubbed herself against his tail, which he kept pressing against her harder and harder. He was only encouraging her. She felt his tail move against her and she grinned.

‘Looking for something?’ She asked him playfully and went right back to her work. He made eye contact with her for a moment and she watched him. She had never seen him like that, completely enraptured, nervous, a little confused. He sighed out happily and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

‘I want to fuck you, so you’re going to need to cum for me,’ he told her softly and she wiggled her hips.

‘It makes you feel good when I cum, doesn’t it?’ She asked, using her hand to work his cock as she spoke to him. He nodded and swallowed hard. ‘You make me feel so good, Rolan,’ she said and put his cock back in her mouth. His sounds and whimpers as she sucked him, his cock growing harder in her mouth was sending her on edge. She couldn’t help it. She felt the warmth rise up inside of her and she arched her back, slowing down. Rolan opened his eyes to watch her. His tail rubbed her harder and a little faster to make up for her frozen form.

‘Yes, yes, oh you beautiful thing, yes, cum for me, cum like I asked, be a good girl,’ he whispered a spasm shot through her body as she writhed, riding her orgasm out on his tail. ‘That’s my girl, yes, enjoy yourself on me, use me,’ he coaxed her through her orgasm, leaving her legs shaking. She crawled up and kissed him hard, rolling her hips in his. He placed one hand on her backside and the other positioned himself so she could feel him at her entrance which was begging. ‘Do you want it?’ He asked her through kisses and she moaned. ‘Say it,’ he commanded her lightly and she nodded.

‘I want it, I want you,’ she muttered and he lifted his hips and she groaned as he entered her. He held her hips still so she would stay exactly where she was. In and out, so slow, so careful. With every movement of his hips she cried out. Her body ached. He watched her carefully and she sat upright. She then leaned back, her hands on his thighs behind her and bounced. He cursed under his breath and moved his right hand to her middle. His thumb rubbed her clit and she called out, feeling that rush of warmth again. She felt like she had no control over herself, pure instinct had taken over. She bounced and rocked her hips on him like a mad woman, crying out his name.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Rolan muttered. She moaned again, looking down at her.

‘Oh Rolan,’ she moaned and he leaned up on his elbow, still rubbing her clit.

‘Mmmm…take what you want, take what you want, I want to feel you cum with me inside you, be selfish,’ he whispered and that was it. She lost the ability to breath and her hips curled around, as her second orgasm rang through her. Rolan gasped and moaned and she felt him shiver under her, twitching and then his hips pressing into her more. That was magical.

‘I love you,’ she whispered and bent down to kiss him. A shiver ran up her spine and she giggled. Rolan pulled her down to lay on top of him, his arms wrapped around her.

‘I love you too,’ he whispered and kissed his lady. She giggled, a feel of pure joy and release washing over her, delusional joy. She felt happy, she felt silly, she felt stupid, she felt playful and warm. The couple stayed like that, not getting enough of the other, just kissing and grabbing in the afterglow. Their tails intertwined and fought over dominance. Zelphie kissed down his face, giggling happily and he laughed at her. ‘Oh don’t tell me you have energy left,’ he said and looked down at her with heavily lidded eyes. Her eyes were bright.

‘Is it annoying?’ She asked him, wiggling a little. He shook his head, still smiling and closed his eyes.

‘Not in the least, I just hope you know this old man is physically spent,’ he said and sighed out.

‘What old man?’ She asked and he just laughed. She crawled off of him happily and sat next to his head, and her fingers combed through his wet hair happily. He had a very low and quiet purr, but it was there and it made her happy. He scooted to his side and pulled on her arm.

‘Come down here and lay with me, I want to hold you,’ he begged and she did as he asked. Though first, Rolan kicked down the covers to situate themselves on the sheets. Once under them, Rolan pulled Zelphie in closed, their noses nuzzling and her horns clinked against his. ‘Comfortable?’ He asked her softly and she nodded, her tail and legs wrapping around his. If she could find a way to get closer to him she would. ‘Good,’ he said and leaned his face up to kiss her forehead. ‘I meant what I said, Zelphie, I do love you. That wasn’t wine or lust talking. Your courage, your kindness, your patience, your warmth, your beauty…I…I’d have to be a damned fool not to consider myself the luckiest person in Faerun by having you in my arms, in my bed. And I will take advantage of that, I will cherish you, I will make sure I am worthy of your love in return,’ he spoke and Zelphie’s mind buzzed. She didn’t know what to say. All of the accolades coming from him meant everything to her. So that’s what she would tell him.

‘That…that means quite a lot coming from you, Rolan. Thank you, and know that I will also cherish you, and boost that goddamned confidence of yours, because everything you say you see in me I see in you,’ she said and he looked down. ‘I see a trustworthy, devoted, brave, hard-working, intelligent and beautiful man when I look at you. I’d give anything to have you know that about yourself,’ she continued and he frowned a little. ‘You don’t need to fight for me. Just…promise me you’ll continue being this man that I love, hm?’ She asked and he smiled again and nodded.

‘I promise,’ he told her and she kissed him tenderly. ‘Goodnight, Zelphie,’ he whispered and closed his eyes.

‘Sweet dreams, Rolan.’

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan x tav #rolan bg3 #rolan fanfic #bg3 fanfiction

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lizzisimss · 1 year

Photo

Plant-Lovers Cottage

CC used (list below) Rustic Residence in Windenburg 30 x 20 1 bed, 1 bath $115,941

Aira - https://www.patreon.com/airacc

· Plant3

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· Vanilla Sauce Pan

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· London Exterior

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· Orjanic Merged

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Rusti co merged

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widowmura · 7 days

Text

This is my headcanon for what I like to think the inside of Gale's tent looks like. Off POV is more, such as a desk filled with yet even more books, scrolls and writing materials. Based off a description from a RP I'm in:

Books lay about haphazardly, some neatly stacked into piles, others seemingly flung about at random. The mage had never been boasted of tidiness really. Gale was dutifully aware of his fixation to hoard - a side of him that had only been enabled ever since the orb had buried itself into his chest. Amid the towers of books were scrolls of parchment both bare and filled, detailing the mage's varying styles of handwriting. There was the chaotic scrawl of his notes jointed down during fits of inspiration and speculation - added with helpful and rather surprisingly intricate drawings. So too presented was the more elegant glide of the quill, showcasing an almost romantic and refined flair of calligraphy that showcased his adoration of study and penmanship. Along side his belongings were noted to be a writing kit, an alchemical concoction silently boiling away atop a magical dancing flame in the corner that gave off a whiff of something almost fruity, a dark scrying orb, an unlit stick of incense, a few candles with a wax sealing stamp set beside them, varying bottles of different colours and sizes, a few plush cushions that gave an air of ostentatiousness and what seemed to be twine with drying herbs pegged up around the ceiling of his tent. It made for a rather cozy abode, one that spoke of the lost creature comforts from home, if a bit disjointed.

I like to think of him as a bit of a hoarder / klepto and the tent reflects his mind space. At first glance it seems a mess. Everything seems in disarray and it gives the impression that the wizard has given up / seems depressed but then you take a closer look and realise that he in fact plans and cares a great deal. Like theres the food, the alchemical ingredients, the maps and the planning. While at first glimpse it might seem like a man who doesnt care for his space, once you let it sink in, it becomes apparent he cares a great deal and desperately wants to try find a way out / to live

#gale dekarios #baldur's gate 3 #why are barrels so hard to draw #depression tent #gale of waterdeep

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claudeng80 · 1 year

Text

North Sea Storm

Originally intended for “bathtub bonding” for Madness 2022 - Temeraire AU

The Aerial Corps (AO3 series)

The slate roof jitters in the wind off the North Sea, and the sound echoes through the empty warehouse space. Closer to hand, drips of water hit the brick floor with muted thuds, some through cracks in the neglected roof, but far more from the edges of Obi’s cloak. “We should have waited,” Shirayuki says. She’s been saying it to herself the entire time he was gone, but it sounds thin and whiny now that she says it out loud.

“Is she hurt?” Obi looks to the darkest corner of the warehouse, where Persia is fast asleep on a pile of discarded bags. Broken crates cast toothy shadows against the walls, flickering in the light of Shirayuki’s candle.

“Just exhausted.” They blew in on the first front of the storm, just ahead of the worst of the rain and lightning. It made for a surreptitious arrival in The Hague, as every window facing the sea was already shuttered, but Persia was no Royal Copper to beat the wind into submission. She had sailed before it like a tailless kite in a gale, flipping and dropping. Shirayuki had paid her tribute to King Neptune at least once- when she closes her eyes she can still taste acid and feel the whirling. “She should be fine when she wakes up, if we can find enough for her to eat.”

“As long as she wakes up before dawn, I think she can manage that on her own. And at least we won’t starve!” He holds up a bakery bag, sprinkled with rain.

“There’s a hearth in the office here, if you think it’s safe to have a fire.”

Another wave of rain batters the windows with a report like gunfire. “I think it’s a chance worth taking, if it means warming up.” He leans in close. “Your lips are turning blue.”

“W-warm sounds nice. But if we’re thinking big, my hair’s more salt than anything else right now. It would be nice to wash it out.”

“There’s certainly no shortage of water.”

The office is cozy. There’s a kettle hanging on a hook by the fireplace, a pile of dry firewood, and a bed covered in a thick wool blanket. Either she’s misunderstood the purpose of warehouse offices or this one has been used for more than just the storage and shipping of goods. She sets aside thanks for their local contacts, too wet and salty to be any more curious. Best of all, there’s a basin big enough to work as a tub.

“Eat first,” Obi insists. Dinner consists of cold meat stuffed in the middle of a crusty roll of bread- the bread has more grit than she’s accustomed to but a full stomach does make everything seem a bit less dire. Persia’s snores from out in the warehouse continue steady and unabated.

The first kettle of water splashes into the basin, barely making a film of water on the bottom. “This is going to take a while,” Obi says.

“It always does,” Shirayuki agrees, and adds an equal amount of rainwater before setting the next batch to heat. Obi pulls out one one of his knives, drying it off carefully and inspecting the edges before setting it aside and moving on to the next.

Obi’s done with his knives by the time the tub is full enough to use. “You can go first,” he says. “You need the warmth more than I do.”

There are blankets put away in a cabinet; warmth is not the primary issue now, but Shirayuki is in no mood to argue as she peels her stockings.off her skin with an audible crinkle. The garters leave lines in their absence. Her hair is crispy under her fingers as she extracts the day’s ribbons and pins, and the salt holds its shape even with them gone. Her fingers are clumsy on the closures of her stays, and a different warmth jets through her as Obi nudges her fingers aside to undo them himself. He’s well familiar with them now, but he finishes in a businesslike manner and then looks away as she sets aside her shift. The muslin is translucent and blotchy from rain and sea salt; hopefully it will dry overnight, or tomorrow will be uncomfortable indeed.

The water smells a bit metallic, the tin of the tub flexing slightly under her weight but retaining the heat of the water and blessedly the stickiness of her skin is washed away. An awkward dunk, and her hair cascades into a tail of red over her shoulder as she rinses it out. She glances at Obi, just to catch his head turning away. The tip of his ear might be a bit pink, and she doesn’t think it’s from the cold. “You should join me,” she says.

“Surely I won’t fit,” he says so fast, it’s clear he’s thought about it.

“Not without touching.” It will be tight, but that’s part of the appeal. Tomorrow they prosecute a war, engage in espionage and offer support to enemies of Napoleon’s puppet kingdom of the Netherlands. There will be no time for softness then. Surely they can take tonight for themselves.

Perhaps Obi thinks the same, because he doesn’t argue further. He undresses away from her, as always- no matter how many times she proves that his scars are nothing to her, he still turns them away- and she has leisure to enjoy the sun-darkened skin at his wrists and the back of his neck.

But by the time he steels himself enough to face her, she’s already pulled herself over into one corner of the tub. The water rises a bit as he steps in, then a lot as he sits. “This isn’t going to work so well for washing,” he says as she shifts to let him encircle her with his legs. She’s not quite on his lap, but it’s a close thing.

“Not at all,” she agrees, plastering the wet cloth to his chest with a laugh. It sticks for a second, then peels free and drops back into the water. She fishes it out and picks up his hand, scrubbing at his wrist, then gently between his fingers.

“How are your fingers so cold? You’re literally in the warm water!” He tugs at her, playfully, and she pinches his little finger through the cloth. “I can wash myself, you know.”

She hums. “Of course you can. But so can I.” She lifts his hand to her mouth, pressing a kiss to the knuckles before she sniffs loudly. “See, no more ocean smell.”

Obi’s mouth shuts with a click, and she runs the cloth over his wrist, up to his elbow. There’s a small scar there, just across the meat of his forearm, and she traces it gently with the cloth. He looks concerned at her attention, so she just says, “All clean.”

To reach around his shoulder, she slides closer, wrapping her legs around his hips just the way his encircle her. His breath is quiet just above her, and his hands drop to her hips as she leans across to wash the back of his neck. She can’t resist dropping a kiss on his chest, and he huffs something that’s almost a laugh, but distracted. “You’re not leaving me anything to do,” he murmurs in her ear.

“And here I’d heard you were resourceful,” she answers, tracing the line of his throat with her cloth. There’s a line there of salt spray and sand, just where it caught in the collar of his un-distinguished undercover coat. She misses his aviator’s green but understands that spies can’t go about wearing the uniform of their kingdom’s forces.

Water cascades down her spine, sending her forward into Obi’s lap with a gasp. “Who says I’m not?” His hands, until now warmed in the water, rub little circles on her back between scoops of water. So close, her thighs rest on his, and it would be so easy to slide that last few inches forward and press her body to his entirely-

The tub resonates with a dull thud as her knee hits the wall, ripples shivering across the surface of the water. Caught, she fixes her eyes on the other side of Obi’s throat, sweeping the last of the ring away with the cloth. He’s distracting.

She darts a peek at his face, only to find his eyes on her as well. His lips curve in the content smile that he rarely shows anyone but her and possibly Persia; the others know his smirks and his gleeful grins, but Obi is not a man known for content softness. It is everyone else’s loss that they cannot be the object of that look. Not that she has any idea what she’s done this time to warrant it, save banging her knee. “What?”

“Oh, I was just wondering how much longer the water would stay warm. I think the answer is not long enough.” The smile takes on a wicked angle; that one is hers alone.

“Long enough for-” She doesn’t finish the question; when her mind catches up with her mouth she knows exactly what he means and it is absolutely not an option. She may be primarily a physician to dragons, not to humans, but stories get around. The researchers at Pen Y Fan, with its hot springs, had far too many tales of unpleasant consequences. “No.”

“Well, then.” Obi stands, tipping Shirayuki nearly into the bath entirely. It’s a good thing she wasn’t trying to get dry, between a near-dunking and the water cascading off his body. He bends, scooping her out of the tub as though she were no heavier than a coil of rope, and carries her out to where a towel is waiting by the fire. “Let’s get you dry, and then we can see about keeping you warm.”

He snatches the towel from just past the top of her reaching fingers, turning the tables to scrub her dry, catching every nook from her wrists to the backs of her ears, her knees to her armpits, she is surrounded with towel and with his embrace. She’s wondering where those blankets are and how long it will take them to get them laid out, when Obi stills. His finger rests on her lips as be bristles, as on edge as an alley cat. “Someone’s coming,” he whispers in her ear. “Get dressed.”

There’s a knock on the warehouse office door that they’d locked behind themselves; that hadn’t been in the directions, but it seemed like a reasonable precaution. It’s looking justified all of a sudden.

“Do you think it’s the smoke?” Obi shakes his head, still listening. “Or was it a trap?”

Shirayuki’s shift is easy enough to throw over her head, if still smelling like ocean and fear. She wiggles into her stays, still loosened, and pulls up her skirt. The knot will be a bear to undo, but it’s on. Everything else gets stuffed in her bag as she scoops up her shoes.

That, oddly, makes him smile, the same grin he wore fighting the storm with Persia. It’s the look that says he’s about to leap, and by habit she clutches at his arm. “I’m going to wake Persia,” he adds, still bare naked and dripping. Shirayuki throws the towel over him just as he leaves the room.

The knocking turns to pounding, and between shouts at the door she hears wood splinter. She doesn’t know the words - her French is passable, if slow and probably lacking in the phrases that police would yell through doors at foreign spies - but she can only guess that the unfamiliar shouts are in Dutch. She’ll have to get Obi to explain later, assuming there is a later.

There’s a terrible crash - splintering wood and crashing glass, followed by the prolonged rattle of broken bricks and wood hitting the ground. Whether it’s Persia making her exit through one of the windows or their pursuers breaking down the door, Shirayuki won’t know, because Obi hurtles back into the room, snatching his clothes from the floor and tucking them under an arm. Shirayuki pushes the tub against the office door, hoping it will slow them down.

Outside the rain crackles against the wall like pebbles, and the window kicks open into Obi’s hand when he undoes the latch. Out in the warehouse the voices are getting louder, audible even over the wind. “What do we do now?”

“We run.”

#in which obi has a dragon #fanfic #guiltyobiyuki23 #guilty project day 1 #yes this is the mission that ends up with them married

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osatokun · 8 months

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I'd love to know more about Glinda and her relationship with Gale!

she is a character,an npc from the vampire the masquerade ttrpg I'm playing. Lover (and now wife) of my OC. I just love her so much, a perfect woman. So I took her and started to play BG as Glinda. I'm lucky too meet another Glinda near Baldur's Gate, this name doesn't sound that weird when there are another Glindas around..

Gale is very, very similar to my OC in character ( but much younger) so naturally Glinda the tiefling fell for him. Just her type, a soft loving soul yearning for comfort.

Glinda-Sophia Dequir, the tiefling, has a very silly lore, because..why not,she's gonna be a saviour of the Baldur's Gate. She is a strong sorcerer with..not a food ability to control her powers, wild magic is making wild stuff. She was born near Baldur's gate in a small village for sure. Her parents died when she was maybe 11 or so, and she almost burned down the entire village unable to control her emotions, probably accidently summoned a fire creature of some sorts. Elemental or even a young tiny dragon (silly, yes, I'm bad at dnd lore.but her original vtm lore connected to the dragon, thats where she got her big scar on the chest originally. Plus I only played in Chult campaign and I have absolutely bo idea what's happening here on that sword coast)

Anyway,she ran away, but Elminster found her and, well, raised her. I told you I have stupid story?I do, yes. He mostly taught her how to control her emotions better, her magic better, how to look deeper in things and seek for the truth. Most of the time he had no idea who he is, he was jurs El, a funny old man, cheese lover. She knows a lot about cheese, yes. In the end, he is so freakin old, he could have a few spare years to raise a wild kid. But the most important thing, he helped her to steel her will. She is a determined iron villing disaster now.

Having this story in mind, I find it satisfying to be grumpy to Elminster. She is like, wtf dad, Mystra hurts people, all the time , and she wants to hurt the man I love, Im gonna fight her with my bare fists.

At the time she was stolen by ilithids she ..probably had a little business of her own, a tiny potions shop or something, having pretty calm life.

What else can I get from my vision of the character.

She has zero shame, she is still very curious, sometimes its for the bad. She is studying necromancy (a bit..necromancy of Thay was very calling for her) . When Gale is trying to catch the whole picture, see all the situation, she points to the smaller things. Sometimes it helps her not to get lost, sometimes it helps him.

She is extremely monogamous, and not ready to share her love and bed with strangers, she need to trust person frist to get them into her life. But she fell very quick for Gale because ..well, in the horrors they all were dropped in, first thing he promised is to make a good meal. In the very beginning. Local man falls from the sky and offers you a home made food? He is my husband now.

Plus he differs a lot from other companions. All of them used to the fights, even she herself fought creatures in the local woods. And he is just a wizard in distress, wanting to go back to his cat and cozy tower. A lot of knowledge in his head, not that much blood on his hands. He brought her some comfort she needed to stay strong and believe in finding a way to cure.

For the relationships they have.. mostly comforting and loving? that's pretty generic, he is a very comforting character after all. She keeps him closer to the earth, becoming a God sounds like a destruction of one already so perfect adorkable human being. I picture him as a person who keeps his personal encounters very private, doesn't like to show even too much skin to the others and generally liking to share time alone with his lover, be it a talk or a date. Better go to the Weave and talk to eachother without anyone's hearing, or more x) it's hard to get personal space while traveling..

Glinda on other hand is absolutely fine with disturbing personal spaces, but she is doing her best to hold herself in her hands. She is..imagine a person who acts like a cat sometimes. I'm sure even her tail is twitching and wagging when she's angry. But she is being very respective for his comfort. Thats why Im happy they got to Baldurs gate and finally got a room for themselves x.x

What else can I say.. hm..

She is 30 something years old,maybe 34 or so. Likes stupid books a bit too much. Oh she laughed so hard when they found "Elminster library" and the erotic books about Volo,El and faeries.

she adores his level of awkwardness just as he adores hers. And she'll punch in the face everyone who hurts her man (respectfully acknowledging aloud that he can take care of himself, but she also want to take care herself.)

She probably has fur on tips of her ears and loves head scratches. Not the inside ones tho..

#Ask #Glinda #But the other Glinda #The tiefling #Bf3 #Thank you for the ask!!!#I love all versions of Glinda so much

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star-strand · 1 year

Text

speedrunning all of apprenticember in one post even though it's january

it's called showing up fashionably late (thanks ghoulfriendfangs for all the fun questions) (also i'm reposting this because the first time i tried it didn't show up in any tags)

Introduce your apprentice! Just their name, personality, appearance, and likes/dislikes for now! If you have pictures of them, post them today!

i've made an introduction post for my mc, gale! it's my pinned post, you can also find it in the galeposting tag on this blog

2. Who is their LI? What’s their relationship like?

his main li is julian! things with the two of them get chaotic, but they've got a lot of love for each other. the main reason i'm not saying much here is because i'll probably post about them way too much in the future if given an opportunity

3. Give a short summary of their relationship to the other main characters!

asra: best friend! though neither of them have romantic feelings for the other anymore by the main game, they're still very close

nadia: he decided to befriend her during his stay at the palace; they both respect each other a ton

muriel: pre-death they were friends, post-resurrection is more complicated. in the three years between his resurrection and the start of the game, asra sent him to check on gale while he was busy traveling, and eventually muriel gave him some myrrh to avoid the whole "what the fuck are you doing in my house" song and dance each time he came over

portia: similar to nadia, they became fast friends when he came to the palace. they like to exchange gardening tips

lucio: he'd rather not be around him after everything

4. What about the courtiers? Have they met them? What do they think of them?

when he meets them in the prologue, they give him the creeps. that feeling mostly stays the same. he's alright with volta, and he tolerates valerius to an extent

5. Do they have any other friends outside of canon? What about the minor characters?

not really. gale's not really good at putting himself out there, so it's hard for him to meet people. he's friends with selasi though

6. Now, do they have any rivals? Maybe even a WORST ENEMY!? Spill the deets now!

nah, he generally tries to avoid making enemies. doesn't mean he can't get angry at people or hold the occasional petty grudge, though

7. Let’s go back to their physical description, but go even deeper! Do they have tattoos, piercings, scars, etc? What sort of clothes do they like?

he's got a few scars, the most noticeable of which being his top surgery scars. he usually hides his other scars with magic. despite not remembering how he got them, they make him uncomfortable (his top surgery scars being an exception)

with clothing, he generally prefers stuff that's simple and comfortable

8. Now let’s give their familiar the spotlight! Tell us all about them!

gale's familiar is a chameleon named nymph. he found him before his death, and though nymph died during the plague era, he came back along with gale

9. Do they have a patron arcana? Who is it? What’s their relationship like?

pre-death, he had a strong connection to the empress. she occasionally visited him in dreams, and took on a very nurturing, motherly role towards him. since his resurrection, he's been mostly connected to the fool for... obvious reasons

10. What is their relationship to the other arcana like?

he doesn't communicate with them much outside of tarot readings. of the ones he interacts with along the route, he finds them somewhat frustrating

11. Do they have a gateway? What does it look like?

he does! it's a loosely packed forest in a constant state of early evening, with plenty of fireflies hanging around

12. What does their home look like? Their room?

gale keeps a sort of organized chaos in his living space. it’s a bit cluttered and messy, but it’s part of his system. he also keeps a ton of houseplants

same goes for his room. he likes to keep things in there cozy, lots of blankets and cushions. there’s a desk for writing, as well as a bookshelf (and a stack of books he’s been meaning to read next to the bed)

13. Can they cook? What’s their favorite meal?

he’s an alright cook. simple meals, nothing super fancy

his favorite food is babka, a sweet braided bread with some sort of filling (he likes chocolate and cinnamon fillings!)

14. What does their magic look/feel like?

he primarily uses green magic, so a lot of plants and plant-themed magic! he’s attuned to flora and the life energy of plants. one ability he has is transferring that energy between plants and other living beings. using plants whose meanings/symbolism correspond to whatever spell he’s using amplifies the spell’s power

his magic can respond to his emotions— if he gets into a particularly heightened emotional state, you might see tiny vines and flowers popping up out of nowhere

he has minor healing abilities, but unfortunately, they don’t work on himself

15. What are they proudest of?

he’s proud of his houseplants. it’s not much, but he’s keeping something alive. that’s something to be proud of

16. What’s their deepest insecurity?

gale, deep down, worries that he is an unloveable person, or at least that he’s hard to love. that he’s unimportant, uninteresting, annoying, and an overall difficult person to care about/be around

17. Do they have any family, living or non living? List their family tree!

mother: shoshana blumen. she was controlling. her and gale had a messy relationship, with her often being angry at him and saying hurtful things to him. she was like the captain of the house, and nobody stood up to her. she had expectations for gale that he just couldn’t live up to

father: ansel blumen. he wasn’t like shoshana, but he wasn’t supportive either

older brother: natan blumen. gale found some support in him, and they were close. natan left to study technology when gale was young, but he visited from time to time

when he was around 16/17, the pressure of his home and parents got to be too much. he cut his hair, ran away, stowed away on a ship, and ended up in vesuvia. there, he met his adoptive aunt, joyce, who became sort of a mother figure to him. she took him in, taught him magic, and eventually he and asra took over her shop. when they did, she left to go on some travels. unfortunately, she decided to come back and visit as the plague began to ravage the city, and ended up on the lazaret

he hasn’t contacted his biological family since he ran away. even if he had his memories back, he wouldn’t be interested in talking to his parents. maybe he’d like to see natan, though, if he managed to track him down

18. What were they like as a child?

because of the situation with his mother and his own tendency to be alone, he was often withdrawn. he did a lot of reading and daydreaming. he was the kind of kid who waited to be adopted by a friend group instead of approaching people

he was a pretty bright kid— started learning to read very early on, loved (and still loves tbh) picking up random fun facts. though his mother wasn’t very keen on him learning magic, he had a natural aptitude for it

19. If your mc fights, what is their fighting style? If they don’t, why not?

gale doesn’t mean to get into fights, but it happens sometimes. because of his lack of any actual knowledge or training on combat, his fighting is not always effective. but he tries to take advantage of his small size and magical abilities to make up for his lack of physical strength

20. Remember the Valentines Day event where you could pick between 3 gifts to give the LI? What 3 gifts would you write for your mc?

-a thrilling mystery novel

-a decorated flowerpot

-a jigsaw puzzle

21. Now what kind of gifts are they most likely to give?

he likes giving people small gifts when there’s no special occasion. “here’s a cool rock/flower/seashell/etc that reminded me of you” kind of thing

for holidays and special occasions, it depends on the person he’s giving to! probably related to one of their hobbies or interests

22. What does your mc do to show their love?

it’s surprising how much he opens up to people he loves. he gets physically affectionate, and he feels more comfortable receiving touch. he also talks more! a big sign of him being comfortable around someone is freely infodumping to them

also, the small gifts from the last question! he’s a lot like a crow in that way. if he’s taken a liking to you, expect an ever-growing collection of trinkets

23. What parts of Vesuvia is your mc most likely to be at?

if he’s not at the shop, he’s probably in the woods doing some foraging or just taking a walk

24. Does your mc like parties, festivals, and masquerades? What do they do at them?

gale, like myself, is autistic and has adhd. which means that parties can be a bad time for him. not only are they full of social conventions, they're usually overstimulating. he prefers small gatherings with people he already knows

if he does go to a party/festival, he's likely to stick to the less populated areas or find a friend to follow around

25. What’s your favorite thing about your mc?

i made him very similar to me, so i find a lot of comfort and catharsis in writing about him (or, more often, just creating little scenarios about him in my head)

26. How has your mc changed since you first made them?

relating to the last question: originally, he wasn't supposed to be like me, and then it kinda happened. and pretty soon i started intentionally leaning into it. i've also tweaked his outfit a bit, but that new outfit exists only in my brain because i've been in such a slump when it comes to art

27. Has your mc ever KILLED anybody? What are their thoughts on MURDER?

depends on how you define kill. but that's a part of his backstory i'll get to later :)

he thinks murder is generally bad, but he doesn't think murder automatically makes someone a bad person. things are complicated. sometimes there are good reasons, sometimes people get forced into awful situations

28. Are they afraid to die?

less than most. he's learned to accept death as a natural part of life

29. What is a fact about your mc others would never guess?

you’d probably guess that julian would be the one who gets injured more often. it ends up being the other way around. gale is incredibly accident prone. murphy’s law said fuck this guy in particular

30. Is there anything else you’d like us to know?

fun fact i first made him in 2019. holy shit he's been around for a while

31. Name another mc you read about and enjoyed! Shout out your favorite mc!

i'm not super familiar with everyone's mcs since i'm kinda reintroducing myself to the fandom. haven't really been active in a while, and even then i stuck to instagram. but here's a few i've seen and enjoyed while scouring arcana-related tags!

-khailan (made-me-deep-blue)

-alnair (lonely--shine)

-alastor (nabesthetics)

-velle (rainyfey)

#not tagging people because i am a coward #apprenticember #galeposting #fan apprentice #the arcana mc #the arcana apprentice #the arcana #the arcana game #starstrand

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sparklecryptid · 2 years

Note

Please do Dr Frankenstein Christopher Robin

I'm intrigued

I'm confused as to why you'd be intrigued by my preteen fever dream but *cracks knuckles* it went like this-

I was a child once, a child with an imagination like a river. I dreamt of tigers and bears, of talking pigs and grumpy old owls. I was a child once, and I leapt through streams and puddle with a bear yellow as the sun gleaming beside me.

"You will leave us one day," Pooh said, "You will leave and we will be sad, but happy. For every ending is a new beginning."

I didn't believe him at the time- for what child ever dreams of leaving paradise? Hindsight is always twenty-twenty and now, staring at the corpse of a rotting sun, I wonder if things would have changed had I believed him. If I had accepted that I would pass from childhood would things be different? Would I be less consumed by this frenzied fervour that devours me?

Would my family, my mother and father, my siblings and cousins, still accept me?

It is useless to ponder these things, what is done has been done, and I am but a slave to the bright sun burning in my chest. The memories of honey and jam and tea served by kind old owls. I am a servant to the past so let the past devour the present if it must.

The bear - pieced together by sunlight and memory - gasps on my table, a death rattle, the cry of something that knows it's damned and isn't that funny? That a bear would know such a thing as damnation? God loves all his creatures save for when they go against his orders and Pooh has always been a trouble maker.

I reach out and flick a switch, the windows rattle with the strength of the gale outside and rain drops shatter themselves upon the home - once soft and sweet, cozy and calm - I turned to cold steel. A laboratory needs no home comforts.

I think I might be wrong, but the sun shining from the bear glows brighter after I had flicked the switch and something like hope, like joy swells in my chest.

Yes, I think, Pooh come back-

But it is not Pooh that raises from the table. It is not a creature of God or even the Devil that stumbles off my table. His form is bright and brilliant, everything I had imagined but his eyes-

His eyes are the dark of space. They hold dead planets within them and despite his warm glow the air around Pooh is cold.

"Christopher," Pooh's voice shatters the windows and wind and rain rush in, I scramble backwards trying to grab something, anything to fend off the creature in front of him. "God sees your sins, Christopher."

"I have done nothing," I defend myself, falling to my knees as my hands turn up empty, "I have done no wrong."

"You taught the language of man to animals," Pooh says, "You brought us your man made laws and shame. You tainted paradise with the stench of humanity."

"I did nothing wrong."

"He gave you a chance, took your memories and placed you back into society," Pooh says, his mouth smiling as though he's pleased, "But we never got another chance. Doomed and damned as we are, Christopher, it would be nice for you to come with us."

His cold glow brightens, and for a moment I can see everything.

In the next moment, I am gone.

#moose writes things #UH HERE #HAVE CREEPY THINGS

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amarguerite · 3 years

Note

If you are still in the market for a first line of fic: She held the linen of the fourth shirt she'd mended that day and though, quite seriously, that she might scream..

She held the linen of the fourth shirt she'd mended that day and though, quite seriously, that she might scream. It wasn’t, thought Sophia, as she stared through a great jagged rent in Frederick’s shirt, that she minded the task of mending any more than any other. Indeed, she even quite liked mending when the Captain was sitting near her in his cabin, and they were talking over other captains’ battles (and fighting them a great deal more successfully than those captains ever had). And to sit here in her warm, cozy lodgings in Plymouth with her husband and her brother lingering at the breakfast table behind her, debating whether the gale raging outside would last the rest of the day, was a dear and rare comfort.

But Sophia could not keep her temper over the fact that she had sent her youngest brother to sea with two dozen shirts and twenty of them were in states similar to the one in her hands.

Fourteen of them had been new made when he set off on the Asp, and all four and twenty had been freshly washed and mended, as Sophia knew and knew well the difficulty of washing linen at sea. She had not had time to make all the shifts she had wished to take herself because of the time spent cutting fabric to Frederick’s pattern card and feverishly plying her needle. The Captain— who had had only an old aunt, not much used to the sea, to make his shirts— had joked Sophia must be outfitting the whole sloop at the rate she was going.

As Frederick had always been her particular pet (she silently but ruefully apologized to middle brother Edward) Sophia at first tried to cast blame elsewhere. Frederick had been on a sloop and probably had not the space for an assigned servant— surely no one repaired these— no. Sophia sent down one shirt and picked up another. Someone had clearly made efforts to repair some of them. Perhaps the laundress, rushing to get the dried shirts back before the gale, had torn the linen in her haste? But... no. When Sophia dug through the basket to find one of the Captain’s shirts, it was in the same, good condition as when she had sent it out to be washed.

Sophia pulled out every shirt belonging to Frederick in the basket. Bullet holes, powder burns, cuts and tears of all description—

“Frederick,” she called out, in the tones she’d learnt to use while enemy canon roared across the deck.

It had its effect. Frederick hopped to attention and seemed almost baffled to find himself saluting Sophia with butter knife still in hand. The Captain smiled to himself, hands linked across his stomach.

“What on earth were you doing in the West Indies?” she cried. “There is not a shirt here that is fit to be worn. I should do much better to cut them all into handkerchiefs than to try and mend them. Did you take on every privateer yourself?”

“I had a run of luck,” said Frederick, rather too evasively.

“You had far too many run-ins,” said Sophia, severely. “What, were you trying to get yourself killed?”

There was something Sophia did not like in Frederick’s expression— a flash of something dark, a sense of pain steeped too long, steeped to bitterness— but then perhaps it was only the storm outside, as it rattled the windows and sent a new patter of droplets sizzling on the fire. When she looked away from the fire, Frederick merely spread his hands, with his usual devil-may-care fashion. “I have no wife to keep me nice, Sophia, and often my man was too busy with his regular duties to see to my linens, and I was—”

“Too injured to mend your own shirts?” Sophia asked severely.

“Come Sophia, the lad is perfectly healthy,” objected the Captain. “You see for yourself he has his all his limbs still. And all his teeth.”

They flashed in a grin now. “My thanks, sir, for this quick defensive action.”

“Sophia’s never had to rough it on a sloop,” said the Captain.

“Phoo! Phoo!” said Sophia. “You take too many risks, Frederick.”

Frederick protested, “It’s hardly that Sophia—”

“You take too little care, then,” said Sophia. “The next ship you get, Frederick, you had better take a wife with you.”

“What, only to see to my linens?” Frederick had always been a good-looking boy and now knew he was handsome— which often resulted in an air and a manner that made Sophia wish to box his ears like she had when they were children. The air and manner were in full, peacocking display he sat back down now, and gestured to himself. “A bad bargain for the lady, Sophia, and to have to live with this besides... on a sloop! No, if ever I marry, I should not make any poor creature stoop to such indignities.”

“No, you shall only make your sister sew a dozen new shirts for you every year,” said Sophia. “I hope you grow out of this by the time you are married, or I shall pity your poor wife til the day I die.”

“You shall be waiting a long time then,” said Frederick. There had been something in his tone— something sharp, something strained— that made Sophia wonder just what she had missed while abroad, but then Frederick smiled ruefully at her and extended his hand with all his usual open-hearted practicality. “Oh, let’s leave off fighting as if we were children again. Give me a needle. It hasn’t been so long since I had to help mend a torn sail and it isn’t fair to you, to fix the result of my own folly.”

“Give me a needle too, Sophia,” said the Captain. “You know this reminds me when I was first in the West Indies—”

The wind howled outside, but Sophia entirely forgot it, warmed as she was by the company of two of the people dearest in the world to her, all united together in their shared task.

#persuasion #jomiddlemarch

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jlalafics · 4 years

Note

I’m clearly on a dessert kick at the moment ... how about Everlark chancing a moment alone at an event on the tour to enjoy some sort of treat they found/generally check in with each other and have a breather (or some variation or that — supportive Everlark moment alone on the tour) (I mean they do get caught trying to sneak away a lot, maybe sometimes they succeed)

Hope this satisfies your dessert craving! Thanks @rosegardeninwinter for the prompt!

______

District 5

It’s far into the evening when there’s a quiet knock on the door.

God, I hope it’s not Effie coming to complain about my lack of enthusiasm during the most mind-numbing speech in all of Panem. I don’t know how she comes up with these words, sometimes.

Pressing the door button, it opens and instead of an irate Effie, I find Peeta.

He looks me over. “You were really going to go to sleep?”

My gaze goes to his dark pants and heather-green long-sleeve. He’s also holding a brown leather jacket with a wool collar. “And you aren’t?”

“No. Get dressed,” Peeta urges. “I want to show you something. Wear something that’s not too obvious.”

“I guess my fuchsia sequin dress is out of the question,” I retort.

“Very funny. Hurry up, won’t you?”

“Fine.” I yank him into the room and Peeta looks surprised. “You can’t stand in the hallway waiting for me. Everyone thinks we’re engaged, we’ve probably since each other in various stages of undress.”

“Right,” he manages to sputter out.

I find myself grinning as I look through my closet, pulling out a simple navy-blue dress and a cropped jacket. Quickly, I pull my shirt over my head and shimmy out of my lounge pants.

Behind me, Peeta is quietly whistling to himself, probably avoiding the fact that I’m practically naked in front of him.

What a gentleman.

There are times, however, when I wish he wouldn’t be. When I wish we could recapture the hunger that had welled up inside our cave. Some nights on this train, I find myself replaying those kisses in my mind over and over—

“You okay?” I look over my shoulder to find Peeta watching, his eyes darker than I have ever seen them. I recognize that want in them. “You spaced out for a moment.”

I quickly pull the dress on and pull on the jacket. Finally, I bend down and pull out a pair of sturdy boots.

“I’m ready,” I declare.

“You look nice,” Peeta replies with a soft smile. “Now, let’s get out of here.”

++++++

We find ourselves in a village. The buildings are tall with cone roofs and painted in muted primary colors. Some have stone walls. As we walk through the village, the hand that isn’t grasping Peeta’s reaches to touch one of the stones. It makes sense as we are close to the mountains; it must be their primary resource for building material.

“Where exactly are we going?” I ask as Peeta looks around, his eyes searching the street signs.

“One of our handlers mentioned this one place…” We make another turn and his blue eyes brighten. “There!”

We go to where a small crowd hangs around a…bakery.

This isn’t like Peeta’s bakery as there are wide glass windows displaying trays of baked goods. Inside there are a few tables where the townspeople sit and lounge. It looks cozy and inviting and I find comfort in seeing people living their everyday lives, enjoying time to just be together.

It’s hard to feel like that when you’re on a never-ending train ride.

“Do you see anything you like?” Peeta asks me as we stare at various trays in front of us.

“I really don’t know,” I say. “Why don’t you pick for me?”

Together, we step inside and the noise ceases. I try to ignore the shocked expressions as Peeta leads me to the front counter.

All charm, Peeta gives the older woman with snow white hair a smile. “Hello. Francis recommended your bakery—”

“I’m flattered, Mr. Mellark,” the woman replies kindly. “My name is Mary. What can I help you with?”

“Peeta, please.” He turns to me. “Katniss and I have a limited knowledge on dessert pastries. What would you recommend?”

The woman beams at us. “Well, we are known for our eclairs—”

“I’ve heard about them!” Peeta says excitedly and I smile at his enthusiasm. He’s been so upset with me and I’ve given him several reasons to be. For the first few days of our trip, we avoided each other. However, Peeta has brought me with him on this jaunt so we can get out of our gilded cage for an evening. It is the faintest shimmer of forgiveness and I will take it. “May I see?”

The woman goes to one of the display cases and, taking a smaller tray on the counter, grabs a pair of tongs to pull out some eclairs. She returns, placing them in front of us.

There are two eclairs in front of us, both oblong-shaped, but one has a dark glaze on top and the other a lighter brown.

“This one is a chocolate éclair.” Mary points to the darker one. “And this one is maple. Both have cream filling and both are delicious.”

Peeta nods and turns to me. “I’m convinced. Katniss?”

I muster up a smile. “I trust you…but we don’t have money—”

“I’ve got it,” Peeta tells me.

“They’re on the house,” Mary insists, and she turns to me. “When I saw you with Rue…my heart just broke for you.”

My eyes fill and I’m barely aware as Peeta puts an arm around me.

Rue never had the chance to live, to be able to see any place but her hometown or even try an éclair. These are such little life moments, but they feel bigger since she nor any of the other fallen tributes will ever experience them. My chest burns at the thought.

“Why don’t I buy two more?” Peeta suggests gently. “Let’s enjoy them for the people who couldn’t.”

++++++

We find ourselves in a garden, entering through an archway that looks like the one in front of Victors’ Village back in 12. Peeta finds us a bench that overlooks the whole garden and from the far distance I can spot the shadows of the mountains that tower over the town.

“Wow, this really is beautiful,” Peeta says as we sit down. “Francis made great recommendations.”

“When do you even have a chance to speak to the handlers?” I ask curiously as he opens the paper bag.

“While Effie is lecturing you to smile and stuff, I get to talk to them,” he explains. “I mean the handlers are here to welcome us and someone has to extend their gratitude. We’re Victors, but we’re not going to be jerks about it. They love to talk about their District and Francis just happened to be a chatty one. He’s the one who told me that this is a great date spot.”

A date?

I’m confused for a moment. Is this what this is?

“I’ll give you the chocolate one,” Peeta tells me. “Just don’t eat all of it.”

I’m so flabbergasted by what he’s just said that I reach for the éclair, holding it at both ends and readying myself to take a bite in the middle.

Peeta chuckles lightly. “It’s not a sandwich.” He rotates it so one end is facing me. “Go ahead.”

Tentatively, I take a bite.

The pastry is light, and the chocolate glaze gives it sweetness. I’m amazed at how well the slight buttery taste of the pastry mixes perfectly with the heaviness of the chocolate. The cream is sweet and airy but messy. I find myself licking the excess off the sides of the éclair and along my lips.

“Wow,” Peeta says, his face slightly crimson but the smirk is evident on his mouth. “That’s an image that I’m going to remember for the rest of life.”

I smack his arm. “I’m new at this!” He laughs as I put the éclair back on its wax wrapping. “Peeta?”

He’s already polished off his maple éclair—gluttonous boy. “Hmm?”

I adjust myself in my seat. “Have you ever been on a date?”

“I’ve gone with my brothers and some girls on a group thing,” he replies carefully. “It’s more like I tagged along to make it even. Why?”

“Then how do you know this is a date?”

“I asked you to come out, you got semi-dressed up, I paid for the meal, and took you to what some people might consider a romantic spot.” Peeta turns to me, his eyes warm. “So, yes—according to my brothers, this would be considered a date.” His eyes look off in the distance towards the mountain and I hear his quiet sigh. “Were your dates with Gale different?”

Gale has never asked me to go anywhere but to the woods or maybe to the market. I wear what I usually wear; my father’s jacket and my hunting clothes. Not like Gale’s ever offered, but I pay my own way…and we’ve never really gone anywhere remotely intimate. The thought alone makes me wince slightly.

Clearing my throat, I respond. “Um…I’ve never gone out with him like this.” Peeta turns to me, his eyes hopeful. “So, I guess this is…a…date.”

Peeta nods and I look around at the magnificent garden around us as we sit in content silence. Quiet moments like this are rare, but we take what we can. I breathe in the cool air, hearing the slight whistle of the wind between the mountains and let myself relax for a second.

His hand covers mine and gives it a squeeze. I know he feels it, too.

There’s a shift in the air; something wildly intimate is happening between us. Something that neither of us can really explain. It’s new territory which can be scary but his hand in mine gives me assurance like nothing else can.

“How are you?” he asks me suddenly. An arm moves stealthily around my shoulders and Peeta avoids my suspicious gaze. “I mean, not counting the whole Snow hating us thing.”

“I guess I’m okay,” I answer. My body curls against his, my head to his shoulder. “And you?”

“I’m on my first date with Katniss Everdeen,” he tells me and I can feel his smile against my hair. “What more can I ask for?”

++++++

It is all too soon when we return to the train.

Being the nice guy that he is, Peeta walks me to my room.

It’s right across from his, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Thanks—” I say, my eyes darting downward. “—for tonight. I think we both really needed it.”

“I agree.” Peeta looks to me, uncertainty in his eyes.

My palms are sweaty because I’m waiting…hoping…that he’ll take that next step—

“Where have you been?” We pull apart, finding Effie charging towards us sans wig and wearing the most garish purple robe. “Do not tell me that you snuck out!”

Behind her, a groggy Haymitch joins us.

Something tells me he knew, but did he care about our one night away from our steel cage?

I’m betting not.

“Then we won’t tell you,” I reply simply. I take Effie’s hand, rotate it palm facing up and give her the paper bag with the extra eclairs in it. “Good night.”

++++++

I’m disappointed.

Not by the outing…date.

There is still a pleasant roll in my stomach at the memory of the garden…our garden…of the taste of chocolate éclair along my tongue…and the look in Peeta’s eyes as he watched me.

Actually, that gives me a whole different feeling.

Going to the closet, I take off my jacket and reach for a hanger—

A gentle knock sounds against my door.

Hanging my jacket quickly, I press the door button and find Peeta in front of me.

“What are you doing here—”

I don’t even finish the sentence before his mouth is on mine. My arms wrap around his neck as we kiss, his hands moving along the line of my back. The heat is encompassing; our mouths connected, breaths puffing against each other, and foreheads pressed. Somewhere along the way, my hands travel down, grasping at his shirt…not quite sure where this will go…nor caring.

“Peeta…” I whisper against his lips.

His mouth moves along my jawline trailing down to my neck. “Yes?”

“I had a really good time,” I whisper into his ear as he mouths the gentle curve.

Peeta kisses me gently, a promise against our lips. “I’m going to take you on another date one day.”

I close my eyes hoping, after this tour is done, he’ll make good on that promise.

FIN.

And we know what happens next.

District 5 is supposed to be located around the Rocky Mountains. I imagine that the town they visited was what was Veil, Colorado and the bakery in the Lionshead district. The gardens would the Betty Ford Alpine Gardens.

I’ve never been there, but now I want to go.

Thanks for reading!

#Everlark #During the Victory Tour #firstdate!Everlark #District 5: Power #Everlark Fanfiction #victorytour!Everlark

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talesofpanem · 5 years

Text

On the Wednesday Train

Author: @xerxia31

Rating: K

Summary: The Wednesday train brings a visitor from Katniss’s past, but she’s not ready to see him.

I sit on the porch swing Peeta made last fall, reading and re-reading the few simple lines scrawled on the thick Capitol paper trembling in my hands. I want to see you. And from the one person I never thought would write them.

It’s been more than five years since the end of the rebellion, more than five years since I killed Coin, more than five years since I was exiled to District Twelve. More than five years since I’ve seen my former best friend.

More than five years since he killed my baby sister.

Behind me, our cottage door creaks open on hinges that I mentally remind myself to oil. “Are you hungry?” Peeta’s voice is low, tentative. He knows what’s in the letter, was beside me when I opened it. But like always, he’s giving me the space to come to terms with its contents on my own, no pressure. Peeta never pressures me into anything. I glance over my shoulder at him and he smiles softly. “Dinner is ready, if you want.”

I toss the letter onto the table that rests just inside the door as I follow my husband into the cozy little home we built together a couple of years ago. If the past five years have taught me anything, it’s that I can now afford to think before I act. I don’t have to answer the letter now.

I don’t have to answer the letter ever.

—–

It takes a month.

A month of thinking. Of reliving that awful day in the city circle, of nightmares and tears and hours spent staring into the void. Of missing Prim so much that my very bones ache with it.

A month of long walks in the forest. Of reliving those quiet moments of innocence, of brotherhood, of shared responsibility but also shared triumph, so sweet in memory but gone forever.

A month of yelling and of whispered conversations. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to see him,” I confess one night, long after we’ve gone to bed. We’re on top of the sheets in deference to the heat, a faint breeze wafting through the open window to alight on sweat-sheened skin.

“You’re strong enough to do anything,” Peeta reminds me. “And you don’t have to do it alone.” He’s right, of course. There aren’t many in District 12, even still. But the few of us who are here have built a community together. Our friends, our family of choice if not by birth.

“He hurt me.” There are so many more layers to my fear, my reluctance to see Gale again. But the simplest truth is that Gale’s actions hurt me terribly, irreparably.

“I know,” Peeta says, tracing soothing circles on the scarred skin of my belly. “But he loved you too.”

-----

He arrives on the Wednesday train, which surprises me. I’d thought a fancy government job in District Two would have afforded him the means to travel via hovercraft, or maybe even private car. Instead, Gale is taking a train along the same tracks that twice hurtled Peeta and me towards certain death.

We don’t meet him at the station. I pace our porch until the train whistle echoes through the district. Then I switch to pacing our small living room.

Peeta, though outwardly calm, has covered our kitchen table with baked goods, the scents of hot yeast and sugar filling our home even with all of the windows flung wide. He’s sheepish, but I know how keeping his hands and mind busy helps him fight off the false memories that still plague him from time to time, memories that so often involve Gale and me and things that never happened between us.

And things that did.

Despite his clear inner turmoil, Peeta abandons his baking to pace with me. “What could he possibly want after all of this time?” I mutter. It’s a hypothetical question; I could have asked in my return letter weeks earlier but I didn’t. I only wrote ‘okay’, and left it at that.

Peeta wraps his arms around me and kisses my temple. “I don’t know, love,” he says, the same answer he’s given me every time I’ve asked. “But we’ll find out soon enough.”

I know the district like the back of my hand, know exactly how long it takes to walk from the train station to the little cottage Peeta and I built about a half mile from where the fence once stood. That span comes and goes, and then a second of equal length. Peeta and I stop pacing, and eventually move out onto our porch, settling into the swing together, his arm still holding me steady, my head now settled onto his shoulder. “Maybe he changed his mind,” I say, voicing the thought I know we’ve both had. “Or missed his connection?”

Peeta merely hums above me, a sound that could be agreement but I suspect is not, and sets the swing in motion with a push of his good leg. And he’s right, because only a few minutes later a long shadow turns down our walkway. Gale, silhouetted by the sun, strange and yet somehow familiar too.

And not alone.

Peeta’s smile is genuine and delighted as he takes in Gale’s companion, my expression is likely the confused scowl I’ve spent much of my life wearing.

She has straight black hair that bounces with each step, and wide, wary almond-shaped eyes, so dark they glisten like wet coal in the afternoon light. As Gale approaches, she tucks her face into his shoulder shyly.

“It’s good to see you,” Peeta says when my own silence has stretched too long, clomping down the porch steps while I stand frozen at the top. Gale shifts the dark haired toddler on his hip to reach for Peeta’s outstretched hand.

“It’s been a long time.” I jolt a little at Gale’s voice, just the same as it always was, and yet different too. Older. More tired.

Gale’s pint-sized companion peeks out at us again, gazing back and forth between Peeta and me, her little brow wrinkling. “And who is this?” Peeta asks, smiling at the little girl and ducking to her level. She reaches out to pat his golden curls before retreating again.

“This is Iris,” Gale says. He turns to speak directly to her. “Can you say hello?” The fondness in his voice reminds me so much of how he always used to speak to Posy, and to Prim.

Prim.

My throat closes and heavy clouds descend over my heart. I think Peeta notices, even as distracted as he is by Iris. Peeta loves children. He’d make an incredible father, if he had a different wife. Instead, he comes back to the wife he does have, me, and wraps his arm around my shoulder again, taking some of my weight as my knees tremble.

Gale follows him up, until he’s standing just feet away for the first time in so long. Solemn grey eyes regard me cautiously. “Hey Katniss,” he says and a part of me is inexplicably saddened by the loss of the nickname I always hated.

“Gale,” I whisper. Then nothing. We size each other up like rivals before the duel, the air between us fetid with grief and fear.

“Come inside,” Peeta encourages.

We move into the living room that bears Peeta’s touch on every surface, bright pictures on the walls and soft blankets tossed over the comfortable sofa and chairs. It’s smaller and simpler than our old houses in Victor’s Village, but palatial compared to the Seam shack where I grew up. And like all of our little house, it’s warm and welcoming, just like the man who makes gentle small talk as we settle in, asking about the trip, the weather, bringing out sweet tea and plates of baked goods.

Gale sits on the couch with Iris on his lap and my gaze is drawn to her like a magnet. She’s perhaps two, or maybe just a bit older, and admittedly adorable, her initial shyness already fading as she looks around curiously.

A child. Gale has a child of his own. It hits me hard, the unfairness of it. That he should have a perfect family when he stole that future from my sister. That he’s built a life when there are still days I can’t even get out of bed.

Peeta glances at Gale before asking, “Do you like cookies, Iris?” Gale grins, and Iris nods, a huge smile dimpling her plump cheeks. Peeta holds out a cookie, cinnamon, the kind I like best, and she takes it in that trusting way that most kids seem to exhibit with Peeta.

We fall quiet again. Gale bounces Iris on his knees while she messily devours a cookie, giggling and feeding him bites. She clearly adores him. And the way he looks at her fills my chest with an unfamiliar longing. Not for Gale, not even for a baby of my own. But for the contentment of a life I’ve never even wanted.

Peeta carries the conversation, telling Gale about the medicine factory that is slated to open in the fall, the influx of new people we expect will follow. Gale speaks not about his life in Two, but about the new housing going up above ground in Thirteen, now that the decontamination there is complete.

When Peeta inquires if Gale is part of that project, he shakes his head. “My mom’s house will be in the first group. Rory is on one of the construction crews.”

“They’re not with you in Two?” I ask, the first words I’ve said since Peeta’s return. Gale stiffens, a frown tugging at his lips.

“They’re not,” he says, and ever after five years I can read his pain, hear it in his gruff voice. “But I speak with them a couple of times a month.” That surprises me, Gale was always so close to Hazelle, even when the mines, and then the war, took him away for so many hours, he still made time for her. I wonder why he hasn’t brought them to Two.

Iris is getting restless, climbing over Gale and making little whining noises. When Peeta offers to take her to feed Haymitch’s geese (“they’re much tamer than the man,” he assures Gale) I feel betrayed. I don’t want to be alone with this stranger who isn’t a stranger. So much for not having to do this alone.

Peeta takes Iris’s hand, she follows him happily. It’s quiet for many, many long moments, only the soft murmur of Peeta and Iris’s conversation floating in from the kitchen as they gather bits of stale bread for the geese, and the wind through the willows just outside my window. The front door creaks again, announcing their departure.

Then Gale and I are alone. I shift in my chair by the fireplace, across from Gale, and really look at him.

He’s well put together, nice clothing and new shoes, neatly trimmed nails with no coal dust under them. But he seems so much older than his not quite 25 years, the line between his brows a permanent feature, a weariness in his grey eyes. He regards me the same way, cataloguing the changes that five years have wrought on my own face. I know what he sees. While my face was spared in the explosion and fire all of those years ago, the burn scars that mar my arms and legs are on full display. I’m no longer self-conscious enough about them to wear long sleeves, especially in the late August heat. This is who I am, and the people of Twelve accept me, faults and all. More importantly, Peeta loves me despite everything. I have nothing to be ashamed of. And I remind myself that I have nothing to fear here either.

“How old is Iris?” I start. There are a thousand things we should be talking about, but his daughter is perhaps the easiest.

“She just turned two in April,” he says.

“You didn’t mention her.”

He nods. “Her mother was my neighbour, in Two. She died just before Christmas. There was no one to take the baby.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “She’s not your-”

“She is my daughter,” he interrupts, voice hard. “In every way that matters.”

I’m momentarily stunned, not just by his vehemence, but that he’s taken in an orphan, and is raising her apparently alone, without her mother or his own. That’s not the Gale I remember, who cared about his family, sure, but not for strangers. He never seemed upset about the kids in the community home like I was.

“She’s why I’m here,” he admits.

“You wanted me to meet her?” He could have just sent a photograph, like Annie did when little Finn was born.

“No, I mean, yeah, I did, but that’s not what I meant,” he stutters. I bite my tongue, giving him the space to sort out his thoughts. “Having her in my life…” he trails off, and stands, walking over to the window. I can see his pained expression reflected in the glass.

“I wanted you to know that I get it now,” he says, still facing away. “I didn’t really understand, after.” He sighs, but I stay still and silent. “I felt bad.” He shakes his head and turns to face me. I’m shocked to see his eyes are shimmering. “I feel bad, I feel fucking awful, about what I created with Beetee, what they used it for. But until Iris, I didn’t really understand. I do now.”

I frown and shake my head. Having a baby shouldn’t be necessary to understand why blowing up a bunch of kids is wrong. This is ridiculous.

“I understand,” he tries again, “that there are things more important than being right.” He tries to clear the roughness from his throat. “Back then, I was always so angry, so damned righteous. I hated being so powerless.”

“We all did,” I remind him, anger in my voice. “Nothing makes you feel quite so powerless as seeing your little sister’s name pulled out of a giant glass bowl. Of hearing her essentially sentenced to death.”

“I know,” he says softly, though he doesn’t. The only person who really understands the scars I bear on my soul is Peeta. And maybe Haymitch, on his more lucid days. “Once the war started,” he continues, “and we were in Thirteen, well, people started giving me a little bit of that power I craved. It was a heady experience.”

“It never felt like that for me,” I grumble. My experiences with the people of Thirteen were so different. I never felt like I was being given the power to change things. I felt like a tool, or a puppet.

“I know,” he says again. “And that should have been my first clue. You knew, you always knew, right from the beginning, that Coin was using us.”

Gale closes his eyes, head bowed while I stare, unable to absolve him. My sister is dead, as are a lot of other kids and medics. While their deaths aren’t wholly his fault, his contribution is unforgivable, despite the pressure we were both under in Thirteen. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he whispers, as if reading my thoughts. “I just want you to know that I am so very sorry. But more than that, I understand, and I pledge to you, and to Prim, that I’m going to do everything in my power to make the world a better place.”

Honestly, that still sounds like what he thought he was doing with Thirteen, and I frown. “You don’t believe me?”

“I do.”

“But it isn’t enough?”

“I guess I don’t see how it’s any different. You’ve always wanted to change Panem, Gale. You’ve always wanted to forge ahead full speed and crush anything in your path” I expect him to get angry, to defend himself. Instead he smiles, wistfully.

“You’re right,” he says. “But it is different now. I’m different now,” he emphasizes. He turns away again, leaning on the window sill. I join him, our shoulders nearly touching as we look out over my front yard, the laneway beyond it. Victor’s Village is too far to see from my house, but when the wind blows just right I can hear the sounds of children playing on the green there. Not today, though. There’s only somber silence. “I’m trying,” he says finally, the words defeated. “I may never get it right, but I’m trying.”

“I don’t understand.” Trying to get through to me? Trying to be a good dad? I just don’t know.

“Trying to be like you. I used to think you were weak,” he says, and I bristle. “I thought your compassion was cowardice.” He faces me again, and this time his tears have spilled over, twin trails tracking down his cheeks. “But it’s the opposite. Your compassion is your strength. It’s why you both survived the Games. Why you found Peeta and nursed him back to health. Why you dragged him through the sewers instead of letting him kill himself.” He turns away and I absorb his words. Compassion. It’s a word I’ve always associated with Peeta. But maybe I have a little myself too.

“It’s why you’re listening to me now instead of chasing me down the lane with your bow,” Gale murmurs. A reluctant smile lifts one side of my mouth. Under all the bluster, under the fancy clothes and the fancy haircut, he’s still Gale, still that boy who was once my best friend. I’m not so petulant that I can’t admit, if only to myself, that I’ve missed him.

He must see the softening of my expression because he laughs quietly and wipes his face roughly with a sleeve. He doesn’t ask me for forgiveness, which makes me glad. I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive him yet. But maybe someday.

We watch the trees wave in the light breeze in silence that feels far more companionable until toddler squeals float through the woods, approaching. Peeta and Iris returning. Reality returning.

“Are you okay, Katniss?” I know he means more than am I all right with him being here and the things we’ve talked about.

“I am. We are,” I say, meaning me and Peeta. And maybe meaning Gale too.

They stay only a few minutes longer before Gale takes his tired little girl to the boarding house where they’re spending the night. Peeta offers our spare room, but I’m not sad when Gale declines. We made progress today, but I’m not ready for anything more just yet.

We watch their retreat from our porch, Peeta’s arm again wrapped around me.

“You were so brave today,” Peeta says when they turn the corner and disappear from view. I nod, turning into his arms, inhaling his scent. “And so was he.”

“So was he,” I agree.

#tales of panem #talesofpanem #week 6 #train #xerxia31 #submission

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