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justcallmefox89 · 5 days

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Walking in the Moonlight

Rolan and Drakul get to know each other a little better.

TW: m/m sex acts, smutty shenanigans in the woods, dirty talk/teasing

Rolan glances over at Drakul as the pair meander through the woods, admiring the way moonlight strikes his profile as he turns his face up to admire stars. Drakul bounces on his toes and turns to face Rolan with a beaming smile on his face.

“I’m over 400 years old and I saw the moon and stars for the first time only a few days ago,” he says in a wondering tone. “The surface world is full of such glorious things.”

“You’ve spent your whole life in the Underdark?” Rolan asks, trying to suppress his shock.

“Of course. Why would I wish to be anywhere else?” Drakul reaches up and gently touches Rolan’s cheek. “But had I known your world contained such beauty I would have ventured to the surface earlier.”

“Do you miss it? Your home?” Rolan deflects his flirtation with a question.

The drow tilts his head to the side and purses his lips as he considers his answer. “Yes…” he says haltingly. “Of course I do. I miss my sisters, and in some strange, demented way I even miss my mother. But this…” He takes Rolan’s hand in his and softly smiles. “This type of freedom is intoxicating. Being able to use my magic for something other than K’tarai’s schemes. Not being forced to entertain whichever matriarch my mother wishes to align herself with in the moment. I haven’t had to kill anyone I didn’t wish to in days!”

Overwhelmed by these, quite frankly, odd admission Rolan grasps onto the safest topic of conversation. “May I ask about your magic?”

Drakul momentarily stiffens next to him but quickly recovers. “Of course, my beauty.”

Rolan mulls over his question, trying to think of a tactful way to phrase it. “When did you break your oath?”

Drakul peeks at the wizard out of the corner of his eye. “You’re an observant little kitten, aren’t you?”

“Your magic feels similar to Zevlor’s just…”

“Just?” Drakul arches one eyebrow at Rolan’s reticence.

“Darker. More… all-encompassing.”

“You make me sound positively dangerous, little wizard,” Drakul practically purrs, taking hold of the front of Rolan’s robes and tugging him closer.

Rolan stumbles a bit and throws him arms around the paladin’s shoulders to steady himself. “You are dangerous,” he gasps as Drakul leans down and nuzzles against his pulse point. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Drakul laugh and kisses the tender skin behind Rolan’s ear. “And what am I doing?”

“Attempting to distract me…”

“Attempting? Not succeeding?” Drakul murmurs, nipping at the shell of the tiefling’s ear.

Rolan shudders, a soft moan escaping his lips as he clutches Drakul tighter.

“Maybe I should elaborate on everything I wish to do with you, would you find that sufficiently distracting?”

Rolan whimpers faintly, one hand coming up to tangle in the drow’s hair.

“I wish to have your hands in my hair while my face is buried between your thighs, my mouth on your perfect cock,” Drakul growls, peppering the tiefling’s neck with kisses. “I want to hear you scream my name when you spill in my mouth.”

“Drakul…” Rolan timidly whines his name, grinding his hardening cock against the paladin’s thigh.

“Mmm, you can be louder than that lovely one,” the drow teases, gripping a handful of Rolan’s arse and sighing in pleasure. “I want to edge your pleasure with pain, showing you delights you never could have dreamed of. I want you to mark me with your teeth and claws, and then when your cock is hard again I want to ride you while your hands grip my thighs, guiding my pace, making sure I take every inch of you…”

Drakul grips the back of Rolan’s head, tearing loose the tie holding his hair up and claiming his mouth in a brutal kiss. Rolan’s lips part on a gasp and Drakul slips his tongue inside, groaning as he tastes Rolan for the first time. He tugs on Rolan’s hair, pulling the wizard’s head back, and kisses up the exposed column of his throat, licking and biting his skin with soft lips and sharp teeth. Drakul slots his leg between Rolan’s thighs and grips Rolan’s hips, urging him to grind down against him. Rolan whimpers at the contact, even with several layers of fabric between them.

“Gods, you are beautiful like this,” Drakul murmurs. “Wild and undone, just for me.”

“Drakul…” Rolan sighs out his name, gripping the paladin tight.

“Let me taste you, my lovely one,” Drakul begs, his voice broken and husky. “Let me feel the weight of you on my tongue.”

Rolan blushes and stammers at Drakul’s request. “I… I…”

The drow nips at Rolan’s earlobe. “Answer me, beauty.”

“Yes!” Rolan gasps.

Drakul gives Rolan one last, lingering kiss before backing him against the trunk of a large oak tree and dropping to his knees in front of the tiefling. He tears at the wizard’s robes, hurriedly bundling them out of the way so he can yank down his breeches. Rolan sighs as the cool evening air caresses his heated skin, and looks down at Drakul through slitted eyes.

Drakul takes a long moment to appreciate Rolan’s thick, ridged cock, hanging heavy between his thighs, before giving the head a teasing flick with the tip of his tongue. Rolan groans and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the tree trunk as Drakul caresses his thighs and presses warm, wet kisses along his length.

“You make such pretty noises, little wizard,” Drakul mumbles against Rolan’s hip. “But can I make you sing?”

Rolan shudders as the soft heat of Drakul’s mouth envelopes the entirety of his cock, slowly dragging up and then sliding back down. One weaponed roughened hand cradles his balls, gently rolling them together. This sensation, in tandem with Drakul’s mouth, causes Rolan’s knees to buckle and his hips to thrust forward, shoving his cock even further into Drakul’s mouth.

“Drakul,” he whines as a tale-tell heat begins to climb up his spine and a familiar tightening begins low in his belly.

Drakul releases Rolan’s cock from his mouth and grins up at him wickedly. “Tell me what you need, Rolan.”

“More,” Rolan whines, grabbing the back of Drakul’s head and attempting to urge him forward.

With his free hand, Drakul gives Rolan’s cock a long, slow stroke. “More… what?”

Rolan grinds his teeth together as he realizes what it is that Drakul wants from him. He clamps his mouth closed as Drakul strokes him again, teasingly licking the tip of his aching cock.

“You… you… sadist,” Rolan hisses, his hand gripping the tree trunk so tightly splinters dig into his palm.

Drakul slowly draws Rolan’s tip back into his mouth and suckles gently, one hand stroking the base of his cock while the other continues to tease his balls. The sensations are somehow both too much and not enough, and Rolan finds himself crying out against his will.

“More! Please, Drakul, please! I need you…”

Drakul swallows his cock to the base, swirling his tongue around Rolan’s hardened length as his hands work in tandem to tease his balls and thighs. Heat licks up Rolan’s back and stars spark behind his closed eyelids as his orgasm washes over him. He’s faintly aware of Drakul groaning in pleasure as he spills in the paladin’s mouth, but everything else is lost to the heat of Drakul’s mouth and the rough touch of his hands. Each lick of Drakul’s tongue on his sensitive cock sends a shudder through him, and Rolan falls back limply against the tree, breathing hard.

“Such a good boy,” Drakul murmurs hoarsely, pressing one last kiss to Rolan’s bare hip before tucking him back into his breeches. After making sure Rolan’s laces are all done up and his robes are properly straightened, Drakul rises to his feet and smirks at the now blushing wizard.

Rolan fidgets under the drow’s crimson stare, unsure what to do.

Should I offer to reciprocate? That would be the polite thing to do, surely?

“Shall I… ?” Rolan hesitantly reaches out for the hem of Drakul’s tunic.

Drakul chuckles and stops the forward movement of his hands. “No, my pretty little wizard, this evening is about you. I can wait until next time.”

Next time?

Heat blooms over Rolan’s cheeks at Drakul’s insinuation.

“I think it’s time we got you back to Cal and Lia,” Drakul continues, dusting bits of bark and dried leaves from Rolan’s shoulders.

A pang of disappointment strikes Rolan at the realization that their time together is over.

“Don’t worry, lovely one,” Drakul murmurs, sensing the quick change in his mood. “There will be more time for us, I promise.”

Rolan had long ago quit trusting in the promises of others, but something about Drakul desperately makes him want to believe that what he says is true. That there will be more late night rendezvous in the woods, more stolen kisses and secret touches.

The pair walks back towards the camp in silence, each seemingly absorbed in their own thoughts. When the glow of the campfire becomes visible once again Drakul wraps his arms around Rolan’s waist and pulls the tiefling back against his chest.

“One final kiss before you leave me?” Drakul murmurs, his voice low and husky in Rolan’s ear.

Rolan turns to face him, not leaving the protective circle of Drakul’s arms, and tilts his face up to receive a gentle kiss from the paladin. Rolan wants to stay there, warm in Drakul’s embrace, but the voices of his brother and sister float on the evening breeze, reminding him of pending obligations and promises made.

The two create some distance between them and walk back into camp, to a chorus of knowing smiles and thinly veiled innuendos. The siblings quickly make their good-byes and make for the safety of the grove. Only once Drakul’s camp is out of sight do Cal and Lia turn to stare at Rolan, matching grins on their faces.

“So…” Cal says slowly, eyeing his older brother. “Did you have a nice walk?”

Rolan stiffens under their teasing attention, and attempts to school his face into some semblance of neutrality. “It was quite nice, yes. It turns out that Drakul is quite fascinating to speak to.”

“And how much talking did you two actually get done?” Lia asks, smirking as she leans forward and plucks a few twigs from Rolan’s unbound hair.

The wizard freezes, his hands flying to his hair as he suddenly remembers Drakul tearing out the leather thong that usually keeps his hair tied back. He blushes as his siblings stare at him expectantly, waiting for the salacious details. Rolan clamps his mouth shut and speedily marches away from him, determined to put as much distance between himself and his siblings as possible.

Cal laughs at his brothers retreating back and Lia calls out his name.

“Rolan, wait! We want to learn all about our new brother-in-law!”

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justcallmefox89 · 13 days

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Gnome Troubles IX - Astarion's POV

Wicket is more perceptive than Astarion planned on.

Potential TW: brief mentions of Astarion's attitude/reluctance towards sex, but mainly a very fluffy and understanding Wicket.

Astarion tries to remain calm, forcing himself to relax against Wicket as the gnome whispers gentle words and showers him with soft touches and warm kisses. This was not how Astarion had planned for their encounter to go, had needed their encounter to go in order to ensure Wicket’s loyalty and protection.

“Are you here with me, dearest?” Rough fingertips tenderly touch Astarion chin, turning his head until his eyes meet Wicket’s concerned gaze. His colorless eyes, so often flat and detached, now burn with pale fire as he stares intently at Astarion.

The vampire forces a carefree smile onto his lips. “Absolutely.”

“Hm.” Wicket pulls away slightly, looking entirely unconvinced.

Damn this observant gnome.

Pushing down his reservations Astarion launches himself at Wicket, fusing his mouth to his in a passionate kiss. He takes advantage of their size difference and Wicket’s momentary surprise, and nimbly rolls the other man onto his back. Astarion kisses down the side of Wicket’s neck, ignoring the temptation to feed, and slides his hands under the rough fabric of his shirt. He runs his hands up Wicket’s torso, relishing the sheer warmth of his skin and the way the muscles of his stomach shudder and tense beneath his fingertips. This is his element, the medium in which he excels whether he enjoys it or not.

Astarion pauses his exploration of Wicket’s body as his hands reach the gnome’s chest, tracing along a mass of raised scar tissue located directly over Wicket’s heart.

Wicket’s body stiffens and he gently, but firmly, slides Astarion’s hands out from beneath his shirt. “Let’s leave some things to the imagination, hm?”

“But-” Astarion begins to protest, intrigued in spite of himself.

Wicket brushes his lips against Astarion’s in a fleeting caress. “There are so many things we could be doing that are much more interesting than my old scars,” he purrs, urging Astarion onto his back. “Let me show you…”

Astarion wants to object, to demand answers, but then Wicket flicks his tongue against the vampire’s pulse point, and suddenly whatever questions he may have don’t seem quite so important. Wicket continues to kiss up his neck, pausing to nip at his earlobe before tracing the shell of his ear with the tip of his tongue. Astarion shudders at the pleasurable feel of the gnome’s warm breath against the sensitive point of his ear, his skin breaking out in goosebumps.

Maybe this time it won’t be so bad… since it’s him.

Wicket kisses Astarion’s cheek, drawing the elf out of his negative thoughts. Realizing this is his time to ensure the cleric’s protection, Astarion forces himself to focus on the task at hand.

“Darling, why don’t you -”

Wicket’s catches his hand as he reaches for him, tenderly kissing his palm. “What did I say about your pleasure?”

Astarion takes a shuddering breath as Wicket kisses the tip of each of his fingers, then his palm again, ending with a warm, lingering kiss on his inner wrist. “That… that…”

Wicket continues kissing up his forearm, pausing only to peek up at Astarion beneath his lashes with a wicked smirk. “Mmm?”

“That my pleasure is your pleasure?” Astarion sighs out the last word as Wicket’s lips skim up his bicep to his shoulder.

“Then allow me to indulge in my desires, beautiful one,” Wicket murmurs, gently scraping his teeth against Astarion’s collarbone.

Brief panic flashes through the elf at Wicket’s words, accompanied by a rarely felt surge of lust. Wicket somehow senses Astarion’s discomfort and instantly ceases his exploration of the other man’s body, simply resting his head against Astarion’s bicep and holding his hand, stroking his thumb across his knuckles. Many quiet moments pass as Astarion’s breathing calms and he relaxes into Wicket’s warmth.

“I think we should stop for the night,” Wicket says softly.

“What? Why?” Astarion snaps, unwilling to miss out on this opportunity despite his discomfort.

Wicket tilts his back to meet Astarion’s angry gaze. “I have done many terrible things in my life, but I have never, and will never, force myself on an unwilling partner.”

“I -”

“You may not be unwilling but you’re not entirely comfortable either,” Wicket says firmly. “So for tonight, this ends here.”

Astarion glares at him, furious that his grand plan has been foiled by Wicket’s decency. “Fine,” he snaps, sitting up and crossing his arms in irritation.

Wicket chuckles and sweeps his long hair back over his shoulders at his sits up. “Have you fed today?”

“No,” the vampire answers testily.

Wicket huffs in quiet amusement. “You do tend to be more petulant than usual when you’re hungry.”

“You pompous little - ” Astarion’s insults die in his throat as Wicket reclines back on the blanket, tugging down the collar of his shirt to bare his throat to the vampire’s hungry gaze. He licks his lips uncertainly, his eyes darting from Wicket’s neck to his face and then back again.

Wicket crooks a finger at him, beckoning him closer. Astarion settles on the blanket next to him, slipping one hand beneath his head and the other around his waist to hold him close.

“Are you sure?” he whispers uncertainly.

Wicket tenderly traces the sharp curve of Astarion’s cheekbone with the tip of one finger. “Take what you need from me.”

Some long dead part of Astarion flickers to life in that moment, a withered flower stretching towards the pale light of a winter’s morning after years of darkness.

He brushes an infinitely gentle kiss against Wicket’s slightly rough lips. “This is a gift, you know,” he whispers hoarsely. “I won’t forget it.”

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justcallmefox89 · 13 days

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Gnome Troubles VIII - Wicket's POV

Wicket turns the tables on Astarion.

Potential TW: brief allusions to Astarion's use of sex as a bargaining chip/his unease around sex in general

I stare at the dying embers of the evening’s fire, seconding guessing my earlier decision to join Astarion. He’d slipped away from the party a while ago, flashing me a beckoning smile as he disappeared into the shadows of the forest surrounding our camp.

This is an awful idea. Karlach is a better idea, and she could quite literally incinerate me.

Shoving those doubts aside in favor of listening to more base urges, I grab a large blanket from my bag and slink off into the woods in search of Astarion. I wander into a small clearing, keeping my eyes sharp for the acerbic vampire.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting.” Astarion glides out from behind a large oak. “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to – is that a blanket?”

I ignore his snickering as I shake out the blanket and spread it onto the ground. “I’m not sure what you've planned but I refuse to rut in the dirt like a youth of 110,” I say haughtily, still not entirely sure what exactly it is he wants from me, hoping I haven’t gravely misinterpreted the situation.

“Gods, you are positively ancient aren’t you, my dear?” Astarion titters, stepping closer to stand directly in front of me.

Already feeling off-balance and becoming even more flustered by his teasing, I feel an intense need to rectify our height difference. Immediately. I allow myself to fall backwards onto the blanket, grabbing his hand and tugging him along with me as I fall.

“What are you -oof!” Astarion huffs out an annoyed grunt as he lands next to me. “Really, darling?”

I shrug, allowing myself to look up and take in the moon and stars glittering in the wide expanse of sky above us. “Why did you really ask me out here, Astarion? We’re not… close.”

He moves closer to me, trailing his fingertips down my forearm. “Perhaps that is something I wish to rectify,” he murmurs.

I turn my head slightly, hoping to look into his eyes so I can gauge the truthfulness of his words. He surges towards me, his lips covering my own. I stiffen in surprise, but quickly relax, sinking into the softness of his lips. As nice as the kiss is it feels… mechanical. Rehearsed. Passionless.

I break the kiss, taking a deep breath to stop my head from spinning.

“What wrong?” Astarion whispers, moving in to continue the kiss.

I place a hand on his chest, gently pressing him back. “Why are you doing this?”

His brow knits in equal parts confusion and frustration.

“Do you want to do this?” I clarify. “With me?”

“Of course,” he says automatically.

“Why?”

He dramatically flops onto his back with a groan. “What do you mean ‘why’? Do you always question when someone invites you to engage in a night of passion?”

I give him a flat look, unwilling to leave the subject.

“Fine,” he huffs. “You have been… kind. And you have done quite well at keeping our merry little band alive, which I admit is… impressive. And perhaps you possess other qualities that I find intriguing.”

Astarion glares at the sky, resolutely avoiding my eyes. I lean closer to him, nudging his cheek with the tip of my nose.

“You don’t owe me anything, Astarion,” I whisper. “I know we haven’t had the easiest journey.”

He nods slowly.

I touch my fingertips to his chin, gently turning his face towards me. “I will only take what you freely give me.”

Astarion nods again, meeting my eyes this time. I tentatively lean forward, giving him time to reject me. He stays unmoving, releasing a soft sigh when my lips finally meet his. This time our kiss is slow and languid, and we slowly ease onto our sides without letting go of each other. I gently trail my hand over his chest as I deepen the kiss, gently flicking my tongue against his. Sparks shoot up my spine at the feel of his skin and the slick softness of tongue against mine. I sigh, savoring the faint tastes of wine and copper that linger in his mouth. Astarion presses against me, fumbling for the hem of my shirt.

“Shh,” I murmur against his lips, catching his wandering hands in my own.

“But-”

I cut off his protest with another gentle kiss. “Your pleasure is my own, love. Now relax… and allow me to please us both.”

His crimson eyes widen and he momentarily stiffens against me, but quickly relaxes as I run my hand up and down his side, trying to reassure him with soft touches.

“You are in control, my lovely,” I whisper, pressing a kiss against the curve of his jaw. “You may tell me to stop at any time. Your word is my command.”

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justcallmefox89 · 17 days

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Gnome Troubles Part VII (Wicket's POV)

Astarion puts his new plan into motion

“Darling it’s a celebration, not a funeral. If I can manage to feign having a good time, surely you can as well.”

“Hm.” I flash Astarion a half-hearted smirk and motion for him to join me. He moves next to me, and I fill his goblet from the only half-decent bottle of wine I’d scavenged from the druids.

“So why are you brooding over here in the shadows when you could be celebrating?”

“Did we really give them anything to celebrate?” I shrug and take a drink, the heavy, rich red wine rolling over my tongue. “We cleared one obstacle for them but there’s another twenty for them to clear before they get to Baldur’s Gate.”

“Gods,” Astarion groans. “Is it too much to ask for just a little bit of fun for one night? A bit of excitement?”

I glance over at him from the corner of my eye, choosing to remain silent and continue drinking.

He leans closer to me; close enough for me to smell the fresh scent of the soap he used to wash up with earlier, and the warm, slightly spicy scent of his perfume. “You know, we could always make our own entertainment darling. Get a little closer, so to speak,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry.

I start at the blatant proposition, spilling a little wine onto my trousers. Astarion gives me a cat-like grin and tilts his head to the side, waiting for my answer. I restlessly tap my fingertips against the stem of my goblet, ignoring the burn in my cheeks as I consider the elf’s offer.

On one hand Astarion is objectively beautiful, and it’s been longer than I care to admit since I’ve enjoyed the touch of another. On the other hand, he is a vampire and I’ve already betrayed my oath by allowing him to live this long. Accepting his proposition would be akin to daring Kelemvor to smite me.

I am so godsdamned tired.

I swallow down my nerves. “What did you have in mind?”

“Find me after the other have gone to sleep,” he purrs in my ear. “And we’ll have a more… private celebration.”

I shiver at the feel of his warm breath against the shell of my ear, tantalized by the prospect of his fangs scrapping against my skin… the feel of his lips against mine… I nod in affirmation, not trusting myself to speak.

“Then I’ll see you later tonight, my dear.”

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justcallmefox89 · 23 days

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Lazy morning, he caught you watching him sleep.

#your honor i love him #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale

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justcallmefox89 · 24 days

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Gnome Troubles Part VI (Astarion's POV)

Wicket shows a moment of vulnerability.

“Looking at something?” Astarion arches one eyebrow as he studies Wicket’s reflection in the glass of his mirror. The cleric is drinking more than usual tonight, choosing to keep to his own company rather than join the others around the fire for the evening meal.

“Just looking,” Wicket murmurs, sipping from his goblet of wine. “What are you doing?”

Astarion fights to suppress the shiver that rolls down his spine. He’ll never admit this, not even under the threat of death, but he adores the way a wine-soused Wicket speaks. The gnome’s voice is already far deeper than one would ever imagine, given his size, and when he’s in his cups the husky growl becomes more of a soft rumble… the sharp, clipped edges of his accent become softer, more rounded… a velvet darkness that reminds Astarion of snowfall on a winter’s night.

Astarion forcibly shakes himself out of his musing to answer the question. “I’m looking too, but not seeing very much. Another quirk of my affliction.”

“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?” Wicket tilts his head to the side, curious.

“Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity?” Astarion sneers. “Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.”

“What color were they before?”

“I… I don’t know.” Astarion pauses, slightly ashamed to make such an admission. “I can’t remember. My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing that I’ve lost.” He dashes the mirror onto the ground, fury coursing through him as he’s forced to face the reality of his condition yet again. After two hundred years one would think it would get easier…

But it doesn’t.

Wicket deftly sidesteps shards of broken glass and sips his wine again, his eyes never leaving Astarion’s face. With his free hand he motions for Astarion to come closer. Curious, the vampire cautiously kneels down so that they two are able to look each other in the eye. He remains motionless while Wicket’s eyes rove over him, greedily taking in every aspect of his face. His colorless eyes, so often dark and haunted, burn with a pale fire that Astarion has never seen before. Unlike Astarion, who quit aging upon the moment of his death, Wicket bears the burdens of his time in the earthly realm; long, black hair streaked with silver… his skin is tan and weathered from his many years spent traveling through the wilds of Faerun… a myriad of scars litter his skin, a testament to the danger of his life as a chosen of Kelemvor… faint wrinkles bracket his eyes and mouth, the signs of laughter and much time in the sun. Astarion finds himself wondering about who Wicket was before fate threw them together, the Wicket who smiled and laughed often enough to create those lines in his skin.

“I see you,” Wicket whispers hoarsely.

“And what do you see, exactly?” Astarion inquires breathily, almost afraid to hear the gnome’s thoughts.

“Starlight and rubies,” Wicket murmurs absently, his free hand drifting upwards as if to touch Astarion’s cheek. He hesitates just before his fingertips brush the elf’s skin, so instead his hand just hovers, faintly outlining the arc of Astarion’s cheekbone and then the strong curve of his jaw. “You are like moonlight on water… The kind of beauty artists and sculptors dream of but can never truly capture on canvas or in clay. Ethereal and eternal.”

Part of Astarion wants to scoff, to demand that Wicket specifically cite what he finds attractive about him… but another part, a long forgotten part of himself that existed before Cazador, when he was still a young boy who daydreamed of an adoring lover who would shower him in poetry and loving glances… that part of him blissfully listens to Wicket’s every word.

“In my wildest, most exquisite dreams I never could have imagined someone like you, Astarion,” Wicket continues. “My moonlit beauty.”

“Wicket…” Astarion breathes out the gnome’s name, turning his head just enough to barely graze the other man’s fingers with his lips. He freezes, surprised at his own willingness to touch a gnome.

Wicket seems equally shocked but quickly collects himself; his eyes grow cold as his expression shutters and Astarion is once again faced with a stoic and loyal cleric of Kelemvor. He takes a few steps back and offers Astarion a stiff nod before turning away.

“Sleep well, Astarion,” he calls as he strides away to his tent.

Astarion stares after him, unable to formulate a response, and struggling to understand why Wicket’s sudden departure has left him feeling so… bereft. Astarion is not unfamiliar with flattery certainly, after all compliments are all part and parcel of the game of seduction. And after two centuries of luring and obtaining victims for Cazador, Astarion is a master of that particular game. But in all his years no one has spoken to him so genuinely, stared at him so rapturously… been so tender towards him without the expectation of anything in return.

Astarion scowls, pulling himself out of those idle thoughts. He won’t allow himself to be swayed by tender feelings and whispered sweet nothings, from a gnome of all things, not when there is so much at stake. But perhaps if he can twist Wicket to his advantage… Astarion smirks to himself.

Yes... that could prove very useful indeed.

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justcallmefox89 · 1 month

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Gnome Troubles Part V (Astarion's POV)

Gale gives Astarion something to think about.

There’s something wrong with the gnome. Astarion has suspected it since that night Wicket offered him blood, and after a tenday of traveling together he’s near certain of it. Wicket barely sleeps, and when he does he wakes screaming. The others pretend to not notice the wretched, soul-clenching cries and ignore the hoarseness of his voice in the mornings. Astarion’s flesh crawls when the screams begin, reminding him of the year he spent entombed at Cazador’s orders. He cannot imagine what terrors come to torment Wicket in his dreams, and at such moments he feels the barest flash of sympathy for the gnome.

Wicket’s nighttime habits aren’t the only thing that trouble the vampire. Astarion isn’t one to begrudge a person their love for fine wines, but Wicket indulges in drink far too often, as if he’s searching for oblivion. And at times he clutches at his chest as if he’s in great pain. Astarion would almost swear he’s seen the faintest glow beneath Wicket’s camp shirt, as if there’s something illuminating him from the inside.

Maybe all cleric are just indescribably odd.

Shadowheart is no less strange than the gnome, also choosing to remain aloof and enigmatic, only revealing bits of her past when she’s forced too. Astarion shakes his head.

No… there is something very, very wrong with Wicket.

Attempting to push the troubling thoughts away, the elf closes his eyes and tilts his face up, allowing the rays from the early morning sun to warm his face. The rustling of cloth announces another’s presence, and from the creaking of their joints as they sit down next to him Astarion is able to tell that it’s Gale.

“You seem introspective this morning,” he murmurs, settling his robes about him.

“Just thinking, darling,” Astarion murmurs without opening his eyes. “Considering all that’s happened to our little group recently.”

“Is there something in particular on your mind? Or someone, to be more precise?”

The vampire cracks open one eyes and glances over at Gale. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my dear.”

Gale shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s hard not to notice how considerate a certain cleric has been towards your particular needs.”

Astarion remains obstinately silent. Undeniably… in his own coarse, obnoxiously high-handed way, Wicket has taken rather decent care of him. Making sure he’s fed adequately each day, tending to his wounds with efficient, thorough care while implicitly making sure his hands don’t linger longer than strictly necessary… Astarion can grudgingly admit that Wicket has treated him with more care than he probably deserves, considering his attitude towards the other man. But for purely practical reasons, he’s sure. It wouldn’t do to think any differently.

“If this is your poor attempt to convince me that Wicket’s actions are merely altruistic, I will have to insist otherwise,” Astarion protests irritably.

“Kelemvor’s necrobanes are notoriously devoted to their oath,” Gale muses, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “To have one not only deny his holy mission, but aid in the survival of the very thing he’s sworn to destroy… it makes one wonder what could cause him to defy his god.”

“Given our rather unique circumstances I am of more use to him alive than dead. That is all.”

Gale arches one eyebrow skeptically.

“I’ve lived long enough to know that altruism is a farce,” Astarion replies sharply. “Whatever Wicket has done for me he will expect repayment, I’m sure. They always do.”

“I think you may be doing him a disservice,” the wizard murmurs.

Astarion mimics Gale’s earlier shrug, feigning disinterest in his companion’s opinion. But some infinitesimally small part of him, a bit of him so heavily guarded and locked away he’d nearly forgotten about it, dares to hope that Gale is right.

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justcallmefox89 · 1 month

Note

hi I'm not on tumblr much but I need more of that Rolan food? Do you have an ao3 😅

I do! Sometimes it takes me a bit to remember to upload there I always eventually do 😂 My username there is Grey_Wraithe Thanks for reading!

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justcallmefox89 · 1 month

Text

Campfire Stories

Cal, Lia, and Rolan join Drakul and the others for a meal, the others learn more about Drakul than they bargained for.

TW: Drow being drow - fantasy racism, classism, murder-hobo tendencies.

I watch Rolan stomp away from his siblings, grinning at the agitated lashing of his tail and admiring the shape of his firm, tight-

“Stop that,” Gale commands, flicking the tip of one of my ears.

“Ow!” I swat his hand away with a scowl.

“Serves you right,” he says primly, fixing me with a disapproving stare.

“I didn’t do anything!” I protest.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking,” Gale lectures, sounding so much like my mother it’s uncanny. “And you need to leave that boy alone.”

“If you had even the faintest idea what I’m currently thinking, you’d be blushing wizard,” I purr, running my thumb over my lower lip.

“You… you…” Gale stammers momentarily then snaps his mouth closed and settles for giving me a dirty look.

Astarion saunters back to us, closely followed by Karlach. “Oh… did you break the wizard again, Drakul? I was hoping to watch this time.”

“Karlach, my darling! Gale was being dreadfully horrible to me while you were gone,” I pout and dramatically gesture to the reddened tip of my ear. “And he flicked me!”

She snickers and nudges me away with the butt of her battle-axe. “I’m sure you deserved every second of it.”

“He most assuredly did,” Gale assures her. “Honestly Drakul, you’re even older than Astarion and you act like a child.”

“Hey!” Astarion and I shout in unison, twin images of outrage.

“Is now a bad time?”

The four of us whirl around to see Cal and Lia watching us with faintly bemused smiles on their faces.

Gale recovers first. “Is there something we can help you with?”

“Oh gods,” Astarion groans. “Stop offering to help every person we meet.”

“Actually… we wanted to invite you to have dinner with us,” Cal answers.

“We heard how you helped Arabella and Mirkon and we just wanted to do something to thank you,” Lia adds.

We aided some common children and now I get an invitation to dine with Rolan? Maybe there is something to this whole ‘helping’ nonsense Gale bathers on about…

I am struck by a brilliant idea.

“You should come dine with us at our camp instead,” I blurt out.

Cal and Lia exchange hesitant glances. “Are you sure?” she asks.

“Absolutely.” I throw my arm around Gale’s shoulders and gift them with my most charming smile. “The human loves to cook. It will be no trouble at all.”

“Then we’ll see you at sundown.”

“See you then!” I call after them as they take their leave.

“A child…” Gale mutters. “An overgrown, xenophobic, murderous child.”

True to their word Cal and Lia arrive at our camp right at sundown, a clearly reluctant Rolan trudging a few steps behind them. Pleasantries are exchanged as Gale and Wyll put the finishing touches on the evening meal, and Scratch circulates through everyone, gathering scritches and pets as he goes. Soon enough Gale begins to dish out bowls of stew and everyone starts to settle around the campfire to eat.

“Rolan,” I say, just loud enough to get his attention, and tap the space next to me with one finger.

He hesitates, turning to go sit next to his brother and sister. I clear my throat and tap the spot again with a touch more force. He waffles for only a second longer before relenting sitting down on the log next to me.

“Thank you,” I whisper, pressing my shoulder against his.

Rolan grunts irritably but leans into my touch, so I take advantage of the moment and turn my head to take quick whiff of his hair. I inhale deeply, taking in the scents of old books, ink, and candlewax.

Of course.

I’ve only known the wizard for a scant amount of time, but I’m not surprised that these are the scents that make up Rolan.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, pulling away from me.

I begin to reply but get distracted when I realize Gale has forgotten to dish up a bowl of stew for one of our party members. “Wizard!”

Gale pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Oh for the love of…”

“He’s hungry!” I insist.

“Do not indulge him,” Lae’zel orders.

“My minion demands food!”

“What the hells is going on?” Lia whispers to Karlach.

Gale dishes out one last small portion of stew and sets the bowl at my feet. Appeased, my newest underling slinks out of my tent and pads over to the campfire.

“It’s a cat,” Rolan says, slightly stunned.

“His name is Varyyn,” I say proudly. The cat lets out an indignant mrrp as I sweep him up into my arms to show him off to the tiefling siblings. He’s a fat little thing with orange and white stripes, he drools when he sleeps, and one eye blinks slower than the other but I’ve decided to claim him anyway.

“Where on earth did you find that thing?” Rolan asks as Lia coos and scratches under Varyyn’s chin.

“He followed us back from that abandoned village,” I reply, nodding in a vaguely westerly direction.

Varyyn begins to yowl in earnest so I release him, and he immediately pounces on his portion of stew.

“Shadowheart says we can’t keep him when we move on -”

“We are not keeping the cat,” Shadowheart says, giving me a stern look.

“I’m keeping the cat,” I rebelliously whisper to Rolan, secretly thrilled when he gives me a small smile.

“Did you have many pets growing up, Drakul?” Lia asks.

I take a bite of stew, sucking thoughtfully on my spoon as I consider the question. Rolan’s eyes track the motion of my lips, but he quickly looks away when I catch him watching.

“Mother allowed me a dire bat as a flying steed once I passed the Test of Lolth,” I answer.

“Truly?” Cal’s eyes are as wide as saucers.

“Fallon is a hideous, stubborn beast,” I say fondly, smiling at the thought of the giant bat. “It took ages to get him accustomed to the bit and bridle… the trainer was going through two or three children a week for months.”

My smile fades as I notice that everyone – with the exception of Lae’zel and Astarion- has stopped eating.

“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

“You fed children to your dire bat?” Rolan looks positively green.

“Oh! Of course not, silly.” I pat his thigh reassuringly. “They were the riders. Fallon needed to get used to carrying someone and there are so very many commoner children in Menzoberranzen. When one fell to his death the trainer would just pluck another from the masses. I was never allowed a darthiir like my sisters were though…”

“I am almost afraid to ask,” Gale mumbles. “A darthiir?”

“Yes,” I nod and gesture towards Astarion. “You know… like him. Darthiir.”

“People?” Lia squeaks. “Your sisters kept people as pets?”

I frown. “No, not people. Elves.”

“So they were slaves then.” Karlach scowls at me.

“Oh no, my sisters’ darthiir were treated much better than our slaves,” I assure her.

“My gods.” Rolan nearly chokes on his bite of stew.

“Darling, if you keep talking I will kill you,” Astarion says, eyeing me calmy from across the campfire.

I smirk. “You would try,” I retort, already reaching for the dagger hidden at the small of my back.

“Alright boys, you’re both pretty.” Karlach glares at both of us. “Now pull your claws back in.”

“I would kill him,” I whisper reassuringly to Rolan.

“Of course you would.”

I turn, ready to reprimand him for his patronizing tone, but stay silent when I notice the tiny smile on his lips.

“You mentioned you had sisters, Drakul?” Cal asks, trying to fill the awkward silence.

I nod, finishing my list bite of stew. “Seven sisters; six younger and my twin, K’tarai.”

Cal nudges Lia with his elbow and laughs. “If they’re anything like this one I don’t envy you,” he jokes.

“I doubt they are,” I muse, pondering my sisters’ personalities. “K’tarai ordered her first execution at the age of six, and Catriona attempted to assassinate our mother when she was just fourteen. Mother survived though!” I reassure my companions, noticing their shocked looks.

“New rule!” Gale announces, clapping his hands. “No more asking Drakul about his life.”

I frown at the others’ ready agreement. “But I am fascinating.”

Rolan smothers a giggle behind his hand, and I don’t have the heart to be cross with him.

“Take a walk with me,” I murmur in his ear, gently stroking my hand up and down his spine.

He shivers under my touch. “I don’t think -”

“Walk with me, my wizard,” I repeat. “I’m selfish… allow me to steal you away from the others for just a short while.”

Rolan nods shyly in agreement and sets aside his empty bowl. I stand first and offer him my hand, helping him to his feet. We sneak away while the others are absorbed in conversation, and are almost to freedom when Gale catches the sleeve of my tunic.

He tugs, urging me to bend low, and whispers in my ear. “Step carefully, Drakul. That lad doesn’t understand the game you are playing.”

I glance over at Rolan as he waits for me, anxiously twisting the fabric of his robes in his hands. I don’t know what it is about this antagonistic and guarded tiefling, but for the first time in my life the cruel and manipulative games of my home hold no appeal. I only feel the urge to cosset... to cherish... to protect.... to make him delirious with pleasure.

“As you say, Gale,” I assure him.

I quickly rejoin Rolan and offer him my arm, as if I am still in Menzoberranzen and he is a potential suitor. He flushes a deep burgundy and hesitates, but soon enough his fingers wrap around my forearm, sending a thrill shooting through me.

“Shall we?”

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justcallmefox89 · 1 month

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Gnome Troubles Part IV (Astarion's POV)

TW: violence, blood, very brief allusions to Astarion's time with Cazador, short instance of Astarion's gnome racism

That smirk would be handsome on someone taller.

Astarion shakes off the errant thought as Wicket leaps from the tree, landing noiselessly in front of him. He takes a wary step back, realizing there is more to this necrobane than initially meets the eye. The vampire stumbles over a rock, losing his footing as Wicket lunges at him with a speed that rivals his own. Astarion manages to deflect the first blow, hissing as one of the stakes gouges into the pale flesh of his forearm. Wicket dodges behind him, driving his fist into Astarion’s lower back as his heel makes contact with the back of the elf’s knee.

Astarion crumples to the ground and makes an attempt to crawl away, but Wicket snatches his ankle and pulls him closer before pouncing on top of him. Astarion begins to panic at the weight pining him down as Wicket straddles his waist and raises a stake over his heart.

Groping hands in the dark… foul breath… rough, unwanted touches… the smell of unwashed bodies and sour ale…

Astarion bucks beneath Wicket, attempting to throw him off, and the stake misses its mark, stabbing into the soft dirt next to his head.

“Hold still, abomination!” Wicket snarls, scrabbling for the second stake and struggling to hold him down.

Not again, not again, not again, not again…

Astarion struggles wildly, caught in his memories like an insect in amber, barely aware of Wicket’s rough voice cursing in Gnim as he fights to retain his hold on him. Then… a blinding light and indescribable pain… Astarion is forcibly pulled from his memories and thrust into another’s.

Fire surrounds him, the smoke thick and choking… the wails of the dying mingle with the screams of children… Blood soaks the forest floor, glowing in the firelight… A single voice rises above the din – a small child crying out for her father…

“Get out of my head!” Wicket screams, drawing Astarion back into the present. The gnome is wild-eyed and sweating, silver-streaked hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks, his skin nearly as pale as Astarion’s. Taking advantage of his distress Astarion shoves him away and rolls to his feet, drawing his dagger.

Wicket staggers to his feet, still disoriented, with a stake in his hand and clearly still ready to fight. “What’s wrong with you?” he slurs.

“What?” Astarion asks, dumbfounded.

“Hands are shaking… scared… felt it with the worm…”

Astarion scowls. Apparently the tadpole had allowed Wicket a peek into his mind too. “Most people tend to be shaken when someone attempts to assassinate them, darling.”

The necrobane snorts, clearly not believing the lie. “As you say.” A pause. “Why are you so weak?”

“I beg your pardon?” Astarion stares down at the gnome in disgust. “Weak?”

Wicket stares back at him, expressionless.

Astarion lets out an annoyed huff. “If you must know, my master kept my diet very… controlled.”

“Explain.”

“Rats! Vermin! The occasional kobold!” The vampire throws his hands up in exasperation. “And only in small amounts, just enough to keep us alive but not strong enough to rebel.”

Wicket hums in contemplation and thinks a moment before darting off to his tent. His back before Astarion can object, goblet in hand.

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, taking a wary step back.

Wicket tilts his head to the side and takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “I don’t know what is going to happen or what potential dangers we will face as a result of our tadpoles. And leaving you alive could prove to be useful.”

The elf narrows his eyes in disbelief.

“If,” Wicket holds up one finger. “And only if you can keep your fangs to yourself… I’m willing to forgo my oath.”

“Of course, darling,” Astarion replies with a charming smirk. “This little venture will be so much easier if we’re all friends.”

But the very moment it appears you’re going to turn on me I will drink you.

Wicket grunts, looking like he already regrets his decision. As a curious Astarion watches he rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, then draws a small dagger from a hidden sheath in his boot. Wicket grits his teeth and braces himself, then slices a deep gash across his forearm. Before a drop of blood can hit the ground, Wicket has the goblet beneath the wound, catching each gloriously enticing drop.

The heady smell of the gnome’s blood has Astarion’s eyelids fluttering, and a small gasp escapes his lips. He briefly considers crossing the few feet that separate them and licking up the blood that drips down Wicket’s arm; finally gorging himself on the sustenance he’s so long been denied. Then his lip curls in disgust at the very thought. Gnomish blood is acceptable, but to actually press his lips to the flesh of one of the little beasts? He shudders at the very thought.

No, better to wait and see exactly what he’s up to.

After several long minutes the goblet is nearly full. Wicket whispers a few words of healing, and his wound closes up as if it were never there. He’s pale and clearly lightheaded from the blood loss, but somehow manages to remain standing.

“Here,” he mutters thrusting the goblet into Astarion’s eager hands. “We’re going to need you at full strength if you’re going to be any use to us. Don’t make me regret this.”

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justcallmefox89 · 1 month

Text

Consequences (Rolan x m!Drow Paladin fic)

Drakul has reached the end of his very limited patience with a certain wizard.

It had been four days, four bloody days, since Drakul and his merry group of misfits had appeared at the Grove with wild promises of aid against the druids and the goblins. But as far as Rolan can tell the under-elf hasn’t accomplished anything of note. Oh, he’s charmed the other tieflings surely, especially Cal and Lia. And he manages to flirt with Dammon every chance he gets, flustering the usually oblivious weaponsmith until he’s a blushing mess. Not that Rolan cares who Drakul flirts with, of course he doesn’t.

What he does care about is the way Drakul looks at him, watches him when he thinks Rolan doesn’t notice. The way the drow’s eyes linger over his form, drinking in every inch of his body like it’s water and he’s a man dying of thirst. And when Rolan dares to meet his eyes Drakul smirks at him, impish and lascivious, crimson eyes widened in faux innocence. It’s maddening, the reactions Drakul can tease from him with just a look… and even more infuriating is that Rolan finds himself enjoying the attention, even searching out Drakul’s flirtatious gaze on occasion, eager to once again feel the heat that races over his skin every time their eyes meet.

With considerable effort Rolan wrenches his thoughts away from Drakul and back to more immediate concerns, namely getting himself and his siblings to Baldur’s Gate as soon as possible.

“We should have left by now! Damnation!” he growls for the umpteenth time, scowling at his siblings. “Instead we’re just sitting here- practically begging to be attacked. Staying is a mistake.”

His sister glares right back, ready to retort but is interrupted by approaching footsteps.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Karlach says, hefting her battle axe on her shoulder. “The tieflings need help.”

“And what about us?” Rolan argues. “There’s every chance we’ve doomed ourselves by helping these people. We will end up fodder for some goblin’s blade – all because Lia insists on helping every wounded foal we see. Our best chance is to make it to Baldur’s Gate own our own. This place is lost.”

Drakul snorts and mutters something in the drow tongue, too low for Rolan to make out, but the tone is clearly disparaging.

“Something to add?” Rolan sneers.

Drakul laconically shrugs one shoulder and continues cleaning bloodstains from his sword with a damp cloth. He pointedly avoids Rolan’s gaze, refusing to acknowledge the patronizing tone of the wizard’s voice.

“Why the rush to leave?” Gale, the human wizard and only sufferable member of Drakul’s company as far as Rolan is concerned, interjects.

Rolan sighs. “My apprenticeship with Lorroakan begins shortly. I cannot be late.” He pauses to allow the revelation sink in. “Yes, that Lorroakan. The greatest wizard in Baldur’s Gate.”

Gale hums in contemplation. “I’ve heard that name before. A young man, yes? Lives in Ramazith’s Tower in the Upper City?”

“The very same.”

“Word in Waterdeep is that he’s a bit of a cad. But you say he’s an accomplished wizard?”

“Of course he is!” Rolan scoffs. “The greatest spellcaster along the Sword Coast. As if I’d settle for a lesser mentor.”

“Of course he is!” Drakul mimics him, chuckling and sheathing his blade. He rolls his eyes. “You colnbluth are rarely as powerful as you believe yourselves to be. ”

“In that case, I’d very much appreciate it if you could arrange an introduction should we reach the city,” Gale cuts in, shooting Drakul a warning look. “One can never have too many powerful acquaintances.”

“If it’s powerful acquaintances your after, you have to look no further than yours truly.” Rolan preens, brushing down his robes. “Few can match me – in either magic or talent.”

“Then by all means, oh great and powerful magus, please rid these wilds of all the dangers you will face on your journey to Baldur’s Gate,” Drakul drawls, lowering himself into a deep bow. “Surely one so powerful as yourself will have no issues eliminating these obstacles posthaste.”

Rolan gasps, outraged. “You dare speak to me-”

“I will speak to an arrogant child however I like,” Drakul replies calmly, straightening up and meeting his eyes.

Knowing their elder brother’s temper and the storm that will soon be coming, Lia and Cal take several steps away from the pair. Barely a heartbeat later, Gale and Karlach follow them to safety.

“Arrogant child?” Rolan sputters, completely incensed.

“What else would you have me call you? You sit here, behind the safety of these walls, whining and complaining. You do nothing to aid your kin or assist in your escape from this place. Oh you posture and you brag about how powerful you are, how easily you could vanquish the goblins… but like a child you cower behind the true warriors. You disparage our efforts, my efforts, extolling your own virtues like a puffed up iblith, unconcerned with anyone or anything else. Do you think I choose to be here? That my companions and I are just on holiday, that we have nothing better to do than solve the problems of other people? You take for granted the fact that we give over our might and our talents to your cause and have agreed to protect you and your people. Thankless, egotistical child.” Drakul steps toe to toe with Rolan, so close that their chests brush together, and stares down at him with cold, furious eyes.

Rolan grits his teeth, his anger flaring even as his traitorous body responds to Drakul’s close proximity. He breathes in deeply in an attempt to calm himself, but only succeeds in dragging more of Drakul’s delicious scent into his nostrils. Beneath the smells of sweat, musk, and blood, which even under pain of death will Rolan never admit that he finds deeply erotic in their own profane way, he smells the scents he associates only with Drakul… night-blooming flowers, sandalwood, and evening twilight.

“You pompous, self-important, high-handed bastard!” Rolan hisses.

Drakul lashes out, catching Rolan’s jaw firmly with one hand. He tilts Rolan’s face up so that he can stare directly into his eyes. Rolan flushes a deep burgundy as his cock thickens in his trousers, licking his lips and involuntarily swaying closer to Drakul, painfully aroused by even this fleeting touch from the drow.

Something Rolan can’t quite decipher flashes across Drakul’s face, but it is quickly replaced by stern, uncompromising authority. He leans towards Rolan, bringing his mouth close to the tiefling’s ear. Rolan shudders and his cock grows even harder as Drakul’s warm breath ghosts over the sensitive shell of his ear.

“Usstan'sargh wael! I am Drakul’ayne, eldest son and weapons master of the noble and honoured House Barri’mtor. I am a lord, and you will give me the reverence I am due. Am I understood, little wizard?” Drakul growls, his deep voice rumbling low in his chest.

Rolan nods wordlessly, for once eager to obey another. To please.

Drakul draws back, a faint smile on his lips as he carefully studies Rolan’s face. “I asked you a question, Rolan.”

“I understand,” he answers, nodding rapidly.

“I understand, what?”

Rolan scowls, realizing what Drakul wants but reluctant to give it to him. He hesitates long enough for the smile to slip from Drakul’s face, replaced by a look of disapproval.

“I understand, my lord!” Rolan blurts out, tension seizing him at the thought of disappointing the paladin.

Drakul smiles at him then, bright and dazzling, releasing his jaw and gently brushing the backs of his fingers against Rolan’s ridged cheek. “Good boy,” he murmurs.

Rolan flushes with equal parts shame and pride at the praise.

“Uh, Drakul?” Karlach call hesitantly, shuffling from foot to foot. “We need to get going. Astarion is waiting.”

Drakul huffs and rolls his eyes. “And just when we were getting somewhere,” he grumbles under his breath, taking a small step away from Rolan.

Rolan mourns the sudden loss of his heat and internally curses Karlach, wishing for nothing more than to keep basking in Drakul’s presence, reveling in his fleeting touches and authoritative words.

“Be good for me, little wizard,” Drakul says, tapping the tip of Rolan’s nose with his forefinger, the seemingly innocuous words a thinly veiled command.

“I… um…yes,” Rolan stutters.

Drakul wordlessly arches one white brow.

“Yes, my lord,” Rolan quickly amends.

Drakul’s eyelids flutter and he releases a quiet, slightly obscene groan, just loud enough for Rolan to hear. “Such a good boy,” he whispers, before turning and quickly rejoining his comrades.

Rolan stays rooted to the spot, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he gasps for breath, aroused and furious.

How dare he?! How dare he speak to me like that! And what the hells is wrong with me that I… that I…

Rolan huffs and crosses his arms, unable to even finish the thought. Cal and Lia approach him slowly, trying to gauge his mood.

“So uh… that was something,” Lia says slowly, biting back a smile. Cal elbows her, unable to conceal his own smirk.

“Oh shut up!” Rolan snarls, shoving past his annoying siblings, eager to find some place where he can be alone and sort through the confusing jumble of feelings and thoughts Drakul has awakened within him. He unobtrusively tugs at the front of his trousers, annoyed to find himself still hard and wanting. Yes, some place with a bit of privacy would be welcome right about now.

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justcallmefox89 · 1 month

Text

First Sight

One of the Grove's mysterious saviors seems to have an interest in a particularly prickly tiefling.

You are most fortunate, Rolan. Few catch my interest, but your letters demonstrate potential. I’m willing to give you a chance. However, a warning – you must be willing to do whatever is necessary. Power is not cheap. And I’ll not suffer weakness in my own student.

-Loroakkan

Rolan smooths out a wrinkle in the parchment, absentmindedly noting how much the ink has faded. He reads the words again, reminding himself of his goal, and painstakingly refolds the letter before stowing it in the inner pocket of his robes. This letter has travelled with him from Elturel to the hells and back again, and gods be damned if he’ll lose it now that his dream is within reach.

If only we could make out of this godsdamned grove.

He slouches against the cavern wall, huddling further into the secluded little enclave he’s tried to create for Cal and Lia, far away from Zevlor’s watchful eyes, the judgmental gazes of the druids, and the constant, mind-numbing chattering of the other tieflings. Lia complained at first, wanting to be closer to the others, but had relented when Cal sided with Rolan.

Speaking of…

His younger brother ducks to fit under the tattered fabric masquerading as the roof of current sleeping space, a bowl of stew in each hand. He thrusts one into Rolan’s hands and settles down on the ground next to him. “Okta says hello.”

Rolan grunts and mindlessly stirs his spoon through the watery gruel, only half listening to Cal.

“You could at least pretend to try,” his brother sighs, setting aside his own bowl.

Rolan rolls his eyes, already irritated by the familiar argument. “I’ve always taken care of you and Lia, haven’t I?”

“Of course, but-”

“Then why would we need anyone else? These people don’t care about us, we’re not kin. We just happen to be stuck in the same unfortunate circumstance. Besides, once we get to Baldur’s Gate, we’ll have no reason to speak to these people ever again.”

Cal frowns and turns away. “We might not need anyone else, but that doesn’t mean me and Lia want to be alone for the rest of our lives.”

“Why would you be alone?” Rolan asks, bewildered. “We’ll always have each other.”

“We don’t want to shut out the rest of the world, Rolan,” Cal protests, raising his voice.

Rolan scowls. “When has the rest of the world ever cared about us? Where was the rest of the world when -”

The long, sonorous sound of a horn interrupts Rolan’s tirade.

Cal cocks his head to the side, listening intently before realization dawns. “The war horn! Another attack!”

Rolan’s head whips around, searching the tiefling encampment for his wayward sister. “Where’s Lia?”

Cal’s eyes widen. “She was at the gate with Cerys!”

Many nerve wracking minutes later the brothers catch sight of their sister scampering down the ladder that leads to the top of the defensive walls that line the grove, a wide smile on her face. The gate to the grove rises with a groan and Aradin and his group of mercenaries trudge through, followed by a group of four unknown fighters. Zevlor immediately flies at Aradin, loudly scolding him for leading a rogue band of goblins back to their haven. The apparent leader of the mysterious group approaches the arguing pair, interjecting with a low, husky voice in an attempt to calm the two. Rolan takes advantage of the situation, studying the newcomer.

Clad in pitch black leather armor, a cape and cowl covering his head and face, the new arrival stands head and shoulders taller than both Zevlor and Aradin, his body lithe and strong beneath his armor.

The warrior’s head snaps up, as if feeling Rolan’s eyes on him. He gazes in the wizard’s direction, his head cocked to the side as if he's studying the tiefling. Unable to see the man’s eyes or facial expression, Rolan begins to fidget uncomfortably before steeling himself to defiantly stare back at the stranger. For some reason Rolan gets the distinct impression that his actions amuse the man, who eventually returns to his attention to Zevlor and Aradin.

“Did you see that? They were amazing!” Lia cries out, dashing up to her brothers.

As it so often does Rolan’s fear for his sister manifests as anger and he grabs her shoulders, shaking her slightly. “What were you thinking? I’ve told you to stay away from the walls, to stay back where it’s safe -”

“I can’t just hide away from the world the way you do, Rolan!” Lia snaps. “I want to be around people… help them! And these people need our help!”

“Don’t.” Rolan holds up his hand, attempting to stop her tirade before she truly gathers steam. “We don’t owe these people anything and we need to be on the road to Baldur’s Gate as soon as we can.”

Lia groans in frustration. “Hells, we can’t just leave. They’re kin.”

“I’ll not gamble our lives, our futures, on people who are as good as dead,” Rolan responds coldly. “We must leave for Baldur’s Gate – at once.”

“Can we all just take a moment? Please?” Cal pleads.

“What’s the point of blades and spells if we don’t bloody use them? We should stay,” Lia argues. “These people aren’t fighters. We can help.”

Cal sighs. “Or yell louder. That’s fine too.”

One of the newcomers sidles up to them, a giantess of a tiefling who radiates heat like a furnace. “If we don’t protect our kin, no one else will,” she insists. “You should stay.”

“Thank you!” Lia exclaims. “It’s the right thing to do and you know it.”

“She’s right, Rolan. We’re better than this,” Cal adds.

“Zurgan,” Rolan growls. “Fine. I’ll stay too. Lest you both end up with your throats slit by a goblin blade.”

“What a noble sacrifice,” an unknown voice teases. Slightly accented and strangely melodious, it sends an unbidden shiver down Rolan’s spine. He catches a flash of black out of the corner of his eye as the mysterious warrior leaves Zevlor and joins their small group, peeling away his blood spattered cowl and hood. Lia gasps involuntarily as the fabric falls away, revealing long, bright white hair, twilight colored skin, and long ears that taper to a delicate point.

Under-elf!

The stranger’s eyes flash towards Rolan, sparking likes rubies in the sunlight, and the tiefling feels a rush of panic at being so close to one of Lolth’s loyal subjects. The spider goddess is not known for her mercy, and those who worship her are known to be equally callous.

“Don’t be nervous, little one,” the drow purrs, leaning closer to Lia. “I won’t bite.” He slides a suggestive look in Rolan’s direction. “I wouldn’t say no to a nibble from him though.”

“Stay away from her,” Rolan hisses, stepping between the drow and his sister, resolutely ignoring the pleasurable shudder that runs through him at being so close to the stranger.

Blood colored eyes widen at his boldness and the drow smirks, tracing the emblem on Rolan’s robes with the tip of one finger. “So the kitten has claws,” he murmurs.

“Knock it off,” the unknown tiefling orders, nudging him with her elbow.

“As you command,” the strange drow says cheerfully, instantly stepping away from Rolan.

The wizard frowns, confused by the sudden fluttering low in his belly and the sense of loss left by the man’s absence.

“I’m Karlach,” the tiefling continues, slinging her arm around the drow’s shoulders. “And this is Drakul.”

“Drakul’ayne of House Barri’mtor.” He takes Rolan’s hand in his, performing a courtly bow and pressing a kiss to the tiefling’s knuckles. “May I say what an absolute pleasure it is to make your acquaintance?”

Rolan feels heat flood his cheeks and stands rooted to the spot, his hand still firmly in Drakul’s. “I… I… that is…”

Lia and Cal snicker behind him, clearly enjoying his momentary vexation. Embarrassment turns to shame, and true to form Rolan lashes out.

“Unhand me,” he snaps, jerking his hand out of Drakul’s grasp and wiping it against his robes, a fleeting sense of disappointment washing over him as he brushes away the sensation of Drakul’s lips on his skin.

One white eyebrow arches in question and Drakul’s lips quirk to the side, as if he’s entertained by Rolan’s outburst. Zevlor’s voice catches everyone’s attention as he calls for Drakul and Karlach to rejoin him. Karlach jogs towards the former Hellrider but Drakul lingers momentarily, his gaze raking over Rolan like a caress.

“Be seeing you, Kitten,” he murmurs, gracing Rolan with one final smirk before striding back to Zevlor.

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justcallmefox89 · 2 months

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A smutty one shot with a bratty Rolan and a dominant oathbreaker paladin Tav? 🧐 maybe?

#bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan #rolan x tav #rolan x reader #bg3 fic #bg3 tiefling #bg3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate rolan #paladin #oathbreaker #wizard

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justcallmefox89 · 2 months

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Inferior Part VI

TW: brief mentions of blood and violence, death.

Something inside me breaks as W’wargaz contemptuously spits out Khou’zal’s name, and the crack formed when Lae’zel struck me explodes into a torrential gale of rage and fear. The storm heeds my silent call, gathering beneath my skin, roaring to be free.

You always said my emotions would be the end of me, Khou’zal.

With a final wordless apology to my mentor I launch myself at the ch’r’rai, allowing myself a small, pleased smile when he screams in pain as my hands close around his throat. The storm leaps to escape, channeled through my hands into an inferior vessel. W’wargaz jerks beneath me as the lightening enters his body, burning him from the inside out, but his feeble attempts aren’t enough to dislodge me.

“Pathetic,” I hiss. “I expected more fight from you old man, oh revered warrior of Vlaakith.”

“Abomination,” he gasps, his hands scrabbling at my wrists, claws gouging at the skin.

“I am what the githyanki made me,” I whisper, summoning one final surge of lightening. W’wargaz falls limp; a smoking husk is all that remains of Vlaakith’s Inquisitor.

A pained yelp draws my attention and I stagger to my feet, ready to aid my companions.

Tsk’va!

So far they’ve been able to hold their own, but they’re fading fast. Astarion clutches his side, firing his crossbow with his free hand. Gale fires off spells, one after the other, heedless of a split lip and a rapidly forming black eye. Lae’zel fells one enemy fighter only for two more to take their fallen comrades place. Knowing the rest of the creche will soon be upon us I frantically consider our options.

“Argh!” I whip around at Gale’s cry, just in time to see a gith soldier slash at him with a dagger. The blade digs into the wizard’s forearm, slicing through the sleeve of his robe and opening a deep gash. Unthinking, I release a concussive blast that slams the soldier into the far wall of the chamber. He falls to the ground like a rag doll, his neck broken. Gale sends me a tight smile of thanks before diving back into the fray.

“Time to end this,” I mutter to myself, closing my eyes and digging deep into the wellspring of my magic, deep enough to summon one last spell. Magic on such a scale is nearly guaranteed to tear me apart.

A small price to pay if they will live.

I unspool my consciousness, reaching out to touch the minds of my enemies’, for the first time thankful of the increased psionic abilities the ghaik tadpole allows me. I concentrate, closing out everything else, recalling the words of the wizened old spellcaster who taught me this invocation.

Every living being experiences fear, harness the emotion and turn it against those who opposed you. Then bend them to your will.

I remember every time another gith made me feel afraid.

The painful tightening of my muscles, rendering me unable to flee. Desperately gasping air, trying to in vain to pull oxygen into my lungs, my chest heavy with the sensation of being smothered. My heart thundering in my chest, so fast I’m certain it will explode and kill me before my so-called kin get a chance.

I gather all these feelings, using my rage to sharpen their edges and intensify their sting. With one final breath I gather my magic and brutally shove these sensations into my enemies’ minds.

The screams start first; an unsettling, high pitched keening that raises the hair of the back of my neck and causes my skin to break out in gooseflesh. I open my eyes to see the githyanki surrounding us wide-eyed in terror, some clutching their chests or attempting to frantically scurry away from whatever personal nightmare my spell has conjured. Then they start to drop, bodies thudding dully against the stone floor, their constitutions unable to withstand the overwhelming strain generated by their fear.

“What…?” Astarion whips his head around wildly. “Are they… Are they all dead?”

“If they’re not dead then they aren’t going to be able to do more than drool and twitch,” I mutter, dangerously unsteady on my feet. “Should be easy enough to pick off the stragglers.”

Gale rushes forward, wrapping an arm around my waist to keep me upright. “What did you do? I’ve never seen a spell like that before?”

I shrug, wondering if I should be concerned that our little group now contains two Gales. “To be perfectly honest I’m surprised I didn’t blow myself up.”

“You should know better,” Gale snaps, shaking me slightly, an undercurrent of genuine fear to his words. “You’re lucky you had enough magic to sustain that spell. Do not ever do anything so risky ever again, you little idiot!”

“I would not let them have you.” My words slur together, and I catch hold of his robes to steady myself. “My people have taken much from me, but I will not allow them to have you.”

Gale reaches up and gently cups my face in his hands. “Do not ever go where I cannot follow,” he whispers, his thumb stroking over me lower lip. “Promise me.”

I part my lips, ready to agree and then – everything. goes. dark.

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justcallmefox89 · 2 months

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Cinderfella's Adventures in Cordonia - Chapter Twenty

An AU of The Royal Romance with a male MC and a bisexual prince.

Masterlist

Drake and Liam learn more about Callum's past.

“What’s going on, Pops?” Callum asks again.

“You’re back earlier than I expected,” Niall answers, shooting a dirty look at Donny.

The blonde man shrugs nonchalantly, taking a pack of cigarettes from his jack pocket and tapping it against the palm of his hand.

“Yeah… turns out there wasn’t a problem at the club after all.” Callum narrows his eyes at his father.

Niall innocently widens his eyes. “I must have misunderstood.”

“Then you just mistakenly let yourself into my apartment while I was out?”

“I do own the building, Callum,” Niall sniffs. “Technically I can go into any apartment I want to, with or without your permission.”

Donny lets out a slightly breathy and panicked, “Oh shit.”

Drake’s eyes bounce back and forth between the men like ping-pong balls and Liam sits rigidly next to him, tension evident in every line of his body.

“That’s how we’re going to do this? Seriously, Pops? You didn’t try that line on me when I was sixteen but you’re doing it now?”

“You had better sense at sixteen,” Niall snaps. “Back then you weren’t jumping at the chance to ruin your life every time a hot piece of ass smiled at you.”

“I need a smoke,” Donny suddenly announces loudly. He points at Liam and Drake. “You two. Come with me.”

Confused, Liam blurts out, “We don’t smoke.”

“You can hold my lighter,” Donny replies, tugging the pair to their feet.

Ioan rises from his chair. “I think I’ll join you -”

“You better keep your ass in that chair, old man,” Callum grinds out between clenched teeth.

Stunned at his grandson’s tone, Ioan plops back into his seat, and Donny seizes the opportunity to hustle Drake and Liam out onto the balcony. He manages to slam the sliding glass door closed just as the shouting starts.

“What the actual FUCK were you two thinking?” Callum yells.

Donny lights a cigarette and inhales deeply, letting the pale grey smoke slowly curl out of his nostrils. “I hope the two of you are pleased with yourselves.”

“Us?” Liam gapes, pointing between himself and Drake. “You think this is our fault?”

“Isn’t it?” He takes another drag. “Callum was fine, happy again. You two are back in his life less than three days and him and his father are at each other’s throats with Ioan snapping at their heels.”

Liam’s cheeks flush and he scowls. “The MacKenzie family’s dysfunction has nothing to do with us.”

“It has everything to do with you, cupcake.”

Drake braces his forearms on the railing that runs around the perimeter of the balcony. “I didn’t mean for anything like this to happen. I never wanted to cause Callum any problems.”

He sounds so miserable that Donny takes pity on him. “I know you didn’t mean to, kid. But goddamn… why couldn’t you just stay away?”

The voices from the living room get louder and the three men wince in unison.

“He’s going back with you,” Donny says, flicking his cigarette butt onto the ground and crushing it with the toe of his boot.

Liam sighs. “He hasn’t made a decision one way or the other yet.”

“I know my son. He’ll go.”

Drake and Liam exchange startled looks.

Donny chuckles at their shocked expressions. “I’ve been raising that boy for nearly thirty years, and I’ve been with Niall for almost as long. Callum’s my son.”

“We didn’t realize…” Drake trails off, embarrassed.

“Did Callum ever tell you about his mother?”

“From the way he phrased it I assumed she died when he was very young,” Liam says slowly.

Donny barks out a harsh laugh. “Fuck. That woman will still be alive when there’s only cockroaches roaming the earth.”

Drake’s mouth drops open and Liam frowns uncomfortably.

Taking in their shocked expressions Donny sighs and lights another cigarette. “That was probably unfair to Cassie. We’ve always had a… complicated relationship.”

“So his mom is alive?” Drake asks.

Donny shrugs. “He’s never met her. She showed up once when he graduated high school. Niall almost had an aneurysm. She futzed around a bit, said she wanted to finally meet her son. But in the end she did what she always does and disappeared before anything could happen. Thank god we didn’t tell the kid anything and get his hopes up.”

“How did… How long… um…” Liam flounders, unable to articulate the potentially offensive question.

“You wanna know how I fit in to all this?” Donny grins around the cigarette in his mouth.

Drake and Liam nod in unison.

“I met Niall when I started working for Ioan, back when the old man was still running everything. I was young, stupid, pissed at the world. Dishonorably discharged from the military. At the beginning I was just supposed to be muscle at a few of the different strip joints, but for whatever reason Ioan took me under his wing. Brought me into his home, started teaching me about the business.”

“Is that when you started dating?” Liam asks.

Donny laughs and rolls his eyes. “Fuck no. Back then there was no telling me I was anything but straight. But we got to be friends and if I had the occasional thought about how good his ass looked then I would just ignore it. I knew Niall batted for both teams and it never bothered me… but back then I just wasn’t ready to accept certain things about myself, you know?”

“Oh, I know.” Drake gives Liam a slightly dirty look from the corner of his eye and the king’s cheek flush a soft pink.

“Anyway, one night we’re out with some of our other friends doing a bar crawl and we wind up at this dive that has live music.” Donny stubs out his cigarette on the balcony railing. “Cassie’s band was playing that night. I hate to say anything nice about the woman but she’s a fuckin’ stunner and goddamn talented to boot. Long story short Niall starts chattin’ her up after her band has finished for the night and they start seein’ each other. This goes one for a few months, and Niall and I started drifting apart a little. I didn’t really understand it then, but looking back I was jealous of Cassie and seeing them together… hurt.”

“I get that,” Drake murmurs softly, looking down at his feet. With a sad smile, Liam silently reaches out and takes his hand.

“So after they’ve been together a few months Niall gets picked up on some charges related to uh… a few substances that were being sold out of a few of the clubs. Gets sentenced to five to ten. Cassie disappears.” Donny rolls his eyes. “Me and Ioan weren’t all that surprised, she was never all that serious about Niall and it’s hard enough being in a relationship with somebody on the inside when you’re committed. We moved on thinkin’ she was gone for good. Niall being locked up was hell on the old man, and I wasn’t taking it much better, but we were doing the best we could. Then about eight months into Niall’s sentence, I get a phone call from Cassie.”

Drake and Liam lean forward, drawn in by the older man’s story.

“So it’s two in the morning, and I’ve got this chick I can’t stand calling me at the club I was working at that night. I was ready to tell her to piss off, but she starts crying, telling me she’s at the hospital and I’m the only one she can call for help. And me being a total fucking sucker I went to the hospital because I knew that’s what Niall would’ve wanted. I show up and she’s in a hospital room, lying in bed, holding a fucking baby of all things.”

“Callum,” Liam says quietly.

“Bingo.” Donny shoots a pair of finger guns towards him. “At first I didn’t know what the hell to think. Honestly I just wanted to leave her there and pretend I never saw a thing. She breaks down crying again, saying she doesn’t know what to do, didn’t know who to call since Niall’s in prison, she’s scared of Ioan, she needs help, and on and on.”

“Wait, why was she scared of Ioan?” Drake asks.

“You’ve met the old man, yeah? Are you scared of him now?”

Without hesitation Drake and Liam both nod.

“Now imagine him thirty years ago and pretend you’ve been hiding the fact that you were pregnant with his only son’s child.”

The pair shudder.

Donny nods. “Exactly. I didn’t know what the fuck to do anymore than she did, and I told her so. She begged me to stay with her just a little while, asks me to hold the kid so she could take a shower and get some things situated with the hospital. I didn’t have the heart to say no. I mean, the poor girl had been alone in the hospital with a brand new baby for three days at that point, I figured that was the least I could do for her. So she gives me the kid, just this squishy little thing, and I settle down with him while she goes to clean up. He was the cutest fucking thing, all fuckin’ chubby baby rolls and this thick, curly black hair. I didn’t mean to but as some point I fell asleep holding him. Next thing I know, Callum is screaming his lungs out and I got a pissed off nurse shaking me awake asking me where Cassie was.”

“And where was Cassie?” Liam asked.

“Fuck if I know. As soon as I fell asleep she grabbed her shit and got the hell out of dodge.”

“She just left her baby with you? Without telling you where she was going? She didn’t even really know you!” Drake exclaims.

“I feel like we’ve already established she’s not a good mom, kid.” Donny gives him an exasperated look. “So I’ve got Callum, fresh out of the oven, Niall’s locked up, and I don’t have the first fucking clue how to find Cassie. I’m only 28, living in a shitty apartment, spending nearly all my free time drunk, high, or both.”

Drake starts to speak, hesitates, then powers on. “Why didn’t you just call Ioan and let him take care of it?”

“Siobhan, Callum’s grandma, was fighting a losing battle with breast cancer. Ioan wasn’t handling it well… didn’t seem fair to add something else to the bullshit he was dealing with. He wasn’t in the best headspace then anyway. Siobhan was the only thing he cared about, only thing he could focus on. Even if I wanted to let him have Callum I don’t think he would’ve been able to take care of him. So I told the hospital I was Callum’s father, signed the birth certificate and everything. Cassie hadn’t even named the kid yet, so I had to do that too.”

“You named Callum?” Liam arches an eyebrow in question.

Donny’s cheeks turn pink and he squirms in place, an oddly endearing gesture for a man in his fifties. “I knew Niall would want to honor his dad in some way, so the middle name was easy. Then I just thought about what name I’d want to use if Niall and I would ever… you know,” he mumbles.

Liam and Drake share a conspiratorial smirk. “That’s adorable,” Liam says.

Donny coughs, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Anyways. The nurses gave me a crash course in fatherhood then shoved me out the door. I waited a few days before I told Ioan and Siobhan… I wanted some time to think on what I was going to do. I brought Callum to their house, told them everything that happened, and said I wanted to take care of Callum until Niall got out. Siobhan wasn’t on board at first, and I don’t blame her. I was young and stupid, never taken care of a baby before, didn’t know a damn thing about kids. But for whatever reason, I knew I was meant to protect that baby. Ioan was relieved, in a way, I think. God only knows why but he trusted me with his grandson, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to repay him for that.”

“What did Niall have to say about everything when he found out?” Drake asks.

“Oh he was pissed,” Donny laughs. “He would’ve taken care of Cassie if she’d told him she was pregnant, made sure she had everything she needed. But the fact that she just abandoned Callum without a word was the thing that really rustled his jimmies. He would’ve forgiven anything else but that I think.”

“How did that work though?” Liam asks delicately. “With Niall being… indisposed?”

“You can say he was in prison, Your Majesty.” Donny smirks. “Niall didn’t want Callum to see him in that place, so they didn’t actually properly meet until Callum was six. Niall wrote letters every week, and I read them to him. Things got a little more complicated when Callum started to talk and then he had a whole lot of questions. I always made sure he knew that Niall was his dad, but I never let him forget just how much I loved him too. The adjustment period after Niall got out was rough on all of us. Callum didn’t want to leave me, and Niall didn’t want to be away from his son. Understandably. So Niall got a bigger apartment and Callum and I moved in with him.”

“So is that when you and Niall got together?”

Donny grins at Drake question. “Not quite. By that time I had pulled my head out of my ass enough to realize that I wasn’t quite as straight as I wanted to believe. It was a couple more years before Niall and I got into a proper relationship. But that is a story for another time.”

Donny sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “Look, at the end of the day Callum is going to do whatever he wants to do… no matter what me, Niall, or Ioan have to say about it. Just… just take care of my boy, ok? Try not to hurt him any more than you absolutely have to.”

“I don’t… I never want to hurt Callum,” Liam protests.

“Are you still going to marry that girl you’re engaged to?”

Liam stay silent, anxiously gnawing on his lower lip.

“Then he’s going to be hurt,” Donny replies with a sad smile. He looks through the sliding glass door into the living room, frowning. “Shit.”

Drake and Liam whip around just in time to see Niall glare up at his son one last time before stalking out the front door, Ioan following closely behind him. Callum tips his head back and his shoulders slump, but he quickly collects himself and moves into the kitchen.

“That went about as well as I thought it would,” Donny sighs. “Give me a few minutes.”

Drake and Liam wait out on the balcony while Donny says goodbye to Callum.

“We’re being selfish,” Drake says eventually.

Liam glances over at him. “Excuse me?”

“We have royally fucked up Callum’s life.”

“I see what you did there.” The Cordonia king smirks over at his friend.

Drake shoves him away half-heartedly. “Stop. I’m being serious. I wasn’t thinking about Callum when I dragged him back into this. Not the way I should have.”

“I don’t understand.”

“When we got to New York all I was focused on was finding Callum again because I missed him. Because I wanted to remind you that you could actually be with someone you loved instead of Madeline. I didn’t think about what would happen to his life, how all of us being back together would affect him.”

“Considering how close the two of you have gotten I wouldn’t say our returning presence has been all bad.”

Drake blushes furiously. “I... That’s not… Liam!”

“Just saying.” Liam shrugs innocently.

“What I meant was that I only considered how having Callum back would make our lives better, make us happier. I didn’t even stop to think about what that would mean for his life here… with his family, and his job, and his other friends. How can we ask him to leave all that for us again? Especially when you’re still going through with the wedding to Madeline.”

Liam groans. “Why do we keep having to go over this? I have a duty, an obligation to Cordonia. That doesn’t mean we can’t be together. All three of us.”

“This!” Drake smacks Liam’s chest. “This right here is the problem! Callum won’t be happy just being your affair on the side.”

“And you will be?” Liam challenges.

“Of course I won’t! But if that’s the price I have to pay to be with you again I will. Callum can’t do that though.”

Liam scowls. “Can’t or won’t?”

“That’s not fair,” Drake sighs.

“What Callum’s asking isn’t fair either.”

“Callum actually isn’t asking you to do anything,” Drake points out. “He only told you what he was willing and not willing to do given the circumstances.”

Liam falls silent, unable to come up with a reasonable counter argument. The pair stare out at the bustling city streets for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

Drake is the first one to break the silence. “Liam, what are we going to do?”

@superharriet

@angelasscribbles

@kingliam2019

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justcallmefox89 · 2 months

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Inferior Part V

Nothing is as it seems

Gale huffs, glancing over at the portal for the tenth time in as many minutes, then resumes his pacing. Lae’zel and Astarion exchange a brief glance but otherwise leave the wizard to his thoughts.

It’s taking too long. Why did I agree to let him go in alone? Stupid, stupid, stu-

The portal flashes and X’aa’nath tumbles through, wild-eyed and breathing harshly. Gale rushes to him, catching him by the shoulders and helping him stay upright.

“Kin! Have you done it? Have you killed our Queen’s enemy?”

X’aa’nath flinches, a barely noticeable thing Gale only catches because of how close they are. He quickly straightens up and faces Lae’zel. “I tried, kin. I tried… but the target is unkillable.”

Surprise, then anger flickers across Lae’zel’s face. “Unkillable? I don’t believe you – show me your mind.”

X’aa’nath looks like he wants to protest, but he relents, and slowly his unconsciousness unfurls, allowing the other three into his mind.

“I may have made a mistake trusting you. I told you to stay away from the githyanki. But you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” X’aa’nath’s dream visitor, a handsome elven warrior, turns to face him. “And now you’ve come to murder me.”

“My kin offer me cleansing! And my Queen has told me who you really are – an agent of the Illithid Grand Design.”

“I told you I stole the artefact from someone- well, I stole it from Vlaakith. Since then she has become desperate.”

X’aa’nath scowls. “So you admit to stealing from my Queen as well. Why should I not kill you where you stand?”

“Vlaakith wants me dead because I know her secret,” the dream visitor protests. “It is a secret so great that if your people ever found out, that would be the end of her rule, the end of her. That same secret is how I have been protecting you from the Absolute.”

X’aa’nath frowns, shaking his head slightly.

“I can hear your thoughts. You think I’m lying. Vlaakith warned you that I would try to deceive you. But consider this – what reason do I have to deceive you? I want the same thing as you do – freedom. I am on your side. I have been from the very beginning.”

“No! Do not try to trick me. Vlaakith does not lie to her faithful!”

The dream visitor draws his sword and kneels, offering his weapon to X’aa’nath. “I already told you I protect you, that I saved you. That I’m just like you. If this is not enough to convince you, what more is there to say?”

“I am githyanki,” X’aa’nath snarls, snatching the sword out of his dream visitor’s hands. “I am nothing like you. I am loyal to my Queen. I will bring her your head and be blessed with ascension.”

With no further hesitation X’aa’nath thrusts the sword through the dream visitor’s chest. Blood pours from the wound and the dream visitor gasps in pain.

“I really though you wouldn’t,” he grinds out. “We could have been so much more. But you had to choose this.”

The dream visitor fades from existence, then quickly reappears, completely healed and glaring at X’aa’nath.

“So you are not to be trusted.”

The sorcerer stumbles back, shaking his head and staring in shock.

“I don’t intend to make a habit of conversing with my killer, so I will be brief. Your survival depends on mine, and mine on yours. It is less than ideal, but it is where we stand. I know a secret that Vlaakith never wants to be revealed. It is the reason that she mobilized her people to retrieve the Astral Prism. It is why she sent you to kill me. And why she will kill you once you leave this place. Since we are both dependent on your ability to survive that, you would do well to remember that without me, you would become a mind flayer.”

“Lies!” X’aa’nath cries out. “You know nothing of my Queen!”

The dream visitor sneers and rolls his eyes. “Leave. I have a battle to return to.”

He waves his hand and X’aa’nath is thrown back through the portal.

Gale blinks, dazed as he withdraws from X’aa’nath’s memory.

Lae’zel scowls. “Vlaakith tavki na’zin! I see – only madness. My Queen knows my faith. She would never condemn me. But you… you have failed her.”

X’aa’nath’s eyes widen. “No, kin! I did as Vlaakith commanded; you saw the truth of it!”

“I should have been the one to go,” she growls. “I knew you could not be trusted with this.”

“Kin…?” X’aa’nath voice is small and unsure.

Lae’zel’s hand whips up and strikes X’aa’nath’s face with a sharp crack. “You are not my kin. You are not githyanki. You are the unwanted one… and you will always be other.”

A soft sound breaks in X’aa’nath’s throat, but otherwise he stands stoically in the face of Lae’zel’s condemnation. The red imprint of her hand blooms across his right cheek, standing out starkly against the pale gold of his skin.

Gale steps closer to him, attempting to be a reassuring presence without overwhelming the skittish sorcerer.

“Enough, Lae’zel!” Astarion snaps, stepping between the two gith, casting a slightly worried look toward X’aa’nath.

The younger gith avoids the vampire’s eyes, resolutely looking out at the broken rocks and gleaming stars as they drift by.

“Yes,” Lae’zel agrees. “We must go to the ch’r’rai. He will summon Vlaakith – she must know of this… this apostate.”

W’wargaz is waiting for them as they exit the planecaster, surrounded by a group of warriors. “Lae’zel – I have been waiting. You are named hshar’lak. Bend your head, for my blade is ready.”

“Ch’r’rai please summon Vlaakith!” she cries. “There is much she needs to be told!”

“She speaks truth, ch’r’rai!” X’aa’nath adds. “Please, allow us to explain.”

“She already knows of your failure, ghaik wretch,” W’wargaz sniffs disdainfully. “The queen has spoken – her death is decreed and yours will follow. You have shamed Khou’zal for the last time.”

Gale shoulders sag as the realization hits him; no matter the outcome of their trip to the Astral Plane, Vlaakith had no intention of letting any of them live. From the look on Astarion’s face, Gale surmises he has reached the same conclusion.

The faint hint of burning ozone fills the air and a brief touch of static caresses Gale’s exposed skin, sending a shiver crawling up his spine. He sucks in a deep breath as X’aa’nath takes a protective stance in front of his party members, his skin rippling with lightening he’s barely able to contain.

X’aa’nath grins maniacally as he stares down the ch’r’rai. “You want my head W’wargaz? Come and get it. Htak’a!”

He launches himself at W’wargaz and chaos erupts.

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justcallmefox89 · 2 months

Text

Inferior Part IV

X'aa'nath and Lae'zel have an audience with their queen, and X'aa'nath's loyalty is questioned.

“Do you really think this Inquisitor will help us?” Astarion whispers to Gale.

“It’s never been that easy before. I don’t see why it would be now,” the wizard mutters despondently, his eyes never leaving X’aa’nath’s back.

“Do as I do,” Lae’zel orders, overhearing them. “The Inquisitor shall only tolerate the utmost respect.”

Only X’aa’nath bothers to reply, whispering a soft “yes, kin” without stopping his forward stride.

The Inquisitor warmly welcomes Lae’zel into the inner sanctum of the creche. “My ardents spoke of one of our kin that escaped a crashing ghaik slave-vessel.”

Gale bristles at the man’s intentional snub of X’aa’nath and Astarion’s hand on his shoulder is the only thing that stops him from speaking out.

“Ch’r’rai. Vlaakith’s justice in the flesh.” Lae’zel inclines her head in a show of respect, X’aa’nath quickly following her lead.

“You have accomplished much, child. I am pleased to finally meet you. I’ve heard there is so much goblin blood on your hands that it soaks their children’s nightmares.” Ch’r’rai W’wargaz’s eyes slide from Lae’zel to X’aa’nath. “You’ve done well to not let Khou’zal’s runt impede your progress.”

X’aa’nath remains entirely still, only the faintest twitching of the fingers on his left hand betraying his distress at the elder’s words.

“I suspect you plucked something precious from the ghaik ship,” W’wargaz continues. “Something our queen has been looking for. The weapon. Give it to me.”

Alarm spreads from the artefact, making Gale faintly nauseous. Astarion doesn’t seem to be completely unaffected either, and it’s strong enough to make X’aa’nath hesitate.

“The ch’r’rai speaks. You must obey,” Lae’zel orders.

Her voice seems to knock X’aa’nath out of his stupor and he reflexively pulls the artefact from his robes and places it in the Inquisitor’s hands. The planecaster in the center of the room begins to glow, and soon a projection of the githyanki queen towers over those assembled. The githyanki in the room immediately fall to their knees, their heads bowed in reverence. Gale catches hold of Astarion’s arm, tugging him further away and out of sight of the imposing queen.

“Vlaakith gha’g shkath zai!” W’wargaz cries worshipfully.

Lae’zel manages to raises her head long enough to gaze upon Vlaakith in admiration. “My Queen – shkath zai!”

X’aa’nath remains silent, respectfully keeping his gaze low.

Vlaakith leans closer to Lae’zel and softens her voice. “These attendants you keep – you taught them well. My child. My Lae’zel.”

Gale’s heart twists as he watches X’aa’nath’s shoulders sag at his Queen’s clear indifference to his presence and devotion. The wizard knows too well the feeling of having the one you worship turn their back to you, but to have the obvious disdain from all of his kin as well? Gale cannot even fathom the depths X’aa’nath’s distress.

“Ch’mar, zal’a Vlaakith,” Lae’zel murmurs rapturously. “You know me.”

“Urion of K’liir speaks most highly. As did Al’chaia before him.” Vlaakith stands, her tone once again forceful. “You seek purity. I may yet grant it.”

The lich queen turns her attention to X’aa’nath. “Do not think I do not recognize you X’aa’nath, he who never should have been. Khou’zal prolonged his return to the Astral Place, to my service, in order to train you. And now he is dead. Your existence robbed me of one of my greatest warriors. And now you carry what is mine. So what do I call you child of Gith? A loyal servant or a thief?”

“I am at your command, my Queen. The artefact is yours,” X’aa’nath murmurs, keeping his gaze low.

The artefact screams in fear; Gale and Astarion exchange a worried glance.

Vlaakith gifts X’aa’nath with a benevolent smile. “Your will is strong. Perhaps you are not as worthless as I initially feared. Prove your fealty now, and you will be recognized among all githyanki as one of my chosen. That ‘weapon’ you carry – the Astral Prism – it is corrupted.”

“I will cleanse it for you, my Queen,” Lae’zel blurts out. “Tell me how.”

X’aa’nath scowls at her, the only time Gale has seen him express any sort of negative emotion towards his kin.

“There is someone inside,” Vlaakith continues. “Their mind is warped, broken – a blight. They are an agent of the Grand Design. Sent to sabotage the Astral Prism – our last defense against the return of the Illithid Empire. As long as they live, the Prism is compromised. Kill them. Do this, and I will cleanse you and your allies. Do this and ascend.”

Lae’zel gasps. “Ascension? My queen. An honor gained, a burden borne.”

“Cleanse the Prism, ardent of Khou’zal,” Vlaakith says, returning her attention to X’aa’nath. “Eliminate this danger to the githyanki and finally claim your place among your people.”

Gale’s heart drops into his stomach at the hopeful look on the sorcerer’s face, and fear shoots through him at X’aa’nath’s next words.

“It is my greatest honor to obey.”

Vlaakith smiles, something about the expression deeply unsettling to Gale. “Use the planecaster’s power to enter the artefact. Be wary of the creature’s lying tongue. Cut it out if you must. W’wargaz. They are not to leave until it is done.”

The Inquisitor bows his head. “As you say, my Queen.”

“Ch’mar zal’a Vlaakith. We will not waste a second,” Lae’zel vows.

Vlaakith’s image fades away, the silence left in her wake is broken only by the sounds of X’aa’nath’s boots against the stone floor as he strides towards the planecaster.

“Hold on a moment, don’t you thin-”

Astarion’s protest is cut off as X’aa’nath steps into the portal and the group is swept away. They’re spat out on floating bit of rock, and the four crash together, each trying to stay upright. Once he regains his footing Gale gazes around in awe, taking in the asteroids and gigantic bones of fallen gods that languid drift around them, perfectly preserved in this small pocket of the Astral Plane.

“Boundless, timeless – like every dream that ever was, stitched together,” Lae’zel murmurs.

“My home,” X’aa’nath mournfully whispers, his expression momentarily twisted into something Gale can’t quite interpret.

The four move towards a second portal, coming to a standstill as the voice of their dream visitor echoes in their minds. “So you came. Despite all my warnings. Disappointing. Come. We will talk in private, just X’aa’nath and I.”

“No!” Lae’zel snarls. “I will accompany you, we will cleanse - ”

X’aa’nath places his hands on her shoulders, cutting her off. “I can do this, kin. Trust in me, as I trust in you. I will do this, for both of us.”

Her brows draw together as she frowns, but she finally nods. “Go, kin. We will be waiting.”

X’aa’nath’s eyes flit over to Gale, and the wizard gives what he hopes is an encouraging smile. He takes in the determined expression on the sorcerer’s face, the proud tilt of his chin, the flashing silver of his eyes… and he says a small prayer to whichever god may still be listening that X’aa’nath will return to him.

One final deep breath and X’aa’nath steps through the portal. Now all that’s left to do is wait.

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