Wow, the angst and whump in that book. I can’t explain it all without doing a copy paste of the whole thing, but the ending involved accidental soul-sucking, betrayal, near-death, angst, poisoning, imprisonment, chains and a collar, a failed interrogation which was interrupted by a stabbing, a second near death, and some completely unexpected possession.
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Matthew and Lucienne, crying softly while reading a book in the library:
Dream, baffled: What is of the matter?
Matthew, sniffing despite being a raven: this poor, sad mate. he’s trying so hard, but he just.
Lucienne: and he never gives up, the letters.
Dream, bemused, gracefully taking away the thick brown book with the golden title: What is this you are speaking of.
Dream, looking at the book name “Nameless Love, Hob Gadling”: —Fuck.
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one of my favorite little pieces of headcanon I have been rotating around in my mind is that in the graveyard scene in Astarion's romance, there is such a realistic chance for being caught.
i mean, it's in the middle of the Lower City. it's literally in a hotbed of activity (criminal and otherwise), at a place that's frequented by mourners, and zombies, and elements even less savory than that. the security, even if it does relax, probably doesn't stop at night, or at least not for as long as it should.
in my hc, the Mortarch who is patrolling the grounds during the day lives in one of the buildings overlooking the graveyard, and i'm thinking about a possibility where she just... happens to glance out the window on her way back from the bathroom, and catch a not entirely unusual glimpse of a macabre couple. (This is Baldur's Gate. There are most definitely people who are morbid enough to want to make love on top of a grave without any specific inspiration for it, and to be fair, it'd be more concerning if someone's first thought at seeing that was "hm, well hold on now, one of them could be the deceased, and this moment could be a beautifully cathartic metaphor for rebirth".)
in this version, a shout startles them apart, and they have roughly a minute to disentangle themselves from each other and flee before the Mortach would make it down the stairs.
yanking clothes on to make themselves actually presentable isn't really feasible, of course: Astarion can manage to pull his pants up to the point where they're kind of on, if undone still (they were around his knees, the upward motion wasn't the difficult part, it was stuffing himself back in there that proves a futile task), and Iona manages to make a split-second decision and opt for throwing on his shirt (which is at least long enough to pass for a dress on her, if a deeply indecent one, especially with nothing else on), and it's with truly uncontrollable, free laughter bubbling from them (and the rest of whatever clothing they -mainly she- had on clutched in their fists) that they half-run, half-drag each other out the gate.
the city is fairly quiet, of course. it's gone past being late and well into the small hours of the morning, the pink dawn is just about to start licking at the tiled roofs, and even a city as bustling as Baldur's Gate is largely empty, as if asleep.
they run and stumble through the streets chased by the echo of their own giddy laughter bouncing off the walls. they dodge the patrolling guards and Steel Watchers by ducking into side-streets and doorways, pushing and dragging each other up against the wall for playful kisses- a ruffle of his hair, a squeeze of her ass, a thigh drawn up to his waist with a grip just this side of rough, a scratch down his chest and a nibble on an earlobe, they just can't keep their hands off one another for long enough to make it back home.
she bloody well squeals as his hand finds its way under "her" clothes as she runs up the stairs to their rooms (to be fair, her ass was at eye-level, what's a man to do?), and picking that lock should be the easiest thing in the world (the key? who knows. probably fallen out of her pocket and into a sewer somewhere. absolutely not important.), but not with the dirty, airy whispers in his ear and the hot, insistent kisses being mouthed onto his jaw, his neck, his shoulder...
the communal room may have been a mistake in retrospect, but the roof... may offer some privacy. probably. it's more than nothing, at least.
besides, there is scarcely a better way to greet the first golden morning of a free life than... bathed in its light, warm and content, while overlooking a city full of such endless possibilities.
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