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somekindofpoet · 1 year

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Nevermore Grounds

Summary: Reader owns Nevermore Grounds, a Brooklyn coffee shop that Jenna stumbles upon.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Language

A/N: @irish-piece-of-trash thanks for the request my friend! Hope you enjoy this one. Also, is there a Raven cameo from The 100 or is she cleverly named Poe reference? I'll let you decide :)

Part II

Nevermore Grounds

It had been your dream for most of your life to own a coffee shop. To create a space that felt like a hazy dream. Somewhere you could retreat to no matter the weather or circumstance. So that is exactly what you did. You went to school and earned your business degree with a minor in dramatic literature for fun.

Thus, Nevermore Grounds was born, tucked away amongst the brownstones of Brooklyn. You had created an atmosphere you never wanted to leave, so you simply did not. You rented the apartment above the shop, ensuring you rarely needed to leave the building if you didn’t want to. The shop had turned into an expression of yourself, with soft leather secondhand furniture, dark bookshelves filled to the brim with every kind of story, and the ever-present smell of espresso grounds.

Many of the people who frequented your shop were college students or young New York transplants, tapping away at their laptops or tucking themselves on the couch in front of the large fireplace to read one of the many books from the shelves. In every season aside from summer, a quiet crackling fire was lit, the lighting was low, and the atmosphere was warm and comfortable. You kept a small staff of four to six, choosing to barista yourself most days. Most of your employees were also college students, rotating out every few years as they graduated and moved away, thanking you for your companionship and easygoing management.

It was a particularly nasty day outside, so you let the two on shift head home early, telling them you’d lock up at the end of the day. Usually, customer traffic died down in the late afternoon, giving you the place to yourself. You still had a few hours until you could lock up, but the place was dead empty, so you grab your dog-eared copy of Salems Lot and curl up in front of the fireplace, content to read until you closed.

You’d read the book many times, but you could always get lost in the tale of the small Maine town haunted by vampires. Your eyes were growing heavy as you read, the gray light outside fading as the sun slowly set over the city. The bells jingling from the front door snapped you out of your Stephen King daze, and you jerk your head up toward the sound. A slight girl and two rather large men were shaking the rain from their shoulders, the girl closing an umbrella as she stepped inside. She picks her head up and looks around, frowning in confusion. You sit up further on the couch, catching her attention.

“Oh, uhm, I’m sorry. I thought this was a bookstore.” Her voice is soft and airy, floating across the room.

You stand and smile, “You thought Nevermore Grounds was the name of a bookstore?”

A bashful smile pulls at her lips as she eyes you, “The Grounds bit was slightly confusing, but I saw the shelves,” she gestures at the overflowing books on the wall, “and figured I’d give it a shot.”

You make your way around the counter toward the cash register, and point up at the menu. “I sell coffee. The books are free.”

You know who she is, you knew the moment she spoke, but you decided not to fan girl and just treat her like you’d never seen her before. She seems to appreciate it because she approaches the counter with an intrigued smile.

“I’ll take a coffee then and a book recommendation if you have that too.”

You glance back at the two men hovering behind her, and she turns to look over her shoulder at them. She turns back to you and shrugs, “They like following me around.”

You raise your eyebrows, playing in to her joke, “I don’t blame them.” You grin at her, your eyes twinkling with mischief, “You want that coffee black? And do they want anything?” You lower your voice to a comedically loud whisper, leaning closer to her over the counter, “Can they speak?”

A surprised smile stretches across her face, showing her teeth and wrinkling her nose. “Only when they smell fear. And I’ll have a latte, actually,” she turns to the men behind her pretending to ignore your conversation, “Billy, Phil, coffee?”

They both light up, their eyes crinkling above their smiles and nodding. She nods once and turns back to you, “Make it three. And the book recommendation?”

You input her charge in the cash register, “That’s six dollars even, Miss…?”

She slides a ten dollar bill across the counter to you, squinting at you, trying to figure out if you’re messing with her or not. You absolutely are, but you’re not going to tell her that.

“It’s Jenna.”

You nod, “Mhm, and there are no bad books here, they’re all great choices really. Just grab one from the shelf, and I guarantee it’ll be the right one.”

“They’re all great? That’s a bold assumption.” She says as she wanders over to the closest shelf, running her fingers along the spines.

You busy yourself making their coffee, watching her when you look up. “I should know, they’re all mine.”

She stops and turns back to you, her fingers resting on the top of a paperback, “All of them?”

You nod, looking back down at your work. You’re focused on the foam art, a recent practice you’d picked up during hours when the shop was slow.

Jenna returns to her exploration, humming now and again as she reads the titles. “So you’ve read all of them?”

You walk two of the lattes to the counter, pushing them toward Billy and Phil, “I think so, unless people leave their books here, which happens sometimes. Those ones I haven’t sorted yet.”

You turn back to finish the foam art on Jenna’s drink, smiling down at the picture you’d created. You pick it up gently and walk it to the counter, setting it down and resting your chin in your hand.

“One latte for Jenna.” You say, smirking at her when she turns toward you.

She leaves the shelves and approaches the counter, pulling the mug over and looking down at the foam. You’d created a rather detailed image of Thing Addams, and she looks up with a playful frown.

“So you do know who I am then.” She says as she lifts the cup and leaves the counter, picking through the wayward furniture to a table close to the fire.

You leave your station to follow her and sit on the arm of the couch. “Of course I do. Does anyone not know who you are?”

She shrugs and sips the coffee, closing her eyes to savor the taste. “This is good.” She sips the coffee again, this time keeping her eyes on you.

“I’m glad you like it, or I might have to change professions.”

“You could audition as an actor, you did pretty well fooling me.” She says over her cup.

“Ah, I love New York too much. Plus, I’ve heard actors can be real divas, you know.”

A snicker draws your attention to the two men sitting a few tables away, they’re listening to you openly now, laughing at Jenna’s expense. She pretends to be affronted, but the smile never leaves her face.

“I like to think I’m pretty humble, thank you very much.”

You laugh and stand, heading over to one of the bookshelves. You pull The Bell Jar down, swiping the dust from its cover.

“Have you read this one?”

She eyes the cover, “Sylvia Plath? Of course I have. Try again.”

You hum, returning the book. Which one to give her, which one? She’s probably read most of them, so you’ll need to dig a bit deeper. Your eyes light up when you find The Song of Achilles, and you bring it to her.

“This one?”

She frowns, looking down at it, and takes it from you. She opens the first page and scans it, flips the book over to look at the back.

“No. I haven’t read this one.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” you say, returning to your spot on the couch. You crane your neck to look at her, “We close in an hour, by the way.”

She tilts her head at you, “Your boss lets you read on the clock?”

You snort, “Yes, she does. She also looks at me in the mirror when I brush my teeth every morning.”

She stares at you, trying to understand, then her face lights up in realization, “Oh, you own this place!”

“My pride and joy,” you say, opening Salem’s Lot again, grinning at the pages.

You don’t see the small smile on Jenna’s face as she watches you or the raised eyebrows of Billy and Phil as they watch her. You do notice when she gets up half an hour later and leaves her empty mug on the counter, then comes back to curl into the armchair to your left, the book still in her hands. You glance up over your book and watch her eyes racing across the page, spellbound. You return to reading your book, but you’re hyper aware of her, just in your peripherals.

A throat clears behind you, making both of you jump. You twist around to see Billy standing behind the couch, his finger on his watch.

“Ms. Ortega, it’s time.” He says, his voice deep and raspy.

Jenna sighs and slides a napkin into the pages of the book, then looks at you. She lifts the book, “Can I take this?”

“Only if you bring it back.”

She nods, one eyebrow raised, “Smooth.”

You shrug, “I do my best.”

She stands and stretches, looking down at you, “I never got your name.”

You get up off the couch and look at your watch, it’s an hour past closing time. You yawn and make your way to the door, opening it for Billy when he follows you. Jenna crosses her arms expectantly, waiting for you to answer.

“Tell you what,” you say, scratching your head and ruffling your hair, “Come back with my book and I’ll tell you my name.”

“And if I don’t come back?” She challenges.

“Then I’m out a book, and a giant missed opportunity.”

She smirks, accepts your answer, and follows her bodyguards out the door. You lean out of the doorframe, watching them climb into a black town car and give them a small wave as they drive down the street. You turn in and lock the door, pulling the shades closed and heading to the register to close it out. As you’re counting the dollars, the gravity of the scenario you’d just lived out slams into you. You’d just flirted with Jenna Ortega successfully for the last two hours. No one was going to believe this.

——

Two days pass, and your book has yet to be returned. You made a point to be in the coffee shop as often as possible, your eyes are always drawn to the door when it opened. Many faces passed through, but none of them were the one you were hoping for.

One of your long standing employees, Raven, took it upon herself to poke at you endlessly about it. You had relayed the story to her the day after Jenna showed up, and at first, she didn’t believe you. It wasn’t until she’d read an article about the movie Jenna was shooting in Manhattan that she finally accepted you were telling the truth.

“Dude, count your losses, she’s not coming back.” Raven’s voice made you jump, pushing yourself off the counter.

“You’re such a pessimist.” You grumble, grabbing the rag you were using before your daydream and returning to wiping down the wooden bar.

“And you’re entirely too hopeful,” Raven says, laughing softly and shaking her head.

You sigh, “Probably. But a girl can dream.”

You head into the storage closet to return the rag, fumbling around for the light. You end up tripping over the mop handle and fall into the bucket, which is still half full. Everything happened so suddenly all you can do is sit in the bucket, your butt soaking wet, and reevaluate your life choices. You consider getting angry and scolding your employees about the importance of cleanliness and organization until you remember you were the one who left the bucket half full and the mop haphazardly strewn to the side.

When you finally pull yourself together, you realize you’re stuck. You close your eyes and inhale deeply. Of fucking course, your ass is stuck in the mop bucket. Why wouldn’t it be? You were always so lucky. You squirm around trying to find purchase on anything but just end up rolling the bucket around the room, your feet unable to reach the floor. You slump, giving up, and scoot toward the door.

“Raven!”

“Uh, kinda busy boss!”

“Raven seriously, right now!”

“We have a customer!”

“Tell them I’m very sorry, but your boss is currently stuck in a FUCKING MOP BUCKET!”

“Oh I don’t think you want to tell them that…”

“Raven!” You throw your hands up, desperate for her help.

You hear footsteps approaching the closet and sigh in relief.

“It’s about time dude, help m-“

Your words are cut off as you see who’s come to your aid. It’s not Raven, that’s for sure. You hide your face in your hands as your savior barks out a hard, genuine laugh. Just your luck. The day Jenna comes back, she finds you stuck in a bucket. You think maybe you’ll find whatever god has cursed you and fight them to the death. Raven pops up over Jenna’s shoulder, a pained smile on her face. You shoot her a ‘what the fuck’ look, and she throws her hands up, shrugging and gesturing at Jenna.

“I know this must be truly hilarious, but would one of you please get me out of this damn bucket?!”

You figure since your pride has dissolved in the soapy water under your butt, you may as well resort to begging for help. You reach both hands out, and Jenna takes one, Raven the other. They pull, finally dislodging you. As you begin to wiggle out, the bucket tips forward, sending you sprawling onto the floor, the mop water dumped on your body. They let go of your hands and begin laughing uncontrollably, both bent over, their legs weak from their giggling. You remain on the floor, questioning the universe and wondering what you’d done to deserve this.

You roll onto your back, any pretense of being cool long gone. “I’m glad you’re both getting such a kick out of this.”

Jenna composes herself first and holds her hand out for you. You take it, and she helps you to your feet. Raven has abandoned the bar, flopping onto the couch, tears running down her cheeks. You finally see Billy and Phil perched at a small table, drinking their coffees and chatting happily. The rest of the shop is empty, due to the hour. Jenna’s hand is hovering near you like she’s unsure if you need her to steady you. You glance down at it, then back to her, blowing your hair out of your face.

Her brows furrow in a mixture of amusement and concern, “Are you okay?”

You laugh and shake your head, “My pride has been mortally wounded. Other than that, I think I’ll be fine.”

Jenna smiles, nodding, “I brought your book back.”

“Did you like it?” You ask her, trying to hide the hope in your tone.

“I loved it, you were right, it was great.” She says, making her way out from behind the bar and to her purse on a chair near the fireplace.

She holds it up, showing you it’s been returned safely, and places it back on the shelf. You look down at your soaking wet clothes, dripping onto the floor. You look back up at her, she’s waiting for you to keep your promise from the other night.

“I’m going to go change, and when I come back, I’ll fill my end of the bargain. And give you another book if you want one.”

She raises an eyebrow but nods intrigued. She sits in the armchair she had been in the other night and makes herself comfortable.

“Hey Ray,” you call out, “can you make Jenna her coffee? And an extra for me, please, the usual.”

Raven drags herself off the couch and salutes you, “Right away, fearless leader.”

You roll your eyes and head to the back of the shop, where the door to your apartment is. You quickly change into dry clothes and hurry back down the stairs, eager to spend more time with Jenna. When you open the door to the coffee shop, Raven is perched on the bar, talking animatedly. The smallest shiver of anxiety passes through you, who knew what horrors Raven had told Jenna. Then again, she had just pulled you out of a mop bucket, so things probably couldn’t get worse. Probably.

Jenna smiles up at you when she catches sight of you, and you can tell Raven has told her something you’re not going to appreciate.

“Raven was just telling me about your recent interest in watching your front door,” Jenna says, her tone poking fun at you.

You cross your arms and shoot a glare over to Raven, who yelps and rolls off the bar and behind the counter.

“Oh, was she now?” You say, flopping onto the couch.

Jenna laughs, and Raven pops her head from behind the bar. “See, what had happened was I’m a great wingman and figured she should know that you’re a useless lesbian who-“

You twist around on the couch, throwing one arm out, your eyes wide in horror, “Ray what the fuck!”

Raven sinks back below the bar, her fingers slipping off it as she hides from you. You turn back to Jenna, your cheeks burning. She’s leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her fist. She’s smirking, her eyes burning into you, making you pull at your collar to let out some heat.

“She is a good wingman,” Jenna says, her eyes glinting.

You run your hand over your face, mortified. “She’s a menace, I’m sorry if any of this makes you uncomfortable.”

“If it made me uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have stayed,” she says matter of factly.

Her eyes are still on you, evaluating something you don’t quite comprehend yet. She seems to make up her mind on something and leans back in the armchair, her hands on her knees.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

You raise an eyebrow, curious, “Sure, where?”

She laughs, shaking her head, “No, like, on a date. Would you go on a date with me?”

Your jaw falls open, and you freeze. Your brain has short-circuited, and you can’t for the life of you figure out how to do anything but stare at her in awe. Her smile begins to falter, and the quickest flash of worry crosses her face.

“If you don’t want to, that’s oka-“

“Are you kidding me I’d love to!” You finally begin processing information again and shoot up off the couch.

You reach your hand down to her, offering to help her off the armchair. She looks at your hand, confused, and looks up at you. You realize she hadn’t meant right at this moment but lean into it.

“Let’s go.” You tell her, your hand still outstretched.

“Don’t you have to work?” She asks, her eyes darting across your face.

“My shop, remember? Plus, my menace of a wingman can lock up, can’t you Ray? Unless you have something else going on this evening?”

Jenna shakes her head and takes your hand. She doesn’t drop it when she stands but interlaces your fingers. It’s a gesture so intimate for someone who was basically a stranger, but it doesn’t bother you.

“Have you ever walked the High Line?” You ask her, grinning.

Dates in NYC were your specialty, and you knew she’d love it. When she shakes her head no, the decision is made. You look over to her bodyguards and whistle at them.

“Hey boys, there’s enough of me to go around, let’s go on the world's weirdest date!”

Jenna lets go of your hand and tsks, slapping your shoulder with the back of her hand. You are in rare form, recovered from the embarrassment of earlier and riding a high. You’d show her a great time in NYC if it were the last thing you did.

——

The bodyguards were courteous and trailed along far enough behind the two of you that you almost forgot they were there. The High Line is a 1.5-mile elevated park lined with gardens and murals, and stunning views of the city. Jenna loves it, as you knew she would. She walks with shocking ease in her high heels, her eyes wide and absorbing everything the city has to show her. While you walk and take in the surroundings, you talk, getting to know each other better.

You learn that she prefers New York over Hollywood and that she always wished she could move there. You tell her about the coffee shop and getting your degree at NYU. She talks about the movie shes filming and how much fun she’s having with her cast.

When you reach the elevator that will take you off the High Line above Chelsea Market, you pull her toward it. “I have to show you this place,” you skid to a halt, turning to her, “You do like tacos, right?”

She gives you a deadpan stare, pursing her lips. She doesn’t need to answer, her face is enough. You give her an awkward smile realizing it was a stupid question.

“Right,” you say, “Latina from California…well this place is something different. Its Japanese inspired tacos, one of my favorite places.”

You pull her through Chelsea Market, Billy and Phil closer to your sides, keeping the crowds away. People recognized her, but most of the locals ignored the two of you. Celebrities were nothing new in Manhattan, so most people would stare and then go about their business. You buy her dinner, and the conversation between you is easy and endless. It felt like you had known her forever. When you leave Chelsea Market, Billy taps his watch, his eyebrows raised.

Jenna nods at him and turns to you, “I have to go, but I had a great time with you today.”

You sigh, smiling and nodding your head, “I wish you didn’t, but I get it. Jenna Ortega is in high demand these days.”

She laughs and holds her hand out, “Give me your phone.”

You hand it over with no hesitation and watch her as she types away, her tongue poking out between her lips as she focuses. She hands it back to you, her name in your contact list. Butterflies explode into your stomach as you absorb the information. You look up at her, gaping.

“Text me, okay?” She says, stepping closer to you.

You nod, unable to speak. She leans in and kisses you gently, her hands pulling at your waist. You take far too long to register, and she’s already pulling back when you find the brainpower to reciprocate. You reach out and pull her back in, kissing her, taking her by surprise. She laughs, her teeth brushing your bottom lip. Billy clears his throat, and she leans back, waving him off.

“I’m serious,” she says, still inches from your face, “text me.”

You smile, “You couldn't keep me from it if you tried.” You peek over her shoulder at Billy and Phil, “Not even your personal beefcakes could stop me.”

Billy barks out a laugh at you shaking his head. Jenna laughs, too, rolling her eyes.

“Next date is on me. I’ll see you soon.” She blows you a kiss and walks off, disappearing into the crowded sidewalk.

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #vada cavell #tara carpenter #lorraine day #phoebe atwell

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mistystepmoonbeam · 2 months

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Reborn in Baldur's Gate 3: Chapter 1

Plot: You’ve been reincarnated. It’s the realization you come to when the tiefling offering you a health potion introduces himself as Tav. You died and your soul revived in Baldur's Gate 3, at the beginning of the game no less. But you only have the memories of your past life on Earth, and none of your current one.

Tav invites you to join him on his journey, despite your lack of abilities or maybe because of it. You might as well go along with it; where else would you go with no memory of who you currently are, or knowledge of anything that lies outside of the narrative?

There is much to discover about your life in Baldur's Gate, and what transpires relies on the tiefling leading your group as Tav.

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: This is very self-indulgent so there will by a lot of Gale and Astarion.

-------------------

“I’m Tav.”

He’s a tiefling, you recall. Tall and bulky with curled horns. The dark gray skin tells you he’s descended from Mephistopheles, and his simple leather gear tells you he’s a barbarian. Huh. Yeah, that makes sense, he’s Tav, the hero of the game! Or…the villain? Your head pounds as memories flood back to you—tieflings, bards, goblins, vampires—you, sitting at a computer debating which choice would garner you the most favour with your companions in…

“Baldur’s Gate,” you mumble. You slap a hand over your mouth, staying on your knees as you blink at the tiefling. At Tav. He arches his brows and kneels beside you, offering you a small vial of red liquid.

“You’re from Baldur’s Gate, too?” he asks. “Drink this, it’ll make you feel better.”

Without much thought you take the already opened vial from him and swallow it down in one small gulp. With a deep breath the pounding in your head subsides and you can think a little clearer. Maybe not clear enough to fully comprehend that you’re currently in a video game, or that there’s a small wriggling behind your left eye which means…

More images come to you, a mind flayer holding a worm with too many teeth to your eye, a githyanki—Lae’zel—pointing a sword at you, and then falling from the ship. The nautiloid. Tav’s memories of the ship.

Tav winces as the visions fade. “Guess you got one of those, too.”

A chill runs down your spine, through each and every bone of your body until the squirming thing behind your eye stops movement all together.

“I uh…” You look around at the crash area, taking in the rocks and splotches of fire dotting the land on one side and water on your left, until you meet the gaze of a raven-haired half-elf.

“This one doesn’t seem to be all there,” she says. Her voice is as smooth and condescending as you remember, and you find it endearing despite the insult.

“Give them a moment,” Tav responds over his shoulder. “It’s a lot to take in.”

Yes, especially because this is most definitely a dream. A very vivid, painful, exciting, insane dream.

“What’s your name?”

You fear all you can do is blink. You tell them your name, voice as shaky as your body. There’s a tremble in your hands that you can’t control, even with a hard grip on the now empty vial. “And thank you…for the potion.”

Tav lifts, holding a large sharp-nailed hand out to you. “Can you stand?”

You nod, taking his hand and letting him lift you to your feet. You let your hand drop to dust off your clothes, nothing that you remember wearing. The last thing you recall was going to bed in a tank top and shorts but you’re now wearing a dark blue overcoat atop loose fitting pants and a fitted shirt. The borders of the coat are stitched with gold swirls, and based on the softness of everything you wear it has to be expensive. Somehow, after everything (whatever the Hells that involved) you are quite clean. Not to mention the bag that hangs at your hip beneath your coat is quite heavy, and another bag that wraps around your waist and sits at your back has the contents clinking together when you move.

You look like a caster of some kind, but you can’t tell which. You can’t feel anything that would indicate your abilities, but some cold sensation at the back of your mind tells you you can do something. Like another limb sits in your mind, waiting to be moved.

“We don’t have time for stragglers,” Shadowheart says.

“Yet I helped you,” Tav counters. There’s a playfulness to his tone that doesn’t match his furrowed brow.

Shadowheart concedes. “Fair enough. You’re welcome to join us in our search for a healer.”

You nod. Yes, a healer! They’ll be able to—pain strikes your temples as another memory clouds your mind.

A truck careening at you, horn blaring—a sharp hit of adrenaline and then…here.

“Oh my God I’ve been isekaied.” Your revelation earns you quizzical looks from Tav and Shadowheart. Reincarnated. Just like those cheesy but addicting books about a girl being reincarnated as a villainess in some cheesy addicting romance novel. You press your hands to your face, feeling familiar features but still wary. “Quick, what do I look like?”

“A lunatic,” Shadowheart answers.

Tav hesitates, but describes you. You. Not some other face, not a character you recall from the game but you. Regular human you. You sigh, relief flooding over you.

“As…interesting as this conversation is, we should get moving,” Tav says.

“Agreed.” Shadowheart doesn’t move until Tav heads to the only direction you can go, near part of the crashed ship.

“We need to find Lae’zel,” Tav adds.

“Less agreeable,” Shadowheart says. “She’s probably long gone by now, if not dead.”

“Well we should still keep an eye out.”

You follow the two into the still burning wreckage where they suddenly stop and draw their weapons—Tav a large axe, and Shadowheart her mace and shield.

“Intellect devourers,” you conclude. Three sit at the far end of the ship, scurrying towards you at a frightening speed. With one slash of his axe Tav takes out two of them before they can get close to you, and Shadowheart smacks the other one down. All defeated in what? Three seconds?

The three brains bleed out and flop to their sides, clawed limbs twitching.

“Vile creatures,” Tav says, holstering his axe. You expect the two to keep moving and check the nearby bodies for gold and supplies, just as you do in the game, but they don’t. They walk right past the dead man without rifling through his pockets and as you step by you feel your stomach lurch. To see a bloody disfigured body in reality felt very different from the game. The vacant eyes staring upward, pieces of flesh torn from his stomach…It isn’t until a hand covers your eyes and directs you forward do you realize you’d stopped.

“Just keep moving,” Tav says, keeping his hand by the side of your head so you can’t see the body. When his hand falls you keep your eyes on his swinging tail, and follow after him as he turns and moves into the sun.

Barrels and a broken down cart let you know what’s coming next—who’s coming next.

Your excitement strikes you then, still shaky and confused but awake. You’re in Baldur’s Gate 3, with Tav and Shadowheart, and hopefully all the others.

Your eyes scan the water nearby, debris scattered everywhere until you spot a dagger on the dock. Tav and Shadowheart watch you dart over and pick it up.

“I thought you would be one to attack with words, not knives,” Shadowheart says coolly.

You stash the dagger in a boot, smiling at Shadowheart. Gods. She was pretty as pixels but seeing her in the flesh, she was something else. “Well, words aren’t always the best weapons.”

“Can I get some help?”

You recognize the voice without needing to see the speaker. Astarion is just up the hill waiting to ambush Tav and…kill him depending on how he answers.

Based on how Tav darted ahead at the sound of someone in trouble (albeit fake trouble) you figured it wouldn’t turn out too terribly. So they had skipped over robbing the dead, and didn’t explore every corner of the map looking for treasure chests…that didn’t mean things would be different with each companion intro, right? There’s a plot here, and it has to be followed to a certain degree…right? There were no screen pop ups to decide dialogue and you all appeared to have free will, which was good.

Right?

Your thoughts did little to comfort you as you climbed the hill to find Astarion already pointing his blade at Tav who was apparently perceptive enough to dodge rolling around in the ground with the vampire. You stopped next to Shadowheart, at ease just watching the situation unfold.

Both men twitch and writhe as their parasites connect. When their visions fade Astarion questions it, and Tav answers honestly about being in the mind flayer ship and what the worms can do.

You study Astarion’s face as he realizes that he’s somewhat free, but there’s a time limit to the incubation period. Tav offers for him to join your trio, and just like you remember, he agrees.

“Splendid,” Astarion says. “Lead on.”

At that the vampire meets your eyes. Icicles dance up your spine until they pierce the back of your head, making you wince and hold a hand against the spot.

You grunt at the sudden pain, the sound quiet but drawing attention all the same. You wave the eyes away from you with your free hand. “Sorry. Head still hurts a bit from…having a tadpole put inside it.”

Nobody questions that, though you know it was something else. Every time your eyes even flit in Astarion’s direction you can feel a push at the back of your head, that phantom limb clenching as if trying to stretch and release itself. You wish you could say it was the tadpole, but it feels nothing like when you connected with Tav.

“Well let’s just try to keep our worms separate,” Astarion says, seemingly at you. “I don’t need to see what’s in your head anymore than you do mine.”

His eyes linger a moment on Tav. You nod your agreement though he isn’t looking at you now.

“I saw some footprints along another path,” Tav announces. “There could be other survivors.”

There doesn’t seem to be any question as to who is in charge. Shadowheart insists on searching for a healer but with a quick convincing from Tav you’re all headed towards a strange looking purple sigil.

“Looks unstable,” Shadowheart says.

“Best left alone,” Tav agrees. It was just like a friend's first play through that thought the sigil would kill them, so they never had Gale join their party. It wasn’t a totally unfounded theory—swirling, sparking voids did seem like something that shouldn’t be touched but everything in this world had a purpose. Anything out of place or, well, glowing, was important to the story.

But then the group is walking toward the bodies of three goblins discussing supplies.

They’ll steal from goblins but not humans? Seems odd but maybe you’re the weird one being so willing to pillage the dead, no matter their race. You frown, looking back at the sigil and knowing who is inside. “You sure you don’t want to see why it’s like that?”

Astarion is observing his nails while Tav loots the goblin bodies. Shadowheart kicks one of the bodies out of her way once fully plundered and looks back at you. “Be my guest. But if you get sucked in don’t expect me to come looking for you.”

“I’ll come look for you,” Tav states with a cheeky grin, hands inside a dead goblins pockets. It makes you smile back, so…kind and disarming. You recall barbarians didn’t have high charisma, but Tav seemed to have it in spades. Or perhaps your recent head injury was clouding your judgement—after all your reaction to being reincarnated, to being dead, was quite tame.

“Ah, a true hero.” Astarion looks between you and Tav, eyes narrowing as if trying to solve a puzzle.

You turn your attention back to the sigil, taking a small step towards it when an arm pops out.

“A hand?” a voice calls. “Anybody?”

You slap the waxing hand immediately without a thought.

“Perhaps I should have been more specific,” Gale says. “A helping hand please?”

“Oh, right!” You quickly take his hand in yours and tug to no avail.

“Keep trying!”

You pull harder, wondering if you were going to end up holding a severed arm in your hand as the sigil sparks brighter and buzzes with energy. You choose to ignore those thoughts and keep trying to free the wizard.

With one final pull the person connected to the arm comes tumbling out of the sigil. If it had been Tav to pull Gale free you’re certain it would have been a smooth experience, and he would have stepped back and dodged getting shoved to the ground by the sudden lack of resistance. But it wasn’t Tav, it was you, and instead of dodging the wizard your feet tangled with each other and you both went down.

The wind is knocked from your lungs with Gale atop you, his forehead connecting with your sternum and leaving you gasping for air. Strands of his hair fall onto your lips, soft and smelling of something spicy while his left arm is wrapped around your middle, the other braced against the ground. You realize he’d been trying to protect you on the way down, but wasn’t quick enough to cover the back of your head, which now throbs from the fresh battering.

“Ouch,” you croak, voice barely making it out of your throat. Footsteps approach until Tav, Shadowheart, and Astarion are hovering over you, each with a small smile. Well…Astarion’s is more of a smirk…

Gale pushes himself off of you and before he can say anything Tav has his hands beneath your underarms and is pulling you up. His hands slide to your back until you’re steady enough to stand on your own and thank him, rubbing at the back of your head again.

Throbbing is better than stabbing, you suppose.

“Apologies,” Gale says as he smooths his hair back, “I’m usually much better at this.”

You continue to rub the back of your head as he and Tav exchange dialogue, much of it going in one ear and out the other as you focus on the pain radiating in your skull. You squeeze your eyes shut and let your hands fall to your sides, giving in to the fact you can’t rub away whatever sensation is there.

“And you my friend.” Gale is in front of you, drawing your gaze to meet his. “I am truly sorry for landing on you, but extremely grateful for the help.”

You can’t stop your smile at him anymore than you could with Tav. “Happy to help.”

His eyes stay on you a moment longer than appropriate, but when they drape down your body you think he’s almost sizing you up. For a fight, or romance, or maybe to steal your coat you aren’t sure.

You look to Tav for direction, waiting for the leader to…well, lead. Lae’zel should be next, but that’s when you notice you have an extra member. With you there it makes five travellers, but nobody has been sent to camp yet. Wherever that is. While you’d like a moment to sit and organize your thoughts, the idea of heading somewhere on your own was terrifying.

“I hear voices over that ridge,” Astarion announces. Everyone turns towards where he’s looking, just a few feet ahead where the path winds up and you know you’ll find two tieflings looking at Lae’zel. But you can’t hear them yet.

“Let’s check it out.” Tav is already moving before anyone can object. And like ducklings you follow him with Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart.

Taglist:

@half-poison-and-half-hope

#reborn in baldur's gate 3 with no memory and plenty of gold #x reader #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #gale dekarios x reader #astarion x reader

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