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underdark-dreams · 7 months

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I just binged all your Rolan x Tav fics on here (about to go to A03 and give kudos ❤️) and just wanted to say 😩😩 Perfect! AND! I saw you wanted suggestions! i would love to see the first interact/first meeting of Rolan and Tav from his POV if you felt inclined! No pressure! Thank you, keep up the good work! ❤️

I've grown so fond of this vague fem Tav I keep pairing with Rolan...so I hope these pronouns are ok for this request! Tav gets her name finally. (Cal and Lia also barged their way into this one in a big way)

Blades and Spells

A sanctimonious soldier isn't Rolan's idea of a good person to know, but is seems Tav is doing her damnedest to prove him wrong. The day of their first meeting at the Grove.

Tags: Fem Tav, Fluff, First Meetings, Sibling Bonding

Word Count: 4,322 [Read on AO3]

"We don't even know these people—"

"They're the closest thing we've got to kin, and you know it!"

The bright and promising midday had been punctured by a bloody ambush at the gate. Kanon was dead—a goblin booyagh's arrow and a nasty fall behind the front wall. No doubt his body was still cooling just a short walk from where the three siblings stood inside the shaded mouth of the Grove.

Their caravan's brief respite was shaken by the attack. Zevlor had retreated to strategize; the other Tieflings were on edge, a few downright panicked, the fresh tension around them only fueling the siblings’ words.

It had been weeks since he and Lia had a proper fight—Rolan felt all the pent-up anger rolling out now.

Lia stood with fists braced on her hips. "And what about the goblins? I know you're handy with a spell, Rolan, but I seriously don't fancy our chances alone on the Risen Road."

"Did you not see what just happened?" Rolan said, casting an arm behind his sister toward the gate. "That treasure-hunting idiot just led them right down on our heads. There’s bound to be more, and I don’t want us sticking around to find out how many."

"That’s all the more reason to stay!” Lia’s voice rose to match his. “These people aren't fighters, Rolan. We’d be cowards to leave. We can protect them—we should—"

“Or keep making a scene,” Cal said from the sidelines, to no one in particular. The other Tieflings had grown used to their bickering many miles ago.

Lia was undeterred. "Is this about your precious Lorroakan? Because I promise you, Rolan, he'll still be there when we finally get to Baldur's Gate."

Rolan's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Oh of course not, why would I want to achieve my lifelong dream, see my family finally be safe and provided for along the way—"

"Don't put this on me and Cal," his sister warned. "It's all the same excuse, you'd have left these people yesterday—"

"Because they're not my kin!" Rolan practically shouted, not caring how far his voice carried. "No matter how many times you say it! I'm not going to risk all three of our lives, our futures, on people who can't seem to keep themselves alive. How do you think I'd feel if I let anything happen to you? Either of you?"

"We know, Rolan," Cal interjected, trying to bring a little understanding.

"If you care about me and my future—" Lia jabbed a sharp nail at Rolan's chest—"you won't ask me to turn my back on these people when they need our help."

As Rolan opened his mouth to respond, he caught motion in his periphery. He turned to see an unfamiliar face standing at the edge of their conversation. The stranger rested a hand on her sword pommel, looking on quietly curious at the scene.

"Yes?" Rolan snapped at her. Sticking your nose into a private conversation hardly deserved politeness.

“Wait," Cal piped up beside him. “I saw you at the gate after the goblins."

Lia was quick to follow, disagreement all but forgotten. “You fought out there just now?” She sounded practically jealous. “Sweet hells, that must have been a rush. We owe you.”

"Good timing, that’s all," the stranger replied, shifting her weight a little. From real or false modesty Rolan couldn't tell.

He finally recognized her then—the one he saw speaking with Zevlor for quite a while immediately after the attack. Judging by the flecks of wet blood on her equipment, and on that of her companions behind her, these were the surprise reinforcements he'd already heard other refugees chatting about in energetic tones.

They weren't so impressive in person. Scrappy, in Rolan's private judgment. His eyes passed over the pouting cleric, the murderous-looking Githyanki with a massive sword on her back, the elf who was glancing around himself as though trying to decide which element of his current surroundings he disliked most.

The other wizard looked sane enough, Rolan allowed. He could practically feel the ripples in the Weave all around the man's shoulders. Perhaps Rolan would have a chance at an intelligent conversation in this place after all.

As for the one in front—she smiled pleasantly at Rolan despite having just walked from a goblin ambush. That, to his mind, marked her as the most eccentric of all.

"Tav," she said, extending her sword hand. Rolan glanced down at the dark stains on her fingers.

Wasn't this hovel filthy enough? His clothes already smelled of smoke and grease from days in close quarters; he drew the line at smearing them with goblin blood.

Tav tracked his eyes, letting out an awkward laugh as she moved to wipe her palm on her pants. From beside him, Lia firmly intercepted the handshake.

"Lia. Forgive my brother, you know how wizards are about their robes." His sister's tone was light, but she shot him a look from the corner of her eye.

As if Rolan cared what some passing stranger thought of him. If he’d had his way, they wouldn't be here to have this conversation at all. But Cal introduced himself as well, looking a bit starstruck.

“Well met,” Tav told them, Rolan included. “Sorry, I know I’m interrupting.”

Perhaps sensing Rolan was about to agree, Lia jumped in. “Please. It’s a pleasure to meet people willing to risk their necks for a bunch of strangers, especially Tieflings. You all heading to Baldur’s Gate?”

“Aye. Same as you, I imagine—”

The inanity was enough to drive Rolan mad; it was like their first days on the road from Elturel all over again. He crossed his arms and zoned out as she and his sister made their meaningless smalltalk. He'd rather get his tail stepped on than do this painful getting-to-know with one more person they’d never see again.

Then he heard Lorroakan's name, and his ears perked up.

“He’s taken Rolan as an apprentice,” Cal was telling Tav proudly.

"Have you met Archmage Lorroakan?" Rolan asked her, suddenly interested in the conversation again. Tav looked at him with hesitation.

"Not personally. Gale said—" She glanced down the slope deeper into the Grove, and Rolan realized that the companions behind her had all trickled away in the short moment he hadn’t been paying attention. Seeking rest and recuperation, no doubt. "Gale was saying he's heard of him."

The human wizard, Rolan gathered. Hearing a stranger speak the archwizard’s name somehow rekindled the fire in Rolan’s chest, one he hadn’t realized had grown so low on fuel. He clenched his fist beside his robes and felt the crinkle of Lorroakan’s letter there in his pocket.

Tav was regarding him with a quizzical expression. "I mean, if an archmage that famous has an apprenticeship waiting for you…I guess I can’t blame you for wanting to move on sooner than later."

"Naturally," Rolan said, a bit stiff. It annoyed him that this newcomer could see more sense than his own siblings.

Then she continued. "But Lia's right. You three seem like you can handle yourselves, and I'm not sure the same could be said for everyone here. We'll need every fighting soul to defend against that goblin nest. Especially you—" Tav directed the comment to Rolan. "Having another Weave caster could make all the difference."

Well, so much for sense. Speaking of we and us as if they all had the same goals. A transparent tactic. Rolan wasn't sure what altruistic world Tav had waltzed out of, but he'd heard enough rousing speeches on kinship and unity from people like Zevlor to last him a lifetime. He wasn't about to listen to one from a stranger.

She was correct, however, to acknowledge the value of his skills. No one on the road here had displayed anything close to what Rolan knew he was capable of.

He glanced one more time between his siblings. The set of Lia's jaw told him her mind was well made up. Cal just looked hopeful for a resolution.

Rolan swore. "Fine. We've only taken our damn time getting here, what’s a few more days lost? If we’re lucky, we’ll reach the city with a good story, at least."

"Thank you, Rolan." Lia was meek now that she'd gotten her way.

“You must be quite skilled,” added Tav, sizing him up a bit. "To catch the eye of the Archwizard of Baldur's Gate."

Rolan didn’t miss a beat. "I am.” Cal rolled his eyes over Tav’s shoulder, but Rolan ignored him. “I’ve been manipulating the Weave since I was a child.”

“It’s true,” Lia confirmed. Still feeling guilty about winning the fight, perhaps.

“Really?” Tav broke into a grin, clearly impressed. Rolan drank in the admiration. "Good thing you're staying, then."

Behind his pride, Rolan couldn't help but feel a bit manipulated. Perhaps Tav wasn't the unsophisticated sellsword that she’d appeared at first.

"Well, I should go find the crew before they make too much trouble.” Tav was turning to leave before she paused, sheepish. “Say—don’t suppose druids keep a blacksmith around? One of those worgs’ teeth put a big scratch in my baby here.” As she spoke she looked down at the sword belted to her hip, almost like an indulgent parent.

“Dammon can fix you up,” Lia told her at once. “He’s one of us, a Tiefling. And he’s damn good. Take a left down the hill and you can’t miss him. Follow the loud noises,” she added, with a grin to match.

“Cheers,” Tav told her. “See you all later?”

The three of them watched her figure disappear deeper into the Grove.

"She stabbed a warg right up close,” Lia murmured, sounding morbidly inspired. “That’s incredible.”

Rolan scoffed at her. “Better to kill it from a distance and not damage your most valuable piece of equipment in the process.”

“Hey.” Cal glanced over to his older brother. “Did you even tell her your name?”

Rolan wasn’t concerned. “I’ll tell her later, if she’s still around.” She and her companions would remember his name soon enough—them and all of Baldur's Gate.

—

In these cramped quarters, it didn’t take long before they encountered Tav again. Her hands swung a bit awkwardly at her sides, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. Her scabbard clanked empty against her greaves; presumably, Dammon was hard at work repairing her blade.

Cal and Lia practically swooped down beside her as she approached. Rolan tried to hide his scowl at their eagerness.

"Have you been around the place yet? Cal and I can show you around, if you’ve got time.”

“I’d like that,” she told them both with a genuine smile. “Perhaps later, if you’re willing? Zevlor told me about your…druid problem. I promised him I’d have a talk with Kagha.”

Who had elected her emissary? Rolan glowered. "I assure you, the druids will tell you it's a foulblood problem."

It wiped the smile from her face, and Rolan found it difficult to feel bad. She wanted to dig through other people's problems? She could get used to uncovering ugly things.

"Yes…well. I'd prefer to keep an open mind," she told him evenly. With another small comment to his brother and sister, she continued on toward the deep clearing where the druids were gathering in preparation for their rite. A place strictly off-limits for Tieflings.

Lia rounded on him. "I swear, you embarrass me worse than Cal sometimes."

Cal frowned. "Hey—"

"Because you care too much about what people think," Rolan answered his sister. "Believe me, she and her people don't care about us. Didn't you hear her little speech before? She only wants more bodies for the fight."

Internally, Rolan was still bristling at the idea that Tav had complimented and cajoled him into staying at the Grove. He didn’t truly believe that was the reason for his decision, but the fact that she’d gotten to him at all unsettled him.

“Come on.” Lia knocked her arm against his playfully, an effort at reconciliation. “I’m just saying, Rolan. It costs nothing to be a bit nicer to people around here.”

Rolan heaved a sigh. Even he was growing weary from all the bickering they’d done today, though he’d never admit that to his sister. “All right. I’ll try, if it makes you happy. But believe me—people like her look after themselves. And I intend to look after us.”

—

Tav hadn’t been in the heart of the Grove for more than ten minutes before she reappeared, practically stomping up the path from the Kagha’s inner sanctum. Apparently the emissary work wasn’t going so well. Without her sword, her hands were clenched at her sides in empty fists. Her expression was thunderous.

“Have you seen Zevlor?” She asked the three of them as she approached, bypassing the smalltalk Rolan was beginning to expect from her. He directed her back toward the carved door in the corner of the cave.

“Everything all right?” Rolan asked, curious in spite of himself.

Tav exhaled sharp through her nose. “Kagha was having a grand time interrogating a hostage. That little girl, Arabella.”

“What?” Cal’s voice rang with alarm.

“I guess she tried to steal the druids’ carving of Silvanus,” Tav told him. “The one they need for their ceremony. Her mother was nearly out of her mind…the child’s all right,” she added in haste. “Back safe with her parents now, but shaken up.”

Lia quivered with outrage at Rolan’s side. “Thank the hells you intervened.”

“Of course,” Tav replied at once, as if the situation called for nothing less. “I understand it’s the idol of their deity, but by all the gods…Kagha was ready to call her asp down on a terrified child.”

“That fucking viper."

Cal wasn’t referring to the snake; his siblings both glanced at him in surprise. He was a gentle soul, but if Cal cared about anything, it was protecting the young ones.

Tav seemed of the same mind. “There’s something about her,” she agreed with a dark look. Abruptly, she wheeled on Rolan. “What do you think?”

She sought his opinion as a wizard, he realized. All three of them were watching him, in fact, hanging on for his answer.

“Ritual magic is quite different from the Weave,” Rolan replied carefully. “Especially druidic magic. I don’t have the same feel for it. But Kagha…”

He cast his mind back to the first day their bedraggled caravan arrived in the Grove. The lot of them exhausted and bloodied after fighting off goblins and gnolls just up the road. Halsin, the massive elf who was then First Druid, squaring his shoulders above the smaller woman who somehow seemed to tower to his same height.

“She’s powerful,” Rolan decided. “Quite. Where it comes from, I couldn’t say.”

Tav was staring at him with an intensity Rolan hadn’t seen on her face yet. She looked far more intimidating than she had to him before.

But then she let out a thoughtful hum, and her features were back to their usual lightness. “I guess that’s one more reason to find this Halsin sooner rather than later.”

They all watched her take her leave toward Zevlor’s makeshift war room, the stone door sliding shut again behind her.

—

As the sun dipped below the horizon and a stiff evening breeze picked up at the cave’s entrance, Rolan and his siblings settled toward the insulated back wall of the Grove where Okta was tending hearth. Whatever the old woman had simmering in her massive cauldron smelled a bit like damp wool, but the warmth of the coals underneath was toasty and wonderful against the skin on Rolan’s face and hands.

Cal and Lia were in wistful discussion on either side of him—something about which landmarks of the city they wanted to visit first. Rolan let the feel of the conversation wash over him without hearing the words. His eyes were on the glowing coals, but his mind was also on Baldur's Gate—that and its great archwizard.

You are fortunate, young Rolan. The flourish with which Lorroakan had written his name floated through his mind's eye. Even the parchment itself was heavy and fine, almost promising of better things. Rolan’s fingers brushed the hip pocket of his robes again as if to assure himself. He still carried the letter with him everywhere, though he’d long since memorized its contents.

From behind him Rolan heard the sounds of a friendly disagreement and turned to look. Tav again. He shouldn’t be surprised; the woman seemed to be everywhere today.

Across the path, she was engaged in a polite argument with Dammon at his tent. The smith held a hand up as if refusing something. Rolan caught sight of the polished sword pommel back in her scabbard once more, and surmised that Dammon must be turning down payment for the repair job after her help at the gate today. That seemed like his chivalrous style.

Indeed, Rolan watched her tuck her leather coin purse away and offer a hand instead. Dammon accepted and shook it with a warm smile.

As he continued watching, the two struck up a friendly conversation. Rolan supposed a soldier would find much more to talk about with a smith than with an apprentice wizard. Her hand was draped at rest over her sword hilt again; that seemed to be an idle habit of hers.

He remembered the city guard back in Elturel displaying the same gesture while posted at watch, and wondered whether she might be in a similar line of work. Back in…wherever it was she hailed from.

Insipid questions that Rolan nevertheless filed away in his mind to ask her at some point. If nothing else, it would make Lia happy to see him making an effort. Being nice.

Rolan glanced again at the dark stains on her fingers. She hadn't taken time to wash and rest yet since the fight. It was all over her, goblin blood and human, small flecks of it visible on her clothing and chestplate and even on the side of her face. Didn't she find it unpleasant? It would drive him mad. But it didn't seem to concern her, and Dammon certainly didn't look bothered.

The smith said something that made her laugh then, and a dimple appeared in Tav's blood-spattered cheek.

Dammon had an easy way about him that always seemed to earn him fast friends. Right now, Rolan found he was a bit envious of the trait. He didn't intend to come off as such a prickly ass, as Lia so affectionately liked to call him—though time and again he seemed to manage it.

The constant setbacks between them and Baldur's Gate had just soured Rolan's mood in recent weeks, he told himself. His apprenticeship was all his mind could dwell on at rest, and each delay was harder to bear than the last.

But none of that was really Tav's fault. Inwardly, he could admit that Lia would have talked him into staying on her own anyway. Rolan found himself hoping that he'd made a non-terrible impression on the newcomer.

An elbow in his ribs broke his line of thought. "What?" Rolan looked around, rubbing the spot with a hand.

"I said, you're staring," Cal repeated. He and Lia were both looking at him—Rolan didn't like the expression on either face.

"Shut up," he said, though neither of them had spoken. "She's got blood all over her, who wouldn't?"

"I'm just saying." Cal put up both palms, his eyebrows raised. "From your face, you didn't seem that put off."

"Maybe she’d like to see your Thunderwave, Rolan," his sister suggested.

"You're both idiots." Rolan turned around with arms crossed, watching Okta pluck a dead chicken as though it might be interesting. The idiots on either side were not so easily deterred.

"There’s something about a woman in armor, isn't there, Cal?"

"I've always thought so." Cal leaned a forearm on Rolan's shoulder, sounding quite sincere. "Hey, you could offer to magic the bloodstains off her stuff for her. Use that presto—presti—"

"Prestidigitation," Rolan supplied, eyes still on Okta's cooking. A shockingly good idea from Cal. But it would be strange to offer that to a person he'd just met; Rolan dismissed the thought.

"She should've just taken the time to clean it herself before it all dried," Rolan said aloud. "The way her companions did, no doubt. Instead of running back and forth back here all day."

"Yeah," Lia drawled. "Saving little girls from pit vipers. What a waste of time."

“Well, only one way to find out if she’s interested.” Cal turned around and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Hey, Tav—”

Rolan would have smacked the back of his brother’s head had the woman not already turned toward the sound of her name. She approached their spot near the hearth looking politely curious.

“Lia was just wondering,” Cal started in—leaving Rolan’s name out of it, a smart choice for his skull— “won’t it take a long time to get all the stains out of your armor?”

“Oh.” Tav sounded taken aback, but glanced down at herself as if just now noticing the state of her equipment. “Oh yeah, this’ll cost me a good half hour at least. And probably both my elbows,” she added with chagrin. “Damn. Got distracted by everything, I guess.”

“Because Rolan can magic it off in a second,” Lia said in a rush.

"Really?" Far from averse, she was looking at Rolan with sudden enthusiasm. "I didn’t know magic could—I mean, of course it can. I guess. Why, are you offering…?” She glanced between him and his siblings then, as if finally picking up on the strange energy between them.

Rolan felt all three pairs of eyes come to rest on him. He could hardly back out now. “If you’re interested,” he told her.

“Hells yes,” Tav laughed. “Are you kidding?”

Lia clapped her hands together softly. “Excellent. Well, since Tav’s interested—” She placed a strange emphasis on the word, one Rolan hoped only he noticed— “Cal and I should get going to set up camp. See you both later?”

“Right,” Cal agreed at once. With that, the pair of them slipped off in a few flicks of the tail.

What a couple of damned children. Rolan let out a heavy sigh; they seemed determined to try every last slip of patience he had.

Tav followed him to a spot closer to the back corner of the Grove, a bit removed from the sounds and smells. A stream of cool air seeped in from somewhere outside the walls, and Rolan breathed in gratefully. He had found it hard to concentrate in the stale surroundings of this place.

“Right.” She stood opposite him, looking a bit unsure. “How does this work, exactly?”

“Just keep still,” Rolan advised her. This would be easier if she took off the pieces of her half-plate first, but asking her to do that seemed unthinkably familiar.

She did as he directed. “Sure you’re not going to transform me into a pigeon or something? Give me wings?”

“This is the simplest spell there is, I’m not an idiot.” Rolan’s tone was irritable, but it only made her laugh. He realized that she was teasing him.

Regardless, Rolan steadied his stance and reached out to the Weave. Whether or not it was technically correct, it was the way he’d taught himself.

Breathe in—quiet each thought—feel the air above and the ground below—

Like a warm embrace from the oldest friend, the Weave flowed as a golden light into his cupped hand. Rolan formed the clear intention in his mind and guided the magic toward her.

“It tickles,” Tav said in surprise, but he could tell she was doing her best to keep still. Her eyes were squeezed shut for some reason.

Rolan blinked at her, not sure how long she had expected this to take. “You can—it’s done.”

“Really?” Tav looked across her chest and shoulders and the greaves on her legs, admiring their new shine. “Wow…neat trick, that. So you’re saying Gale’s been watching us polish our armor and weapons every night when he could just use the Weave for two seconds?”

“The manipulation does take energy,” Rolan told her, not wanting to discredit a fellow wizard while he wasn’t here to defend himself.

Her expression changed a bit. Then she reached a hand to his shoulder. “Thanks for this, Rolan. It might be simple to you, but—” She dropped her arm and cast around with a tired laugh. “Life has honestly been…kind of terrible lately. Thank you for making it better.”

Rolan felt he could stand to hear more of that story, but he doubted she'd want to tell it. “You’re welcome,” he told her instead.

It was a bit awkward traveling back through the winding Grove together toward the entrance, but it could hardly be avoided. Their camps were both in the same direction.

The night patrol were watching vigilantly from the wall; the massive carved gate raised before them as if in anticipation. Rolan stepped out into the dark, cool evening with another grateful breath.

Beside him, Tav sighed wearily. "Well, 'night. Off to enjoy my extra sleep," she said with another smile to him before she turned away.

No such easy goodnight for him, Rolan knew. He imagined Cal and Lia perching awake on their bedrolls, eager to hear what chaos or embarrassment or both their meddling had caused for him this time.

More concerning to him right now was the way his shoulder seemed to radiate where she'd placed a grateful hand before. Rolan rolled his arm a little, trying to shake the tingling warmth near his collar bone. It didn't quite work.

But perhaps he'd think about that tomorrow.

#rolan x tav #fluff #tav x rolan #rolan bg3 #bg3 rolan #bg3 cal #bg3 lia #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #underdark-dreams #thegoblinwitchqueen

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syco3spresso · 1 month

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Why can’t I just look like fucking effy

She’s such thinsp0 and she’s just so pretty and her style in the show omg 🫶

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slugsby-pt2 · 11 days

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(this is specifically for u @violetspetal )

CAL IS NOT THE 988’ER OF THE TWO: ITS ANDRE

andre is the cutter in the army of two. I know we all wanna headcannon! Cal as that because he’s Dylan’s counterpart but no. In my heart of hearts, this guy is not depressed in the way he hates himself and has to punish himself. He hates the world and having to be apart of society, a society that’s so cruel and wrong.

Andre’s different. Cal and Andre are quite alike in the sense that they hate everyone and want to die, but Andre hates himself for not being accepted, for not being normal enough to be liked. He probably hates Rachel because of this reason. Andre knows that him and Cal are one and the same—with Cal being more disturbed than him—and he can’t have Rachel. He doesn’t want her but what she symbolizes. Passing. Normality. Having someone that isn’t afraid of you and likes you even if you’re a bit “weird”.

Sure, I’m probably reading into Eric’s diaries way too much when it comes to Andre, but Andre hates the world and himself for not being accepted and liked. Andre probably tried really hard to make friends and be seen as normal coded in elementary and middle school, and by the time he met Cal, he realized no matter what he could do, he’d never pass. He found Cal and saw himself in him. (The reason why Andre has Cal.)

But yeah, Andre sees himself as the problem and world also as the problem. He’s too “woke” (not in the general sense but in the way that he “sees the world for how it really is”) and self aware to be like everyone else. He’s going to punish the world (the shooting) and himself (the cutting and his death).

Other headcanons:

Andre is really ritualistic and particular about his sessions. It’s always the same way, even when he’s freaking out and pissed as all hell. Turns on a movie, some kind of background noise, locks his door and gets his tools (specific army knife that he’s had since he was 12, and gauze and antiseptic spray).

he isn’t like those cutters that just free bleed and trust they won’t get an infection, even though their bed is dirty and they don’t shower enough (me, I’m talking about me). He runs everything precise and well planned.

He thinks wrist cutters are stupid attention seekers and keeps it to his upper thighs, ankles, and a specific part of his chest (track eliminates a lot of potential areas). He makes fun of cutters even though he does it.

Also, Cal knows about it and is kind of concerned, but doesn’t want to interfere. He probably brought it up to Andre once and Andre raged and basically shittily gaslit Cal into dropping the subject.

#zero day 2003 #zero day #andre kriegman #cal gabriel #cal and andre #caldre #cal is not your ramona flowers #he’s ur manic pixie dream girl who will actually ruin your life #Andre is sad and mad and angry #SOMEONE GIVE HIM WARM MILK AND A COOKIE #TUCK HIM INTO BED AND SING HIM A LULLABY #DONT LEAVE UNTIL HE FALLS ASLEEP AND KEEP HIS NIGHTLIGHT ON

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cal-with-a-kesett-tape · 17 days

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YOU GUYS

I may or may not be crying right now

#is this a dream??#are we getting a jfo lego set finally???#cal kestis #bd 1 #jedi fallen order #star wars jedi fallen order #lego star wars #lego #jedi survivor #star wars jedi survivor

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fantasticgothicpeachsludge · 5 months

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I don’t know why but I can’t stop thinking about little Cal hugging Cody like a koala and when anyone tries to pull him off he digs his fingers into Cody’s armor plates and cries like a cat

#how do i tag this #Cal Kenobi #disaster lineage cal #hell yea #*obiwan trying to pull cal off* *cody fighting his buir instincts ‘don’t shove the general don’t shove the general don’t shove the gen-‘*#it’s too late cal has already imprinted on cody like a little duckling THATS HIS DAD #stewjoni pack instincts I love you #cal has two dads #AND A MOM NO SATINE ERASUREE HERE #AND TWO (2) BROTHERS (3m including the vod) AND ONE (1) SISTER #thinking about cal and qui-gon meeting some how and crying #rip qui-gon jinn you would have loved being a grandfather #(wouldn’t have liked the war but would have loved the clones)#Star Wars #cal kestis #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #it is currently 12:12 at night #help #this came to me in a dream #an obimaul jedi au dream #where cal was obiwans son and mauls padawon #cal had three (3) dads #maul took cal on for obiwan who wanted too but couldn’t for… dream reasons idk didn’t want to raise him a child soldier? didn’t want to put #him in danger (dooku ventress etc etc)?#I don’t know but it was cute!!

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mushiewrites · 11 months

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Got Your Back

Hiya! So I’ve had this fic since last September, I wrote it for @emmadoodlewrites when we both went insane for tickle machines and made up a few in a flustered frenzy. I recently rediscovered this fic and shared it with @wishitweresummer, who encouraged me over and over to upload it. So, I reworked it, somehow added 1K words, and here we are. Thank you @awkwardtickleetoo + summer for reading this through for me and for hyping it up and making me want to post it! (and thank u cal for the title ur a genius). I love how it turned out, and I hope you do too!

After George confessed his love for tickling to Dream, he decides to make him something special in support. Dream gets curious, and before he knows it, he’s stuck

(lee!Dream / tickle machine : 3.6K words)

Dream had always been curious. Everyone who knew him was aware of this fact, mostly due to the blonde getting himself into trouble because of it. Whether he was exploring new places without a map or tinkering with things he shouldn’t, he was used to things backfiring. But he didn’t really mind. He much preferred taking the risk in favor of trouble in order to learn everything he could about anything and everything he was interested in - including people.

Another thing Dream was known for was his generosity. Gift giving was absolutely one of his main love languages, and he constantly used it to show his friends and loved ones just how much he cared for them. Dream was thoughtful, always collecting things that reminded him of specific people and being so excited to give it to them, relishing in the way their faces would light up at the unexpected gift.

Recently, George had revealed some very personal information about himself with Dream. A few weeks ago, while sitting underneath an oak tree in the rain, George had told Dream his thoughts and feelings on tickling - about how much he loved it, and how much he adored the feeling of it. He told Dream how warm and safe the action made him feel, sputtering and whining through it all. It took some much needed coaxing and reassurance from the blonde, but in the end, George got it all out. Dream was there to support him through the whole thing, wrapping him into the biggest hug he could while showering him in praise.

Immediately after George had left that day, the cogs in Dream’s brain began to turn. He was set on creating things to show George that he didn’t have to be embarrassed about his secret adoration for tickling, wanting to make him something special and just for him. Dream spent many nights hunched over his crafting table drawing up blueprints, feeling like a madman whenever he came up with a new contraption to torture George with. After coming up with a few solid ideas, the building began.

It started with a small tickle machine.

It was around the same size and shape of a normal backpack, and designed to sit against the back the same way. There were eight retractable arms that sat over the shoulders, ribs and sides, much like how a koala would cling onto a person. The arms were designed to be able to perform the meanest of tickles that George could handle (or not, but that wasn’t Dream’s problem). The ends of the metal rods were covered in small rubber nubs, molded to glide expertly between ribs, to skitter up and down squishy sides, to poke and prod against sensitive stomachs - the possibilities were endless on someone as ticklish as George.

The machine was still in the prototype stages, but it was ready to be tested to make any final adjustments. He planned on waiting until the next time he was with George to test it, wanting to see how the machine worked on the smaller boy and hoping to find ways to make improvements. But the longer the device sat idly, waiting for its first victim, the more Dream’s curiosity grew.

So he decided to test it himself.

After a lot of pacing and contemplating, he walked over to the chest in the corner of the room where he kept the machine, opening the lid and chuckling nervously when he saw it. It looked like some kind of giant upside down bug, with the legs curled in on themselves while in the ‘off’ position. Dream lifted it from the chest, holding it in his hands and inspecting it while the butterflies in his stomach erupted into a whole new wave of panic. It took a bit of self convincing but he finally decided that yes, he was absolutely going to test this now. What George didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Dream let out a nervous giggle as he pressed the little green power button on the middle of the machine, reaching around and holding it against his back the best he could to try and secure it. He struggled with the positioning, taking a few steps back until he felt his heels hit the wall. Dreamed leaned against it, using the wall to help hold the machine in the correct spot and allowing the arms to finally extend out and over his body, clinging on and tightening to hold itself in place. The blonde watched in amusement as the arms reached over his shoulders and hugged around different parts of his ribs and sides, settling down after a few minutes and becoming still against him. He smirked to himself, happy with the way the machine was working so far.

Dream jumped forward with a yelp as the arms began to move, pulling him from his thoughts and bringing his attention to the new sensation that was spreading across his torso. It was only the first stage of the tickling, Dream having set different settings and stages for different tickling speeds and techniques. But even at the lowest stage, it had Dream doubled over, squirming against the wall as the ends of the metal arms pressed lightly against his ribs. The drew small, slow circles into the bones, pulling strained laughs out of Dream even as he tried his hardest to hold them in. He didn’t expect it to be this bad, but it was, and all he could think about was how much this would get to George. Through his panicked giggles he cheered at his success in making a functioning tickle machine.

The arms slowed to a halt, giving Dream time to catch his breath. He stood back up on his feet, turning around to face the wall and leaning his forehead against it with a groan. He closed his eyes as he continued to take in deep breaths, smiling at the thought of George screaming and squealing having to endure this himself. Suddenly the arms sprung back to life, digging in with a little more pressure at a quicker speed. Dream was thrown into loud cackles almost immediately, pushing off the wall and throwing his head back, his arms pressed as tightly as he could to his sides in an attempt to block out the tickly feeling.

“Ohoho my Gohohod, fuck! Thihis is bahahad!” Dream knew no one was around but couldn’t help but narrate the feeling. It was just so much more ticklish than he ever thought it would be, and it was only the second stage. He clenched his fists tightly, his eyes still squeezed shut as he let out a wheeze through his laugh, hiccups and high pitched squeals following closely behind.

The arms that rested over his shoulders were prodding into his top ribs, just below his armpits. They dug in slightly, vibrating over the bones every few seconds and making Dream feel weak in the knees. The other three sets of arms were poking into his ribs and sides, moving slightly every time they lifted up and touching down, always tickling a new patch of skin to keep him squirming. He leaned forward as he cackled, trying his best to stay standing as he laughed himself silly. He couldn’t remember the last time he was tickled this much - in his defense, he couldn’t really remember anything anyway with how fiercely the machine was tickling. Through it all, though, he did have one consistent thought; it tickled, and it tickled bad.

Dream gasped for air the minute the machine came to another pause, his giggles remaining as the metal arms stayed pressed against the bones of his ribs. He couldn’t shake the ghost tickles that had his stomach doing somersaults, even when he used his hands to rub the areas around where the arms were resting. The blonde found himself giggling helplessly, deciding he’d done enough testing for one day and reaching back in an attempt to power off the machine. George could try out the more intense settings the next time he stopped by.

But as Dream felt around blindly for the power button, he realized he couldn’t reach it from this position. He opened his eyes in a panic, quickly looking around on the table beside him for anything he could use to help reach it.

“Shit. Uhm….” Dream was mumbling under his breath as he searched through different tools, eventually giving up and turning around to gently press against the wall behind him to try and successfully hit the power button. But it was no use, and the familiar sound of the machine whirring to life echoed through the room once more.

Suddenly the arms were digging into his ribs and sides, only this time, the bottom set of arms made their way over to his very sensitive tummy. He let out a shriek as they vibrated into the pudge of his lower tummy, between his belly button and the waistband of his pants.

“No no nahahahaha! Fuhuhuck, plehehease! PLEHEHEASE!” Dream wailed, feeling the second lowest set of arms moving over either side of his belly button and pressing in, vibrating again, but at a much faster pace than before. He doubled over once again, his back arching off the wall before leaning over with his elbows to his knees, cackling towards the floor with his eyes squeezed shut.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the top two sets of arms began seeking out even more sensitive spots on his very ticklish torso. The lower of the top two sets found their way to the back of Dream’s ribs, a spot he had programmed purposely to fuck with George. He cried out at the feeling, never having been tickled there before and realizing how absolutely torturous it was. The top set framed themselves perfectly to wiggle their way under Dream’s arms, sending him flying back against the wall with his arms crossed over his stomach tightly.

“Nohoho, oh fuhuhuck, stohohop!” His knees began to wobble and he allowed himself to slowly slide down the wall, only stopping when he hit the ground with a thump. Dream pulled his knees up as much as he could, attempting to try and protect himself from the tickling but finding that it only further pressed the arms into his skin. He quickly straightened his legs out against the ground, kicking as he grabbed fistfuls of his pants, needing to hold onto something.

As the tickling continued, Dream fell to the ground on his side, turning onto his back and rolling back and forth a few times to try and hit the button against the floor. The third set of arms moved a little closer on either side to his belly button and he squealed, thrashing and squirming and kicking out as much as he could. No matter how much he pressed the machine into the ground, no matter what angle, it was no use - Dream was well and truly stuck.

The tickling finally stopped, but Dream couldn’t stop laughing. He was overwhelmed with the vibrations from the ghost tickles, still feeling the tingly circles and pokes over his torso as if they were still happening - even in the spots left untouched. He heard a noise from across the room and opened his eyes quickly, almost choking on his own breath as he saw George standing in the doorway, whose cheeks were bright red with his jaw dropped to the floor.

“G-George! I cahahan-”

“Dream?” George interrupted, his blushy cheeks somehow also appearing to be drained of all color as his eyes focused on the machine still wrapped around the blonde. “..What is that?”

The younger boy opened his mouth to try and explain, to try and make any excuse he could, but was cut off with a loud cackle when the machine clicked back on, the arms back in motion and making him scream.

“Noho not again! Nohoho plehehease! NOHOHO!” Dream let out a squeal that bounced off the walls of the room, startling George with the force of it. The older boy ran over and kneeled next to the blonde, trying to figure out what it was and what exactly was happening.

He watched with wide eyes as the metal arms poked and swirled and vibrated against Dream’s torso, focusing on his ribs and under his arms. The blonde let out a scream when the machine began to pick up speed and the bottom arms moved, making him arch up against the ground before falling back down against it, writhing and kicking as he did. Dream’s hands were wrapped around the bottom set of arms, pulling as much as he could to try and dislodge them, but finding it useless. George’s eyes trailed down to where they disappeared under the blonde’s shirt, moving a hand to grab the bottom of the fabric to slowly pull it up. George felt his face burning up as he saw the two bottom arms tickling at Dream’s belly button - one circling around the edge as the other pulled at it, occasionally dipping in and making Dream cry out in ticklish agony.

Dream swore he saw stars from how hard his eyes were squeezed shut. He knew he was screaming through his laughter, yet everything sounded muffled. His senses were on fire. The arms of the machine were sinking into every sensitive spot with precision, and with the two taunting the small indent in the center of his tummy, he thought he might seriously pass out at any second. His face was hot, and he could hear George talking to him and saying his name, but he couldn’t focus on anything else besides how horribly everything tickled. He attempted to open his eyes, but he was laughing so hard that his cheeks were keeping them squinted, blurring his vision and making it essentially impossible to see. Dream had no choice but surrender to the tickles, throwing his head back and letting himself laugh as much as he needed to.

He felt a hand grab his shoulder and pull him onto his side, and suddenly he could breathe again, taking in gulps of air and gasping through his cackles. George had managed to find the power button, finally freeing Dream from the ticklish hell he had been enduring. The brunette was carding his hand through the blonde waves, adjusting the two so that Dream’s head was resting against his thighs.

“Thank you, ohoho my God…” Dream managed through his left over giggles, turning to lay flat on his back as he draped a hand over his chest, letting out a deep sigh when he felt how fast his heart was beating. His eyes were still shut but he could hear the brunette laugh from above him, feeling his hand being moved from his chest and being replaced with one much smaller than his own. Dream moved his hand back, laying it over George’s and holding it for comfort.

“What even was that thing?” George asked hesitantly. Dream could sense the nervousness in the elder’s voice, opening his eyes slowly to adjust to the light and allowing them to focus on the brunette. George’s face was closer than he expected, making him giggle when George realized and pulled back quickly, clearing his throat and looking away from the blonde. Dream watched with a wide smile as George’s face grew an even deeper shade of red, clearly flustered at the situation he had walked in on.

“Well,” Dream spoke through his teeth, grunting as he moved to sit up slowly and cracking his back before turning around to face George. “You were nice enough to trust me with the whole tickling thing, so I wanted to do something special for you!”

Dream laughed as George physically cringed at the mention of the dreaded word, turning his attention from the blonde once again and looking down at his lap, picking at a loose thread in his pants to distract himself as he continued.

“O-Okay, and what? You decided you wanted to torture yourself to relate, or….?” He let out a squeaky giggle when Dream scoffed at the accusation, squirming to the side when a poke landed on his ribs.

“No, idiot. I actually made it…for you. For fun for us, but I was also thinking about it for the times where I can’t be there to help, you know?” Dream spoke gently, suddenly feeling shy about the whole thing and reaching behind him to pick up the small machine to hand to George. He watched as George’s face continued to turn a bright red, biting his lip to hold back the giggle that was threatening to escape to try and remain calm, knowing how embarrassing the subject was for the brunette.

“Dreeeeam,” George whined, holding the machine in one hand and bringing his free hand up to cover his face. “That’s…that’s just…”

He was struggling to find the words, torn between wanting to scream out in embarrassment, and wanting to cry because of how lucky he was to have someone like Dream supporting him. The younger boy giggled at the response, leaning forward and pulling the smaller boy into a hug. He smiled when he felt George lean into him, letting out a shaky breath as Dream used a hand to rub up and down his back soothingly.

“You’re welcome, Gogy.” Dream smirked, feeling George hide his face into the crook of his neck, whining about how much of an idiot he was. He let George pull away after a minute, using the floor to push himself up onto his feet and leaning down to offer George a hand. The brunette accepted it, grabbing the bigger hand and laughing when Dream yanked him to his feet as if he weighed nothing.

“I have a feeling this thing is gonna absolutely destroy you, Georgie.” Dream teased, poking at the machine and giggling when George turned his hips to prevent him from touching it. He noticed the elder’s blush had spread to the tips of his ears, the light pink color slowly turning a lighter shade of red the more flustered he became. George rolled his eyes at the blonde, hugging the machine to his chest as he spoke.

“Well, it sure did destroy you, didn’t it, Dreamie?” Dream made a move to walk towards the door, George suddenly stepping in his path and making the two almost collide together. He felt his own stomach flip at the question, taking a small step back and bringing a hand up to run through his hair as a way to cope with the nervousness he suddenly felt.

“I don’t know about that, but-” he tried to excuse the accusation away, but George was having none of it. He got a sudden wave of confidence, and mixed with his normal cockiness, Dream was doomed.

“No no no, you’re not gonna act like that didn’t just wreck you to pieces, Dream.” The blonde felt himself swallow hard as George took a step forward back into his space. “Which is kind of questionable, actually, because why would someone subject themselves to such torture if they didn’t like it? Care to explain?”

“N-No! No, I-”

“You liked it, didn’t you?” George held up a hand, slapping it over Dream’s mouth when he opened it to protest. “You wouldn’t have tried it if you didn’t think you’d like it at least a little bit.”

George removed his hand to let Dream answer, bursting into bright giggles when the blonde pressed his lips together tightly, his cheeks burning up and turning a dusty pink.

“I don’t!” George laughed at the way Dream was immediately defensive, not having any real excuse to offer other than a denial.

“Don’t worry, Dream. Your secret’s safe with me.” The older boy poked a finger into Dream’s tummy, making him jump back with a squeal. When he looked up again, George was walking towards the door, laughing as he went. Dream groaned, looking down at his shirt and bringing a hand up to his stomach, rubbing out the lingering tingles that George had left behind. He heard the door opening, looking up and being met with a very menacing smirk.

“Just to let you know, I absolutely will be using this against you. Watch your back, Dream. Your very, very ticklish back.” Dream felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched George flash him one last smile before turning to step through the threshold of the door with a wave, closing it lightly behind him.

Dream walked over to the crafting table, leaning back against it and letting out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. He sat down on the stool next to him, letting his head fall into his hands with a flustered whine, giggling to himself at how ridiculous the whole thing was.

When the flustered feeling finally passed, Dream was back on his feet, scribbling over blueprints of other ideas he had, making little improvements and upgrades as he worked. Dream decided he needed to up his game. If George thought that machine was mean, he decided to show him just how bad it could get. Dream was about to create George’s worst nightmare. Dream was determined to make George cry.

And he had just the idea on how to do it.

#lee!dream #tickle machine #this is different from the normal #and is very clearly set up for a sequel………so if u like this and wanna see more pls lemme know #again thank u to emma for letting me post this #thank u to summer for really hyping the shit out of this i don’t think i would’ve ever posted it without you #and thank u to my puppy cal for reading literally all of my fics and helping with the title #anyway…..enjoy!#mushie fics #mcyt tickle #my stuff

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underdark-dreams · 4 months

Text

[ch1] - [ch2]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.3

Rainstorms, hard conversations, and long-awaited kisses.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Pining | Word Count: 4,189 [Read on AO3]

In a lucky turn of events, Lorroakan was called away from the Tower earlier than usual. Perhaps more Nightsong business connected with Tav’s visit today.

More likely a soiree in the Upper City with the newly ordained Archduke Gortash and the city’s elite, Rolan thought to himself. Those were the parts of archwizardry that seemed to agree with his master the best.

Whatever the reason, his evening’s lessons were abruptly canceled—as Lorroakan’s projection materialized for a few seconds to unceremoniously inform him. Rolan felt his aching head throb with relief. He’d just been given a night of escape.

When the closing hour’s bells rang out from Stormshore Tabernacle, Rolan fastened up the shop in record speed.

Rather than head to his siblings’ rented flat, Rolan carved a path toward the Elfsong. It was still early yet—Cal and Lia wouldn't expect him for hours, if they expected him at all tonight.

A bit early to be visiting the tavern, as well. But watching the gray and downcast weather through the doors of Sorcerous Sundries all day had left him thirsty. Rolan breathed in the cloud-thick and misty air as he walked.

Even for the early hour, the main taproom of the Elfsong was almost completely empty. All the better; fewer chances at unwelcome stares and comments.

Despite having his pick of the entire floor, he slumped into a small table in the farthest corner possible and spilled a few coppers on its surface in preparation. He’d been ready to drink this day away for hours.

"Chancing murder this fine afternoon?"

As if summoned, a cup of Arabellan Dry appeared in front of him. Lakrissa plucked his coin from the table in the same motion.

Rolan’s work had left him little time to follow the city’s goings on. But he did recall something the Gazette's paper boys had been shouting in the courtyard this morning—the most recent in a string of grisly murders, apparently occurring just above his head.

No wonder the place was deserted.

"Can hardly be worse than what's behind us," Rolan said glumly, raising the cup to his lips without missing a beat.

Lakrissa plopped herself down at his table uninvited. "I expected to see your lover with you tonight."

"My—" It was different hearing someone else say it aloud; he coughed slightly into his wine.

“Cal told me she made it to the city,” Lakrissa explained.

Apparently Cal had taken the liberty of telling her everything else while he was at it.

"Of course he did." Rolan huffed a sigh. He supposed it was good that his siblings kept in contact with old friends from the road…but could they find nothing more interesting to talk about than his personal life?

"She's pretty," Lakrissa said, as if the compliment was somehow directed at him. "Brave, good fighter…good heart. How exactly you pull that off?"

Her candor would've insulted him, had he not asked himself the same question many times today alone. "No idea," Rolan said, unshouldering the heavy weight of his ego for just a moment.

"Hm. But you're hiding alone in a tavern, instead of off with her."

"I am not hiding," Rolan glowered at her, though he really was—and for the second time today no less. "I just needed to think, that's all."

"Ah…I get it." Lakrissa swung her bar towel over one shoulder. "She’s seen you."

For all of the times Rolan had visited the Elfsong Tavern while Lakrissa was waiting tables, she'd never commented on the ever-shifting landscape of wounds on his face. She was the type to keep her nose out of other peoples’ business, whether from discretion or from genuine disinterest.

Either way, Rolan appreciated it about her. He got enough prying and questions from his siblings anytime he went home; the last thing he needed was to be interrogated while he was trying to drown his sorrows.

Perhaps that was why Rolan felt he could ask her the next question. If nothing else, Lakrissa was a realist.

“Be honest. If you were her, seeing me like this—" he gestured a hand stiffly in the direction of his aching face. "What would you think?”

Lakrissa propped elbows on the wood table to support her chin, regarding him in her casually thoughtful way. "I'd think that your apprenticeship with that wizard isn't going too well. But that you must have a good reason for staying."

That seemed more optimistic than he could hope for. Would Tav respect his reasons the same way? Surely she must know by now that he'd take much worse for the opportunity he'd been handed, if that's what it took. He didn't put Cal and Lia through everything he had on the journey here just to give up now.

But for a moment, Rolan pictured what it might be like in reverse. Watching a mad narcissist like Lorroakan lay hands on her; watching her willingly return for more. His knuckles gripped pale around his cup.

Rolan surfaced quickly from that disturbing image. "Sure she wouldn't see a pompous idiot who’d bragged to anyone who would listen?"

Lakrissa tipped her head in a way that suggested she saw his point. "You've never struck me as an idiot, though. How about this, then—I’d see the man who stepped up to get his people through a nightmare and safely to Baldur’s Gate.”

Rolan swirled the wine in his cup, watching the waves gloomily. “She’s the one who made the way safe for us. You know that.”

“You’re so—” Lakrissa leaned back from the table with a laugh. “Gods. For a smart bloke, Rolan, you can be so stupid. I respected Zevlor,” she told him with sudden emphasis, as though Rolan might think she didn't. “All of us did. He’s the one who got us out of Elturel when half of them wanted to chuck us right back into Avernus. And I’ve no idea why he left us, or whether he’s even alive—” A rare wrinkle of emotion appeared between her brows. “But I do know that you were there. Alfie told me all about how you protected the kids and got everyone to Last Light after…everything.”

"Alfira's a bard," Rolan told her, as if she of all people needed reminding. Foolish dreamer was the actual term that came to mind, but he suspected Lakrissa was the type who would smack people for rudeness. "I've no doubt she exaggerated."

"Oh no, she said you were a complete ass about it," Lakrissa replied matter-of-fact. "And that you spent most of your time drinking the Harpers dry before Tav showed up."

Rolan's pride stung at the comment, but he couldn't exactly deny it. Lakrissa went on. "That doesn't change the fact that you kept them safe. You saved people’s lives, Rolan."

He let out a bitter laugh. "It was only me because all the good ones were already dead."

They stared at each other in silence for a beat.

"That's a pretty shit thing to say,” Lakrissa said quietly. “About them, and about yourself."

Rolan looked down at the dark liquid in his cup, but he couldn't think of anything nicer to say on the subject. He was finding it hard to be nice about anything these days.

"You're a hero, Rolan," Lakrissa told him simply. "And so is she. I reckon the two of you can figure it out…you deserve to give her a chance, at least."

Rolan only let her advice wash over him in silence. When Lakrissa shifted, he saw her grimacing over his shoulder.

“Damn. Alan’s giving me the eye—ugh, like there's anyone else to serve anyway—”

But she rose, and Rolan was ready to return to his glass until he felt a hand rustle between his horns—the way he'd often seen Tiefling parents do to their children back home.

“When you do see her, send her by?” Lakrissa asked. “I still owe her a drink.”

—

Rolan left the Elfsong a few minutes later. He found the wine had done little to quiet his troubled head, and something in Lakrissa’s pointed speech had made him feel too guilty to stay any longer.

As he stepped out through the tavern’s wide oak doors, a chill rustled through his robes. The storm was rolling angrily up from the port now.

Rolan kept his head down against the breeze that pushed much sharper and colder through the streets than before, sweeping river mist off the roiling Chionthar and plastering it against his face and hands. He thought wistfully of his good cloak—currently sitting useless in his room at the Tower.

Even after weeks in Baldur's Gate, Rolan was still learning to anticipate the rapid changes in weather that could descend on them from proximity to the coastline. Elturel was set deeper inland; they never got sudden squalls like this.

The few others he encountered in the streets were also rushing to their destinations with bowed heads, or else frantically boarding up their stalls against the oncoming storm. As he glanced up at the clouds again, a large, foreboding drop landed on his brow.

Rolan ducked down an alleyway south past the print shop. Not normally a shortcut he'd take at twilight, especially through Heapside. But any cutpurse stupid enough to be out in this weather would be easy to dispatch.

Within its walls, the narrow space muffled the sounds of the city. Rolan could practically smell the electricity crackling through the stormclouds above as he walked. All of a sudden there was a blinding flash, a clear peal of thunder, and rain erupted on top of him.

Sheets of it swept down like curtains with breathtaking ferocity, drumming loud against roofs and cobblestones and smothering the warm light from any street lamps he hurried past. His robes were soaked through almost instantly. Rolan swore and raised an arm to shield his vision against the rivulets already running from his hair.

Despite the shortcut, the path to Cal and Lia’s took longer than usual. Small rivers were forming through the streets from the rapid downpour, and the cobbles grew slick under his boots. Rolan had to catch his balance against stone walls and fences a few times. The clatter of rain and thunder was so deafening he could almost feel his brain rattling around inside his skull.

When Rolan stepped under the footbridge around the corner from home, the muffled reprieve made him let out a breath of relief. He paused for a moment to wipe the rain from his forehead and eyes, even wrung out the ends of his hair.

With his head tilted so, he caught sight of a cloaked figure standing on the doorstep to his siblings’ front door.

Where he stood was cast in shadow—combined with the thick curtains of rain falling between them, Tav hadn't noticed him yet, though they were standing just a few meters apart. She was squinting up at the number above the doorpost. One hand reached from under her cloak to knock, but she paused halfway through the motion as if second-guessing herself.

Was she just looking for Cal and Lia? Or had she somehow known Rolan would be here? But that didn’t make sense—even he hadn’t expected to spend a night with his family until a few hours ago.

Rolan stared at Tav’s upturned face, watching her lashes flutter as she blinked away a few droplets of rain. His heart leapt against his ribs from a bewildering mixture of love and fear.

“Rolan?”

Despite the downpour around them, her voice reached Rolan’s ear with a clarity that made him start where he stood.

She was peering at his figure through the curtain of rain between them. Then she rushed forward without a word, and before Rolan could react, her body collided against his wet robes with a smack.

He found himself immediately enfolded in her familiar scent as her cheek pressed against his. Rolan's arms circled to hold her of their own volition, every other tumultuous thought conveniently swept from his head.

Then she drew back, and she leaned up to kiss him.

Her lips were warm and welcoming as hearthfire. Rolan shivered slightly as he realized just how much the wind and rain had chilled him. When her mouth grazed a spot of broken skin, he flinched back at the sting.

"Oh." She stepped away as though he’d burned her. "I—sorry."

"It's not that," he told her. Unbidden, his hand reached toward the edge of her cloak to find one of hers.

Their fingers hooked together finally, and she inhaled in surprise. "Rolan, you're freezing! How long were you out in this?"

Without waiting for his answer, she tugged him forward to the door on the corner. She neglected to knock and simply reached for the latch, and the two of them spilled across the threshold in tandem with another peal of thunder.

Lia leapt up from the table, her shortsword at the ready and polishing rag in hand. Cal’s face appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking equally alarmed. The four of them stared at each other as rain poured into the doorway.

“For hell’s sake—”

Lia darted forward, and for a wild moment Rolan half-expected to be caught up in a hug. But she only pushed past him and wrenched the door shut against a fresh gust of rain, drawing the bolt across.

Muffled silence blanketed the room around them. After being out in the storm, it made Rolan’s ears ring. Beside him, Tav pushed her cloak’s hood back to her shoulders.

“Sorry about that,” she told his siblings with a breathless smile.

It triggered a flurry of activity. Lia was drawing her into the room, whisking her cloak off to hang it near the hearth to dry. Cal plunked a large cast iron pot of something steaming onto the central table—a good bit of it spilled over the side—and began poking around in cabinets to find another bowl. They were both talking over each other to Tav the entire time.

Rolan found himself rather left out of it all, and a bit indignant at the fact.

He spread his palms wide to either side, dripping a path across the floor in the process. “Hello?”

“Oh—” Cal blinked over at him as though just noticing he was there. “Hi, Rolan.”

Lia made no response, suddenly busying herself with putting away her whetstone and sheathing her sword. The cool reception wasn’t lost on him.

“Nice place,” Tav remarked, stretching her hands appreciatively toward the fireplace.

“It’s really not,” Cal said cheerfully. “But it’s better than we hoped, really. All paid for by that bast—”

“Hungry?” Lia interrupted, looking pointedly at Tav and not her older brother. Tav exchanged an uncertain glance with him.

“Not for me,” she answered. “But thanks, and thanks for the invitation. It’s good to see you both well.”

Rolan caught her eye. “Lia and I caught up the other day,” she explained.

“About what?” Rolan asked, unable to stop himself.

Finally, Lia leveled a stare at him. “Take a guess.”

She and Rolan looked at each other in silence for a tense moment. Internally, he was fitting together the pieces of Tav’s visit to the Sundries.

“Anyway,” Tav interrupted slowly, “Rolan and I were actually just hoping for a place to talk.”

“Ah—right. Should we step out?”

Cal’s voice sounded a bit strained; maybe he assumed that ‘talking’ was some kind of euphemism. The thought made Rolan’s ears grow warm under his hair, but Tav responded before he could open his mouth.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you two can’t go out in all this.” Her face turned toward Rolan, questioning. “Do you have a room we could go to?”

He nodded wordlessly and started down the hall. The fact that Lia and Cal both refrained from comment was a surprise—one that he felt grateful for. Perhaps they’d finally picked up on the tension between the two of them.

Rolan held the door to his bedroom open for her and followed her inside. He felt around for the candle sconce near the doorway and lit it with a word.

The space was small and plain, but quite clean; his duties didn’t allow him to spend many nights here. Even the narrow bed along the wall was still neatly made from last week.

As she reached to lock the door behind them, she turned to Rolan. “Do you keep clothes here?”

“What are you talking about?” He cringed at how bluntly his own words came out.

Without explaining, she slipped the small pack from her shoulders and tossed it to the floor. Then she swept past him toward the wardrobe and began rifling through its contents.

“Here—” She tossed a set of clean clothes onto the bed. “Change into these. Towel?” Not pausing for an answer, she dug for one at the back of the shelf and added it to the pile.

Rolan frowned at her back defensively. “I can take care of my—”

“Rolan, please just shut up,” she interrupted. She was still turned away, but there was a slight tremor in her voice. “We have a lot we need to talk about. And I can't concentrate with you looking like a wet cat.”

Rolan glanced down at his robes; droplets from the hem were steadily forming a small puddle between his boots. His combined appearance must be pitiful indeed at the moment. Too embarrassed to protest further, Rolan began working at the fastenings of his garments.

Though she'd seen him entirely naked before, something about this moment felt even more intimate somehow. He undressed silently as the muffled rainstorm continued against the shuttered window of his room.

As he removed each soaked layer, she kept her gaze averted to respect his privacy. Rolan did catch her glancing at him a few times when she thought he wouldn't notice, but there was more concern than desire in it. As if she was checking him over.

It did feel much more comfortable to slip a dry tunic and trousers over his chilled skin. Before he set his wet robes aside, Rolan turned away as if folding them in order to retrieve her handwritten note from the pocket. Rain had smudged the ink a bit, but the three most important words were still legible. He exchanged it for the dry pocket at his hip.

The leather tie from his hair—the same one she'd used that very first night—was slipped off and into his pocket as well.

Then he moved to sit on the edge of the bed and began roughly scrubbing at his wet hair with the towel, as if the force might inject some courage into his skull. His mind was currently swirling with uncertainty of what she would say next.

Rolan caught her eye from behind his loose strands of hair. To his very great relief, her expression softened.

“Let me—”

In a flash, she had curled up cross-legged behind him on the bed and was taking the cloth from his hand. She smoothed his hair back and squeezed rainwater from the ends.

Her touch was much gentler than his own—the gentlest thing he’d felt in weeks. Rolan closed his eyes at the feeling of her fingers combing against his scalp. He found himself very grateful she couldn't see his face. If this was the most she ever wanted to touch him again, he thought he could almost be satisfied.

“I spoke with Lorroakan today.”

Rolan sat quiet for a moment. “I know.”

“You’ve got more magic in one hand than that charlatan has in his whole fucking body.”

Her bluntness caused his lips to twitch with an unwilling smile. “I know,” Rolan repeated, more confident this time.

The fingers in his hair paused; he could practically feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. “Rolan, is that why he's doing this to you? Hurting you?

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Rolan told her. Making sense of Lorroakan was futile. He had stopped trying long ago, to save his own sanity. Even now, her questions stirred up an anxious frustration in his chest. “Does it matter?”

There was a soft rustle as she scooted sideways into his sight line—Rolan glanced over to see her brow wrinkled in a sad expression.

“How can you say that?” She replied. “Of course it matters what happens to you, Rolan.”

There was not a trace of insincerity in her face. Rolan found he badly wanted to kiss her again. Instead, he bowed his head toward the floor.

“This is just how it is,” he told the floorboards. “It won't be forever. I'm strong enough to bear much worse than this, you know.”

“I know you are—” Her fingers resumed their work in his hair, gently tugging and working at a small knot. “The point is you shouldn't have to.”

She was right, of course. He had no logical defense against her words. The room lapsed into silence instead. Beyond the walls, blustering sheets of rain continued to buffet against the roof tiles and window panes.

Tav spoke up behind him again. “Some of those bruises are old. You aren't healing yourself at least?”

She gave his skill more credit than he deserved. “I’m still learning how,” Rolan admitted glumly, glad again to be facing away from her.

In truth, healing scrolls were what he'd been searching for that night Lorroakan had accused him. If only he could see the techniques for himself—he was certain he could master them. The archmage had conspicuously neglected to allow any lessons on abjuration magic thus far.

The mattress behind him shifted as Tav rose. Rolan watched her move to snatch up her pack from the corner, then barely managed to catch it as the object sailed toward his lap.

“Take those,” she said as she clambered back up behind him to continue gently toweling his hair. “Keep them here, study from them whenever you want. They're yours.”

Rolan felt a thrill of pure excitement as he peered down into the leather bag—and found it filled with a score of tightly bound spell scrolls. This small cache was worth more gold than he’d ever seen together in one place.

He pulled one out to examine its formidable wax seal. “Where did you get all of these?”

“Um…don't worry about it.”

“Stolen,” he finished dryly.

Her tone grew playfully defensive behind him. “From a very bad man who is now dead. There, does that satisfy you?”

Rolan had turned to kiss her before the last word left her lips. The pack slipped to the floor between his feet as his hands notched behind Tav’s jaw to pull her forward. He felt a damp weight land in his lap as her now-empty fingers slid around his torso.

Rolan broke away just enough to speak. “Stay here tonight,” he told her. It wasn't a question.

Tav nodded, leaning back in for his mouth.

Her fingers splayed in the dip between his jaw and his ear, tilting his face into hers. He kept his palm firmly pressed on the curve of her waist. Each time her lips slid softly over his, Rolan found his heart filled with another shimmering pearl of hope. They stayed there connected in a kiss until his back began to ache from the contorted position.

To his immense disappointment, Tav pulled away first. But she only made a hesitant request to borrow some clothes for herself. Rolan finally realized with a jolt of guilt that her own were wet down the front, no doubt from that moment she'd held him outside in the rain.

Rolan trained his eyes away to give her the same privacy. But though Tav didn't meet his eye, she made no attempt to hide her body—in fact seemed to move with deliberate slowness as she stripped down and pulled the threadbare tunic over her head. It barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.

Then she moved to the candle near the door and extinguished it with a puff.

Through the near-darkness, Rolan worked the bedcovers down to slip beneath them. As his damp hair landed on the pillow, he felt the mattress dip beside him as Tav promptly curled herself in along his front under the blankets. Underneath, his tail moved with a mind of its own to wind around one of her legs. She let out a small, happy sigh that tickled across his chin.

Rolan briefly wondered if they were intentionally trying to distract each other. Tav had clearly come here to find him and talk, after all. And there was much more to say—he could feel all the words unspoken hanging between them like a tangible thing. From the way Tav’s fingers worried the laces of his shirt, he wondered if she was thinking the same.

But neither of them spoke for the moment, just lying together as they listened to the storm continue outside on the streets of Baldur’s Gate.

Eventually, Rolan laid his arm still across her and closed his eyes. She was so warm, her quiet presence so comforting—and he found now that he was very, very tired.

Perhaps the rest of it could keep until the morning.

#rolan x tav #can you feel how close they are to [redacted]#the fluffiest angst #bg3 rolan #bg3 cal #bg3 lia #sage and soldier #rebgrrl writes #underdark-dreams #bg3 fanfiction #tav x rolan

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