My Girl (Chapter 5 - Baldur's Gate 3 Fanfic)

we all got that one mutual that we’re lowkey studying

Reunions

Nature’s servant awaits.

Medusa and the blind woman in love

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fanfic writing culture isn’t “oh dang! I wanted to write about this prompt with this character but someone else already wrote it, so now I can’t”.

fanfic writing culture is always “two cakes is better than one. the more the merrier. there can ever be enough fics of this character with this prompt!”

Stay alive lesbians

SHOUT OUT TO EVERYONE WHO STILL TRIES TO GET BACK INTO THE SWING OF THINGS AFTER DEPRESSION HIT THEM HARD. THERE ISN’T ENOUGH RECOGNITION FOR THOSE PEOPLE WHO KNOW THAT THEY’RE GOING TO LOSE INTEREST AND MOTIVATION AGAIN BUT PUSH THEMSELVES TO DO STUFF ANYWAYS. YOU ARE FIGHTING A DAILY BATTLE WITH YOUR OWN THOUGHTS AND YOU’RE STILL COMING OUT ON TOP, YOU’RE ALL BRAVE AS FUCK 

Menzoberranzan Waltz

Karlach x Minthara fic that’s been sitting in my drafts

Read under the cut or on ao3 for funsies

Rain came down in sideways sheets - hard and angry - reminiscent of a broken lover’s tears. The quick flooding caused by the downpour had turned most of their Rivington campground into deep muddy sludge, umber brown and unforgiving, curling fingers of darkness trying to drag Minthara back down to the Underdark. Her small wisteria frame shivered at both the thought of returning to a home in which she was no longer welcome, and the chill from the cold rainy air that was soaking into her marrow. Her heavy boots became caked with sticky earth as she made her way from her tent to the rickety wooden barn where the other adventurers were gathered.

The Drow’s pointed ears flicked upwards at attention as she neared the barn. A cacophony of noise emanated from the barn, the loudest of which being a lively tune Tav was playing on the violin. Finding shelter under a wooden awning, Minthara stopped for a moment to listen. The upbeat tune was high and fast, coaxing whooping and shouting from those within the barn who were excitedly encouraging Tav to continue. Peering into a window, Minthara spied Wyll dancing a lively jig with Astarion – likely a dance they had learned from Karlach. Aylin and Isobel were there as well, swaying in a corner to their own music, while Halsin clapped his hands along, and Shadowheart animatedly explained dance moves and mechanics to Lae’zel, who likely didn’t understand what the dance was or why it even mattered. Jaheira had secreted herself away in her tent with a book and a bottle of wine – something Minthara should have done herself if not for her curiosity getting the better of her.

Minthara trudged on in the gloom, mud sloshing up over her boots and onto her greaves. She wasn’t in the mood for lively dancing or cavorting with her younger companions. Orin had made an appearance in Rivington and that was the sole topic on her mind - the pain of what she had done to her when Minthara was under her enthrallment, the shame of feeling tricked and betrayed by one she thought she could trust, and the fear of what Orin could do to her if she were to fall into her grasp again. The horrors of what she had done in the name of the Absolute would forever scar her. It was fair to say that she had committed just as many atrocities in the Underdark, but at least that was because it was the culture of her homeland and on her own volition. She had no excuse for her barbarism on the surface, neither political nor personal, except that she was deceived, used, then thrown away like a broken plaything.

Dark thoughts continued to plague her mind as she ducked under trees and foliage for refuge from the storm. A few feet from the barn stood another wooden shack which was barely standing in the deluge, but sturdy enough that no rain leaked through the roof or walls. A reddish-orange glow emanated from the doorless entry, pulsating heat and steam. Minthara hid in the opening for a few moments, observing the heat source – Karlach. The Drow’s ruby eyes rolled over Karlach’s body, taking in her scars, her tattoos, and the ridges of her skin along with the vents embedded in her. Her eyes followed up the line of Karlach’s arm. The Tiefling was laying on her back holding Clive aloft in front of her with outstretched arms. Although the stuffed bear was held out in front of her face, Minthara noticed that Karlach’s eyes seemed to be focused elsewhere, fixed on nothing, a thousand miles away. A thought fluttered into Minthara’s brain, surprising her as it formed: the Tiefling was more beautiful than the evening sun and the rising stars.

A sharp breath escaped her nose as she leaned, finally visible, against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You are not in the barn. I would have expected to see you dancing the night away, wet as it is,” the Drow spoke softly, almost as if she was just as far away as Karlach’s eyes.

Karlach drew her arms back in and sat Clive on the ground next to her. She didn’t look at Minthara when she replied, “Just wasn’t in the mood, I guess. Don’t have anyone to dance with anyway, so.” The metal vents in her shoulders scraped the wood as she shrugged against the floor.

Minthara hummed. She didn’t have to ask why and knew Karlach wouldn’t want to talk about it anyway. Ten years in the Hells only to enjoy a few months on the surface before she overheated and was gone for good. Or, alternatively, a return to the Hells. Neither was optimal. Nor was sulking in a decrepit shack in the middle of a monsoon. But Minthara understood her loneliness. Under the cold façade of Drow, she knew what it was to be utterly alone and helpless. In those days and hours that she fled the Goblin Camp for Moonrise Towers, she had felt that loneliness crawl into her own bones. Then, whilst being interrogated by Z’rell and Ketheric, and tortured by her jailers, she knew complete abandonment. Minthara went to take a step towards the Tiefling, but hesitated. The music was loud enough to be heard still, but the tempo was all wrong. The Drow reached out with her parasite to their half-Drow male leader, then she paused, scowled, and waited. A slower tempo floated into the room as her request was granted. Of course it was. Jaluk.

She finally approached Karlach and stretched out a hand towards her. “May I have this dance?”

Karlach sighed, “You don’t need to offer me a pity dance, Minthara.”

“I pity no one,” Minthara stated bluntly. She did not pity Karlach. She understood her. It was different, she told herself.

She continued to stand over Karlach, hand outstretched, until the Tiefling finally relented. Minthara was dwarfed by their size difference, something she had quietly admired ever since they had met at camp. Despite Karlach towering over her, Minthara took the lead. “Place one hand on my shoulder and one on my waist,” she instructed, “and stand so we are two hand widths apart.”

Minthara led her slowly: forward step, slide, close, turn, then step back, slide, close, turn and repeat. Karlach fumbled at first, stepping on Minthara’s foot more than once, but it was a slow enough dance that she picked it up quickly. After a while, they simply swayed along to the music, settling into the quiet intimacy of the moment, not realizing that they were no longer two hand widths apart, nor actually waltzing. Minthara’s arm had become tightly wrapped around Karlach’s upper body, whilst the other had dropped from the Tiefling’s hand in favor of resting up against her sternum. One of Karlach’s arms rested against her shoulders, while her other arm snaked around her slender waist, the hand pressed perfectly into the small of her back.

Eventually, Karlach worked up the nerve to tease her by remarking, “This sounds like a funeral dirge.”

Minthara chuckled low and replied, “It is! Isn’t it wonderful? It’s a Menzoberranzan waltz. I –” Minthara shyly looked away, but continued, “I haven’t danced like this since I left home.”

Minthara exhaled against Karlach’s chest. She didn’t know why she had admitted that, but it was the truth. The last time she had waltzed was at her mother’s birthday party when Minthara was still young enough to dance and fuck all night long, then do it all again the next day. She laid her head against Karlach’s chest, right over her infernal engine, and closed her eyes. She remembered that night as they swayed in the infernally-lit darkness. She had donned an ankle length dress of blood red with high heeled shoes to match. Her hair, much shorter than now, feathered around her face and bounced with her every step as she waltzed around the room with every available woman willing to take her hand. And most were more than willing to take the hand of a Baenre. She let another thought surprise her: she imagined Karlach illuminating the Underdark, taking her hand in a slow waltz and dancing until they were breathless and laughing.

Karlach’s voice drew her from her fantasy, “Did you dance a lot down in Menzo?”

She wanted to answer, ‘Not with anyone like you.’ Instead, she responded with a short, “Yes.”

They continued to sway even after their bard leader changed to another upbeat tune. The Drow was simply enjoying not only the warmth of Karlach’s engine, but also the strength of her arms engulfing her small body. Karlach had rested her chin on the top of Minthara’s white hair and was rubbing absent minded circles on the back of her neck with her thumb. “Minthara? You alright?” Karlach asked softly after their swaying had crossed into a second jig.

Minthara pulled back slightly and, smiling, dropped her arms awkwardly to her sides. “Yes, I… I apologize, Karlach.” She wanted to say more. So much more. But for someone as typically bold and outspoken as Minthara, she found herself suddenly almost shy around the Tiefling. She found herself caring about what Karlach thought about her, and in turn, the group’s decisions and her own desires for the future. Instead of saying any of that, she turned and walked back towards the doorframe. Before she left, she glanced over her shoulder and said, “Thank you for the dance.”

born to be a sweet polycule’s housepet forced to be employed