Literally More Or Less How My Coming Out Actually Went

reblog this if your icon could kill a man

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

I'm here! And someone else is as well 😲

Yups, this is the one in which Lae'zel gives birth. Are you ready?

Ship: Shadowzel

WC: 1,272

Warnings: some of the eggs don't make it. It also gets a little angsty, but it's basically what you'd expect from a story about childbirth.

Read under the cut or on AO3. Comments and reblogs will make me very happy!

Shadowheart paces up and down the corridor. Goes down the stairs. Then back up. Leans against the feeble railing and counts the metallic pipes creeping up every wall. And the iron beams holding up the ceiling. What a hideous place! She pities the members of Crèche Zav'rai, forced to live in such depressing surroundings.

Her glance keeps returning to the double doors behind her back. They're way too thick and robust to let any sounds through, so she has no way to know what's happening on the other side. How many hours have gone by? Is Lae'zel alright?

It was the middle of the night when Lae'zel woke her up. Her thighs were moist and there was a sharp pain in her lower stomach. According to what she had read, those were unmistakable signs that the eggs were coming. So they hurried out to the crèche despite the rain pouring down and the darkness; too nervous, too excited to notice. Much to Shadowheart's surprise, those gith have been rather hospitable to them both. They've allowed her to borrow a few clothes and take off the ones she was wearing while they dry near an old furnace that is now used for forging swords and spears instead of steelwatchers. Now all she can do is pray that the doctor and her assistants are as competent as they were polite. Or hopefully more.

Through the high, distant windows, she can see that the day is dawning. Soon the halls are filled with steps, instructions she can't understand and the sounds of different tools. Every now and then, small groups of young gith walk past her, giving her curious looks. Some seem surprised, some wary. Of course. She must be one of the few – if not the only – istiki to have ever set foot in there. Even Orpheus seems to be watching her closely from the painting on the wall.

She muffles a yawn with the palm of her hand. The chairs in the makeshift waiting room – which is technically just the landing in front of Am'aari's office – look anything but comfortable, but she lets her full weight collapse atop one of them. She's exhausted. If it weren't for the nervousness of not knowing how her wife is, she would have already fallen asleep. A part of her thinks it's ridiculous. Why shouldn't she be allowed to be in the same room while Lae'zel gives birth? Especially when it's not a usual birth. The vision of Lae'zel cradling her own stomach – which at this point looks comically big and round compared to the rest of her – and holding back a grunt as she bends makes her wonder if that's what her parents' hens experience whenever they lay eggs. On the other hand, if she recalls correctly, githyanki eggs are a considerable size, much closer to an owlbear's than a chicken's. Squeezing one of those out must be excruciating.

No. She mustn't think of that. Lae'zel will be fine. Her people will take good care of her. They won't let her die. Unless they consider dying at childbirth another form of terminating the frail.

That last idea gives her chills.

Breathe in. She'll be alright. She's as tough as they come. If she's made it through the pregnancy with no complications – extreme mood swings and reckless ideas aside – she'll make it through this. She's fine. She's fine. She's fine.

The incurable wound in the back of her hand flares. It hadn't bothered her in months. Shar must have forgotten about her, after all. The pain is not as intense as it used to, merely a sting, and it doesn't come with fragments of traumatizing memories. Perhaps Selûne's wicked twin is only reminding her to embrace loss. Or feeding on her dark emotions.

Such assumptions are crossing her mind when the opening door startles her. A young gith pokes their head out.

“She is ready to see you now.”

That sounds like good news – a sign that she's still alive and conscious. Quite honestly, that's what matters most to Shadowheart. Her legs shake as she stands up and follows the doctor's apprentice inside.

Lae'zel is lying in a narrow bed, drenched in sweat. Although there are no visible traces of it, the metallic stench of blood lingers in the air, barely disguised by soap. Her wife's eyes are no more than slits, like a sleeping cat, but her face brightens as soon as she sees her. A hand reaches for Shadowheart's weakly.

“How are you feeling?” Shadowheart asks.

“Exhausted. Dazed.”

Her cheeks are flushed and her brown hair sticks to her head, damp and darkened. Shadowheart's thumb caresses Lae'zel's knuckles.

“Does it hurt?” she wonders.

“Now? It does not,” Lae'zel responds, her voice small and raspy. “I have been given some concoction to numb the pain.”

“That's good.”

Even nodding seems to be a big effort for her. Their hands still touching, Shadowheart bends down to plant a gentle kiss on Lae'zel's lips. Apparently, she doesn't have the strength to return it, but her tired smile grows wider. Ghustil Am'aari's steps approaching distract them from the conversation.

“May I speak to you for a moment, istik?”

“Her name is Shadowheart,” Lae'zel corrects.

Shadowheart can't help but grin at that. It's sweet that Lae'zel acts protective of her even in such a state. Nodding at the doctor, she squeezes her wife's hand and trails behind the healer. Once outside Am'aari pushes the heavy door closed.

“Lae'zel has laid three eggs,” she informs. “Two of them are too small, but the third one looks healthy, so the likelihood of it hatching is high. This is normal for a first-timer.”

A certain relief invades Shadowheart. She may have had a few months to mentally prepare for the possibility of more than one child, but it's still daunting. At the same time, she feels a pang of pity for the two hatchlings that will most likely never make it. How will Lae'zel feel about it once she's lucid? Will she mourn their loss? Call herself a failure for only being able to bring a single hatchling into the world? Hopefully not.

“We have decided to keep Lae'zel here until the egg hatches,” Am'aari continues. “We think it is best for her to be under observation, and for the hatchling to have its mother nearby when it arrives.”

“I understand,” Shadowheart responds. “Can I stay with her?”

“I am afraid not. As a new crèche, our resources are rather limited.”

A jolt of anxiety courses through her innards. Being separated from Lae'zel, especially in such a delicate moment, terrifies her. Not being able to comfort her when the effects of that potion wears off. To hold her when she wakes up in the middle of the night in that unfamiliar bed. To celebrate the baby's arrival with her. To hear immediately if something bad happens.

“How long will she need to stay here?”

“For as long as the egg remains unhatched. We cannot possibly know the exact timing. It may be three days or a full tenday. You may visit her if you wish to, but chances are that she will be sedated or resting, especially on the first few days.”

“Of course. Thank you, ghustil.”

Only once she's far enough from that old factory, dragging her two feet to the closest portal, does Shadowheart allow herself to shed a few bittersweet tears. Sweet with the happiness that everything went well and that she will finally meet their first child soon. Bitter with the uncertainty of how she and Lae'zel will manage without each other, even if it's only a few days.

I feel like we need to talk more about how fucking boring depression can be. I pick up a book and can’t read more than a few sentences, a chapter if I’m lucky, before I can’t focus. I knit two rows of something and then can’t continue. I scroll through all the different options of shows I haven’t watched without clicking on any of them. I hop from app to app looking for content that will spark literally any single emotion. It’s not even 10am and I already feel like I’m just waiting until it’s time to go back to bed.

I hate it I hate it I hate it

do me a solid and just reblog this saying what time it is where you are and what you’re thinking about in the tags.

kill the imposter syndrome in your head because not only is there someone out there doing it worse than you, they’re also using chat gpt to do it

Why are you not real? lol

ah yes, the four main food groups: chinese takeaway, coffee, carbohydrates, and pussy

Posting this here because it’s one of my faves and because there’s nothing you can do to stop me!

Sewer Journals

What this fic has:

Jaheira being nosy as hell

Smut (because it’s me and apparently I can’t just write a regular fic - it’s not reeeally dirty like usual tho!!)

Ultra-soft Nine-Fingers Keene (deal with it)

What this fic does not have:

Uhm. Idk. Jaheira showing restraint like she ought to since she’s the High Harper and old as hell

Summary:

“Jaheira let out an amused breath. Sewer journals. It would appear the Underduke kept detailed diaries. Coded details of all past, present, and possibly future Guild business? A clear advantage; knowledge she absolutely must learn. She picked an older red one and opened it to a random page. She had long ago learned the code in which Nine-Fingers wrote her Guild communications, but the code in these pages seemed slightly different. Certain symbols and letters replaced ones that Jaheira knew well. But she was a quick study, always had been.”

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

My work program crashed at 10:30 and never came back up, so no records were managed today. I accomplished nothing except eating a bag of cookies that served 3 and talking to friends online to keep me company. I believe my day here is done! I’m going to go home to my lovely wife and my four favorite gals 💃🏻