#I will defend Wyll to the death

[gaylittleguys]

it’s actually so fucked up and evil that random white npcs from bg3 that show up twice got more dedicated fans than Wyll

[soulessjourney]

No Time To Die

Paring: Astarion x fem!TavReader

Word count: 2k

Summary: Astarion and Tav share an intimate moment alone after she is wounded during the battle with Cazador.

Warnings: Little Angst, Mentions of violence, OOC Astarion, Fluff and lots of it

The battle with Cazador proved to be no easy feat, particularly when he was determined to have Astarion play a role in his ascension. Astarion stood steadfastly by your side as you confronted Cazador, with your other companions ready for a fight behind you. The moment Astarion was torn away from you, everything blurred into a reddish haze. Astarion's pleas for freedom echoed, while Shadowheart and Wyll urged you to focus on reaching him. You needed no second prompting as you skillfully cut through your adversaries, your attention fixed on the vampire positioned on the opposite side of the room.

Upon reaching Astarion, you extended your hand toward him, only to be abruptly pulled back and thrown to the floor, Astarion tumbling a few feet away from you. "Tav!" Karlach's voice echoed as your gaze caught a blade coming your way. Rolling to the side, you winced at the clash of metal against the marble floors. Rising to your feet, you evaded Cazador's lunges, his eyes filled with madness.

"I will not let you hinder my ascension. Why defend Astarion so fiercely? He's nothing and will never be anything. You're protecting damaged goods," Cazador taunted, his words dripping with venom as he sliced at you, catching your arm. A yelp escaped you, catching Astarion's attention as he raced toward you, stumbling over his feet. Everything unfolded in slow motion as you found yourself on the ground again, your back colliding with a pillar. Astarion had tackled Cazador, but his words were unintelligible amid the growing ringing in your head.

Sitting up, you leaned against the pillar, a sharp pain shooting through your side, eliciting a strangled groan. Looking down, your mouth opened and closed in a silent scream at the sight of Cazador's dagger firmly planted in your side. A gasp emanated from Shadowheart, who dropped to her knees. "Oh gods, Tav," she whispered, her hands hovering over the dagger. The battle played out in her eyes as she deliberated whether to remove the dagger, the odds seemingly against you with its deep implantation in your side.

Astarion did a double take as your face paled, and you slumped further against the pillar. The prospect of your death weighed heavily on you, considering that Astarion would finally be free. However, another realization struck you - he would be left alone, just as he had been for the past two hundred years. The thought of abandoning him in such a manner became unbearable. Your vision began to blur, your eyes focusing on Astarion as he repeatedly stabbed Cazador, his broken screams echoing through the room. He had forsaken his ascension, and some part of you felt a sense of pride. Astarion was giving up something that he knew, deep down, would lead to his destruction.

Letting out another groan, your eyes began to droop shut as you felt Shadowheart shaking you. "Tav, stay with me, do not close your eyes," panic filled her voice. Opening your eyes slowly, you could see the pure horror on Astarion’s face as he stood and stumbled towards you. Your other companions rushed towards you, screaming your name as you descended into a realm of slumber.

----

The atmosphere around the camp was tense. Wyll and Karlach sat by the fire in complete silence, while Gale, Halsin, and Shadowheart were stationed in your tent, working fervently to save your life. At the edge of the camp, Astarion paced, running his fingers through his silver locks. Lae’zel observed her companions before setting down the dagger she was sharpening.

“Pacing and looking so down won’t save her life. If anything, I would say you’re more likely to end it with the amount of brooding you all are doing,” Lae’zel remarked, scanning the individuals in front of her.

Karlach was the first to speak up. “I’m sorry, mate. It’s just that she’s in there alone, fighting for her life, and there’s nothing we can do but hope the other three can save her.” She shifted her eyes to Astarion, who, a few feet away, was still pacing. “I'm also worried about Astarion; he clearly blames himself for what happened to her.”

Lae’zel nodded, letting out a soft hum of agreement. “You say she’s alone, but she is not. Tav has us here waiting for her, does she not?” Lae’zel asked, watching as Karlach looked back towards her and nodded. “Then don’t say she is alone when she is not. As much as she can get on my nerves, Tav is strong, and she wouldn’t let something as small as a dagger take her out of this world. She’s our stubborn leader for a reason.”

Her words were interrupted by Shadowheart and Gale stepping out of the tent, whispering amongst themselves before taking a seat on the log just to the right of Lae’zel. “How is she?” Wyll asked, attempting to keep his voice low, perhaps to prevent Astarion from finding another reason to pace a hole into the ground, if he hadn’t already.

Gale sighed and looked to Shadowheart, who appeared just as defeated. “We did all we can. Now, it’s up to her to finish the fight. Halsin is in there now in case something happens or if she wakes.” Shadowheart gazed toward the tent, her eyes softening. “She’ll wake up. She has to.”

Gale stood up and made his way towards Astarion, stopping just short of him. “It’s not your fault, Astarion. She knew what was going to happen; she took that dagger for you so you could live,” he said, watching as the vampire ceased pacing. “She knew the risks, and she was willing to take them all for you.”

Astarion turned to face Gale slowly, his gaze broken. “What if I lose her? That would just be one more person that Cazador took from me. Even from the dead, he wants me to suffer like I always have,” he spat, balling his hands into fists. “She has to live, Gale. Not just for me but for all of us. We are so close to winning this war; we can’t lose her now.” Astarion felt like he was losing his mind. He had given up ascension for you, his one true love, and now you were knocking on death’s door.

“Have faith in her, Astarion. When have you known her to simply give up? Tav would fight the Netherbrain blind if she had to. She has taken on an entire goblin camp just to save that owlbear, and she saved an entire camp from an attack, all because that’s who she is. She wears her heart on her sleeve, but a fighter like that is as strong as they come. We have been traveling nonstop for days and fighting along the way; she’s burnt out, and the injury was no help. All she needs is rest, Astarion,” Gale said, turning to walk away. Stopping, he looked over his shoulder. “Out of both of us, she chose you to love, and as hurt and betrayed as I may feel, doesn’t that mean something? She’s not going easily, so go stay with her, hold her hand until she wakes,” he said before walking off to join the others.

---

After a lengthy conversation with Halsin, Astarion found himself kneeling next to you. He had successfully convinced Halsin to leave the tent, reassuring him that he would fetch him once you woke or if something went wrong. Holding your hand tightly, Astarion looked down at you, observing the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. You looked so peaceful, but he despised how quiet you were now. Much as he would never admit it to you, your bickering with Karlach and Shadowheart kept things interesting for him. The way you would joke around with Gale or Wyll, and even crack some horribly made jokes in an attempt to make Lae’zel smile, was something he adored about you. You were more than just a group-appointed leader; you were someone who brought joy into his miserable life. You were his best friend, his lifeline even.

Reaching down, Astarion brushed a strand of hair from your face with a sigh. Gale was right; you were burnt out. These past few weeks felt like endless fighting or traveling. You were always the first to jump to your group's aid in battle, and even when injured, you made sure to check on each and every one of them. He should have noticed just how off you seemed after your fight with Ketheric Thorm. You appeared drained, but he chalked it off as mere fatigue after battling a literal god. Although that was true, looking back, you had changed slightly afterward. You weren’t as quick to block attacks in fights, and you seemed slower when walking. Something about that fight took everything out of you, but Astarion, being Astarion, kept pushing everyone, including you, to reach the city. He was so desperate to reach the city that he became blind to how tired you were. Then the fight with Cazador happened. You had barely had time to react before his dagger found its way into your side, and it was all his fault. If he hadn’t pushed you and allowed everyone to rest, you wouldn’t be in this position right now, covered in sweat and fighting for your life.

Reaching down and gently squeezing your hand, he felt his frown deepen. “You know, Darling, this isn’t fair. You finally gave me something to care about, just for you to end up like this. I may not have a true beating heart, but sometimes you make me feel as if it is truly beating. I don’t know how you did it, but it’s truly terrifying, Darling,” he said quietly. It was true; this new feeling he had towards you terrified him. For two hundred years, he had never had someone he truly cared about, and he had never had someone show him as much love as you had.

Astarion hated confessing his feelings to you, terrified that he would lose you forever after admitting he was using you, especially when you were so gentle and honest with him. But you were never angry. Instead, you were understanding and supportive of his concerns. It was when he received his first hug from you, and later on that evening, his first kiss from someone real. You were so real to him, and he would burn down the entire city if it meant protecting the one real thing in his life.

Smoothing back your hair, he leans down, pressing his lips against the crown of your head. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the twitch of your hand or the change in your breathing. "Don’t tell me you’re getting all sentimental on me, Astarion. I would be the one thinking something happened to you," you grumble, keeping your eyes closed and relishing the feeling of his lips against your forehead. A strangled laugh escapes you at the way he tenses before pulling away.

As he looks down at you, you notice how his red orbs seem to glisten, on the verge of tears. Your eyes soften as you meet his gaze, and a small warm smile spreads across your lips. "How long—" "Long enough to hear just the tail end of what you said," you shrug, shifting to sit up. Astarion is quick to help you, turning his head as if he's about to yell something, and that's when it hits you. "Astarion, if you call Halsin in here right now, I will send a stake through you."

Astarion can't help but let out a surprised laugh at your words and the way your eyes narrow into a teasing glare. Reaching up, he caresses your cheek gently and nods. "Then Halsin can wait, but it doesn’t mean I won’t take care of you. You’re everything, Darling. I won’t let anything harm you ever again," he whispers, leaning down to brush his nose against yours gently.

Leaning your forehead against his, your smile only grows at his words. "Then I guess the feeling is mutual. I will protect you even if it means I have to kill Cazador and take a dagger to the side a million times over. For you, I’d do anything." With that, you press your lips to his in a silent promise. In other worlds, Astarion may be the one protecting you with everything he has, but in this one, you’d ruin yourself just to see his smile.

[jeeaark]

drama drama drama

That one time the second kiss Greygold gave Wyll led to an actual relationship because Lae'zel and Greygold were never actually official, ahahahahahastressful

Look, Greygold had absolutely tried their best to impress Lae'zel as a no-nonsense, nothing-but-tough soldier, but Greygold is as good at hiding their soft mushy bits as Astarion is to hiding he's a vampire spawn.

This is just Lae'zel's way of gently letting Greygold know that she knew all along.

Further long-winded thought process below:

Y'all, my brain could not register what Lae'zel had said and how they got back together again after the whole Wyll They, Won't They dance debacle because I was totally not freaking out about accidentally losing dat chance with Lae'zel at all~

So I like to think that if Lae'zel had heard Greygold's reasoning for "moving on", Lae'zel would've been too flabbergasted not to accidentally spill out some act 3 confessions early herself.

And sure, the only time wyll disagreed with Greygold was when they defended the caged goblin from getting shot and insisted keeping the vampire spawn that almost drank Greygold to death around , but Greygold took that personally.

But if Wyll had heard Greygold's reasoning as well, he'd've had also probably given a similar speech by which then Greygold would've probably fallen in love with Mr. Charming right then and there. Thankfully, Lae'zel swooped in first before we got to the point of a YA novelized love-triangle

[princesssmars]

something something riding karlach until she sees stars. 18+.

karlach is about ninety percent sure her engine is about to fucking explode. and one hundred of that ninety percent is all your fault. its no secret that you're beautiful, annoyingly perceived as so by pretty much everyone who meets you. she could tell when you first walked up to her from across that branch without fear, later telling her you already knew she wasn't the murderous psychotic devil everyone made her out to be. you listened to her story, defended her against wyll, and she could tell the irregular tick in her chest wasn't just her being nervous about facing probable death at the hands of the blade of frontiers himself.

(although if she had to die at your hands she wouldn't much mind. which is normal. in hindsight, she could also remember her subtly flirting with you. also normal.)

and she's so happy that despite your shared bundle of traumas and saving-the-world problems you could find some respite in each other. she's also really happy that as sweetly as she treats you you also understand how fucking horny she is after ten years of absolutely no contact and then meeting someone who is just as crazy for her as she is for them.

which is how she got to the current moment, her nails digging into your hips as you straddle her hips and rock yourself into her, each subtle glaze of your clit against hers bringing a strangled moan out of her throat.

she's not above begging, especially to you, but everytime she finds the ability to speak without releasing sounds of ecstasy she loses it in seconds. everything she's feeling is too overwhelming in the bestways possible, your hand running through her hair, the other palming at her breasts and bringing out very new and very embarrassing squeaks out of her, your legs squeezed around her waist which just brings her attention and eyesight back to the brief view she can get of your pussy when you pull your hips back before bringing them forward again.

she must have been hyper focused on the space between your legs because your hand is bringing her head back up with a giggle, asking her where she went with a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, smiling when her eyes close and her lips fold like shes holding herself back, the exact opposite of what you want her to do.

"'m sorry. i just...fuck, soldier, you're killing me here." she gasps, bringing your hand to her chest to feel her newy tuned engine, the heat growing by the second as the blue flames flicker across her skin.

"gods, you really are burning up. we cant stop if you want-" you start to pull your hips off of hers when her claws dig in harder and simultaneously force you down while she thrusts up, loud moans leaving both of you that make you very glad you put a spell over the area inside her tent.

she keeps going, thrusting her cunt into yours while you struggle to keep up, wrappong your arms around her neck when she lies flat on her back and spreads both of your legs further apart, your shared wetness making the glide of your cunts so much easier and all the hotter.

"dont stop, please dont stop. i'll die if you do."

you take a few seconds to catch yourself when her noises take on a more whiny approach, little 'fuck fuck fuck-'s whispered into your ear as she bucks her hips like a madwoman. with a sadistic smile you adjust your body so your nipples can rub over hers the same time you bite into her neck and with a strangled cry she comes, continuing to buck her hips until you fall apart on top of her.

you can feel her breathing slowing down beneath you, the heat of her engine cooling down to a comfortable heat. you start to move your head up to give her a smile and check up before you feel her hips move again, the feeling of your clit being overstimulated nearly making you cry. when you do get to look ather she already has her eyes focused on you, heavy lidded as harsh breaths escape her mouth.

"its starting to look like you'll die if i dont."

"well, i always knew id go out with a bang..."

teehee

[mllemaenad]

Listening to Wyll's backstory in context of all the details we're acquiring on devil's contracts and soul selling is fascinating.

See - I listened to Lann Tarv's three tales to get my soul coins. I felt bad for making Karlach listen to that, obviously, but to be honest I didn't even want the coins that much. I actually wanted the stories. I wanted a better understanding of how this works.

And what I'm learning is - for the gods (and godlike beings) of this world, cruelty seems to be the point. I mean - it's possible there's a god in this world I wouldn't want to stab to death with a rusty fork, but if so I have not met them yet.

These beings have the power to save people and places, to change lives, to do anything. And when someone asks them to - they demand a terrible price. But they don't just demand a price. They subvert the original request in such a way that they utterly fail to deliver on the original promise.

An abused woman wishes to be loved - and her true love appears, but dies instantly. A man wishes to save his children from starvation, and ends up personally growing masses of meat on his own body - not only painful for him, but forcing his children into survival cannibalism, which they were trying to avoid.

Auntie Ethel works the same way. Every one of her customers is left in a tortured state, while Ethel still takes her payment.

The idea is that the person must come to regret their wish long before the payment comes due. Every cry for help must be met with a boot to the face. Or else the mortals will get uppity? Or something.

What is interesting is how consciously Wyll defies that. And how much Mizora is dancing around, trying to force him into that state of miserable regret.

Wyll was manipulated into selling his soul. He was a kid, and he was summoned into a terrible situation - and in that moment, he could see no other way to save the city. Mizora did need to save Baldur's Gate to serve her boss's purposes, so she couldn't take that victory from him - but she did everything she could to take the joy of it.

He didn't get respect, or admiration, or his father's pride for saving the city. He lost his home and his family. He was assumed to have done something monstrous because he was denied an opportunity to defend himself.

That was supposed to fill him with bitterness and regret - but he got to work building his own life instead. By the time you run into him, the Blade of Frontiers is a hero of some renown. He's remade himself, and found a way to enjoy what his powers can do, however he came by them.

So that didn't work.

Then Mizora sent him after Karlach, and that was a mission tailored to break him. Karlach is kind and heroic herself, and that the start she has been sold into slavery, mutilated and forced to fight in a war against her will. If Wyll killed her, and then found out who she really was, then he betrayed everything the Blade of Frontiers is supposed to stand for - and he would lose the life he made for himself.

But he didn't, and that didn't work either. He's got a friend, now, who at least knows part of what he's dealing with.

So Mizora gave him demonic features. That would destroy the life he's made for himself, because no one would trust him to help them.

Except now Wyll basically goes nowhere on his own, and a small army of people can attest that he got those horns and eyes as punishment for being a good man. Mizora might be able to shut his mouth, but she can't silence his friends - and the group absolutely have shouting sessions about everything. Wyll's horns become a battle scar, like his missing eye, and nothing more.

And beyond that, if you are playing as a heroic character, a significant throughline in the game's story is the journey of the tiefling refugees. The story makes it clear that these people experience a constant barrage of racism, due to their appearance and "demonic" heritage. It also makes it abundantly clear that this prejudice is entirely undeserved - they're just people, with virtues and flaws like everyone else, and what is happening to them is terrible. So Wyll turns up to assist a bunch of people whom he now at least somewhat resembles - and with Karlach along, you have two people in the group who technically count as "infernal", but haven't got an evil bone in either of their bodies.

Mizora created solidarity. Oops.

Wyll is deeply suspicious of gods and higher powers. He doesn't want to make more deals with devils. When Elminster arrives to tell Gale what Mystra demands of him, he explicitly says he does not do religion. When you get Mizora to agree to let his contract expire in six months, he starts by casually invoking the gods - but switches to thanking the player character instead, because he knows who helped, and who did not.

But he utterly refuses to regret the pact he made. That can be a struggle. He clearly misses his dad, and would like that relationship repaired. The fact that he was transformed very much against his will is clearly a source of distress from him.

But if he regrets, then Mizora wins. That's it. Game over. She gets what she wanted all along. So he doesn't.

The main companion characters all have this kind of problem, and naturally have different ways of dealing with it. You have characters like Shadowheart and Lae'zel, who were indoctrinated as children, or Gale, who was literally seduced by one of these nightmare deities - and with them you have to start out by convincing them they they were the wronged party in the first place.

But Wyll knows exactly what game he's playing, and he's been screaming defiance the whole time. It's just that, in his case, the "defiance" is grinning and carrying on every time Mizora inflicts some more bullshit on him.

[petit-etoile]

i  need  you  when  i'm  falling  apart

pairing  .  ⊱   astarion x tav wordcount  .  ⊱   3,489 part one  .  ⊱   here . content warnings  .  ⊱  mentions of canon compliant temporary character death,  spoilers for act iii endgame other tags  .  ⊱   canon compliant,  character study,  introspection,  p.orn with plot,  pwp,  vignette,  re-establishing relationship,  blood drinking,  m.issionary position,  tav is gender neutral archiveofourown  .  ⊱   here .  

taglist  .  ⊱  @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene, @lavenderslemonade, @candyladycry, @chonkercatto, @foxxyhun, @nyxmainex, @angelmawss2, @godoffuckedupcats, @raviolixxx be added  .  ⊱   here .

summary  .  ⊱   You have learned to be good. It's time Astarion learns to be forgiven.

During the heart of spring, Astarion spends more time trying to avoid you than he does trying to catch up with you. You’re not even sure why he agreed to travel alongside you  —  but you do not ask. You press your lips together and push on anyway.

His eyes are cold, and red.

The first night when you set up camp in an abandoned temple, Astarion moves his tent to the other side of the sanctuary as if he cannot bear to be around you. Like you smell. You’ve never cared much for the thoughts or opinions of others, but an inkling of self-doubt creeps back into the depths of your mind. What is the cost of being good if no one treats you kindly?

Every interaction you have with him is like pulling teeth. You want to fight for the tieflings, and Astarion wants to leave them behind. You want to help Wyll find his father, and Astarion snorts. Any good deed you suggest, he finds the need to punish.

When the cambion Raphael reaches and touches your cheek with a promise of opulence and salubrity, you're reminded of a night two hundred years ago. You stumble out of the House of Hope as fast as you can.

You don’t stop walking until daybreak. One night, you explode on Astarion. Your feelings bubble up like bile in your throat.

‘I tried to look for you!’ you snap at him. ‘You can sit here, and you can be bitter, but if I had known, I would have looked for you! But I didn’t know  —  I didn’t know and it isn’t a crime!’

Astarion’s look of surprise is one thing. He furrows his eyebrows as if properly scandalized, and his frustrated scowl turns to ash when you throw his old cravat at him. You had kept it tied around your neck for two hundred years. You wouldn’t keep it a day longer.

It’s a horrifying mistake to go wandering off in the Underdark by yourself with nothing but a hunting knife at your side, but you never really gave much thought to how you would cope with the gravity of the situation. The fact that you knew Cazador only made matters worse. You stumble past the ruins of the Selûnite Outpost in hopes of running away from your past.

You don’t run into your past in the dark, but you do run into a Spectator.

You’re immediately thrown into darkness and narrowly avoid being petrified, but you have no idea what you’re going to do about this situation besides hide beyond some poor stoned soul. You might should have considered thinking it through. You might should have thought anything through but you didn’t, and that’s the only crime you’ve committed in quite some time. It isn’t a crime is something you’ve begun to repeat to yourself often.

You manage to defend yourself for quite a while in the darkness, but by the end, you’re nursing a nasty wound and bite from the Spectator that will take some time to heal. You’re tucked under some petrified Drow bastard when you hear Karlac’s battle cry and see Gale’s ice spell come from the cliffs. The one that catches you off-guard, the one that will always catch you off-guard, is Astarion flipping through the air with nothing but an elven bow like a prince from your dreams.

Defeating the Spectator is easier with allies, and even the Drow protecting it goes down without much of a fight. You nurse your wounds as best you can, sitting against the cliffs with a bleeding thigh, and try not to frown when Astarion approaches.

‘Give me that,’ he says quietly, snatching one of Halsin’s potions from your fingers. ‘Even after all these years, it seems like you still need protecting.’

You frown and pick at your torn breeches. ‘I know how much you hate that, your honor.’

Astarion looks at you for the first time in several tendays, eyes rimmed with red. ‘I never hated it,’ he says. He dresses your wound like it pains him to see it. ‘I don’t hate it even now.’ Astarion crashes into you full force the night you arrive at the Last Light Inn after you’ve talked to Jaheira but before you’ve talked to anyone else. You’re in your room, and the next thing you know, you’re not alone.

Two hundred years of loneliness are erased at that moment.

His teeth clack painfully against yours as he shoves you into the wall, too uncaring or too pent up to care about the force. He cradles the back of your head to keep you from cracking it on the wall, but other than that, Astarion doesn’t care about hiding the full force of his strength. He kisses you until your mouth is swollen and then he’s tearing your night shirt open with both hands like he can’t get enough.

‘Astarion  —  ’ you try to say, startled.

But you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss him too. You let Astarion push you around, until you’re both stripped of your clothes and he’s lying flat on his back on the hard wooden floor with you pulled into his lap, his cock pushed deep inside you, and his hands unable to stop wandering the planes of your body. Astarion all but sobs into your mouth as he fucks you. He holds your cheeks in his hands like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

When you’re both finished, no one moves from the wood floor despite there being a bed. You lie on your side next to him, memorizing the slope of his nose while you still shiver with little twinges of pleasure still racing up your spine and between your legs. Astarion’s eyes are closed. He’s pretending to sleep, or pretending to be dead so you don’t have to talk about what’s happened, but you’re curious anyway.

You reach across the distance and touch his chest. You know there’s no heartbeat beneath his ribs, but you like to pretend. You close your eyes and dream it has been nothing but two hundred years of happiness and bliss in Astarion’s home.

‘When I first saw you,’ you say quietly, ‘I thought you were a ghost come back to haunt me.’

‘Are you often haunted by ghosts?’ Astarion asks. He still doesn’t look.

‘I’ve been properly reformed while you were away,’ you tell him. You stare at his neck. ‘There was only one ghost I was running from.’

He smiles. ‘And now you’ve found him. What do you think about this haunting?’

‘I am happily haunted,’ you say honestly. He opens his eyes then and turns toward you, lips pressed into a firm line. ‘But you are not happily haunting.’

Astarion sits up then and you follow him, legs sticky and wet. You reach for his hands and pull them into your lap. You watch as he struggles to accept a kind touch. In a way, you understand that. You remember how kindly he treated you when you didn’t deserve it. You hold his hands even when he tries to run away.

‘I was ashamed for you to see me like this,’ Astarion explains. He looks away, hesitant. ‘My condition isn’t one that I’m proud of. It isn’t fair to say I was tricked, but  —  ’

‘Wanting to live doesn’t make you a bad person,’ you say.

‘Perhaps not,’ he says. ‘But I became what I often chastised you for. I am greedy. I am prone to lying and bouts of theatrics. I’ve killed. It was embarrassing to fall so low.’

‘And now you rescue orphans,’ you say, shrugging. ‘You helped the gnomes. You helped the tieflings. You’re going to help the gnomes and tieflings again. There’s still good in you, your honor, beneath all that vampiric avarice you despair over.’

Astarion laughs and turns away from you. He’s looking for his clothes, and your heart squeezes so tightly in your chest that you move before you can stop yourself. You drape yourself over Astarion’s back and pull his arms away from his smallclothes. You can tell by the musculature of his arms that you only succeed because he lets you.

‘Please don’t leave me alone again,’ you whisper against his shoulder. Your wet eyelashes tickle the nape of his neck. ‘I waited for you that night and… I don’t want to be alone anymore.’

Astarion stays that night.

He stays every night after that too. For what it’s worth, your third visit to Baldur’s Gate is hardly better than the first two.

Between fighting cultists, saving children, and trying to convince most of your party that they’re not going to become mindflayers, you’re beginning to run a little thin. You feel like you’re going to shrivel up and die. You feel like the world is spinning and falling apart. You’ve killed Gortash and you’ve killed Orin and you killed Ketheric ages ago, but now you’re trying to keep the Emperor from betraying you and sacrificing Orpheus, and Cazador’s invitation is sitting pretty in your hands, and  —  

Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? Cazador’s invitation is in your hands, and you don’t have the heart to show Astarion. You’re afraid of showing Astarion. You know that as soon as you show him the invitation, he’ll lose his mind. You’ve only just recovered him and you’re already worried about losing him again.

You bury the invitation in the garden behind the inn like you’re a dog with a bone. You shovel the dirt with your hands until they’re cracked and raw and bleeding and the invitation is buried six feet in the ground. It should scare you that Cazador knows who you are, but it doesn’t. You aren’t stupid enough to run headfirst into his trap. And Astarion isn’t stupid either, but he’s scared, and being scared makes you do stupid things. Astarion almost does a very stupid thing like you predicted he would.

The Rite of Ascension was right there in his hands, and he had almost consumed it. You aren’t sure what changed his mind at the last minute but you’re thankful. Astarion crawls into your arms that night and sobs for hours. ‘What are we going to do about tomorrow?’ Astarion asks you softly.

He’s been tracing patterns into your spine all evening. If he moves his hands now, you’d still feel his fingertips against your skin. You’re hiding your face in your arms so you don’t have to think about it. You can’t stop thinking about it.

‘We’re going to fight the Absolute,’ you say.

‘Like it’s that simple?’

‘I am going to look another god in the face,’ you say, ‘and I am going to tell it to fuck off back to Avernus.’

‘Do Netherbrains come from Avernus?’

You don’t know. You’re too worried to think too hard about the simplest details. So far, you’re every plan has been to go in, stab whoever is the loudest, and then leave before things get worse. It’s hard to keep your head above the waves as they keep crashing down on you.

You don’t want to talk about tomorrow. If things don’t go well, you’re all going to die anyway and all that planning will have been for nothing. You turn on your side and appraise Astarion’s expression. He’s looking at you with muted disbelief. You choose to ignore it.

‘What are we going to do after tomorrow?’ you ask.

Astarion opens his mouth to chastise you for changing the subject, but he closes it almost immediately. He doesn’t want to talk about it either. It’s a scary thing to walk into the end of the world with a sword and a dagger. At least Dame Aylin will be there. You hope she can just stomp the Netherbrain to death and then it’ll all be over.

‘I could always go back to being a magistrate,’ Astarion says conversationally.

He picks at a thread coming loose on his blanket.

‘If you go back to that, I’ll go back to being a criminal,’ you muse. ‘We can have nasty sex on your desk again. You always did look damn good in a cassock.’

Astarion laughs. He laughs like the sunlight that peeks through the window on a sunny morning. He laughs like the moonlight that splays on the cobblestone of Baldur’s Gate long after everyone else has already gone to bed. It’s hideous  —  it’s melodic and intoxicating, and you reach across the distance and touch his cheek without thinking.

You slide your finger across to his nose. You press your finger against the wrinkle between his brow, and Astarion starts laughing again so you do too. You kiss him while he laughs, and then he holds you and you both laugh together. He will never be a judge again. Your connections with the Zhentarim will die out.

Astarion brushes his fingers against your hip bone. He rolls out of bed like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do, and you miss him. Already without him, the bed is much colder. You dramatically crawl across to his side and press your nose into his pillowcase to smell the faint traces of whiskey that are left.

When he returns, he presents you with his old cravat which has been neatly restored almost to perfection. He had sewn it back together himself. You had worn it for two hundred years as a good luck charm against evil, and the wear and tear had nearly torn it to shreds. You’d never had the heart to try to tailor it yourself. Sewing wasn’t your strong suit, and you had never cried over Astarion’s death until the day you thought you had lost it.

Astarion neatly ties the cravat around your wrist like a promise. He kisses your skin and inhales as though in a dream, nose brushing against the fabric, like the touch of a ghost against your veins. Your throat tightens.

‘Wherever this takes us,’ Astarion says, eyes burning. ‘I want to be there with you in the end.’

You tuck inside your bed with Astarion that night and watch the moon disappear through the window. It’s barely daylight when you’re finally too exhausted to stay awake, and Astarion almost lets you both miss the final showdown. Lae’zel, however, doesn’t. ‘I don’t mind what we do,’ Astarion is saying, ‘once we get to the  —  ’

You watch with muted horror as Astarion’s skin begins to glimmer in the sunlight. The fire begins cracking under his skin, brimming against his cheekbones and nose and throat and hair much like Karlach when she overheats. You watch as the tips of his ears ignite, and then he’s searching for you frantically between all of your friends.

‘I have to go,’ he chokes out. ‘I have to  —  ’

There is a world where you let Astarion run alone, where you both get separated on the docks and never find one another again. He runs from the sun as he bursts with radiant energy and as stars pour from his skin, you forget what Wyll is saying, and you run after him.

Astarion finds sanctuary in melting shade beneath a set of boxes. He’s curled up into himself when you arrive, and you drop next to him, pulling your cloak over your heads. He looks up at you, bewildered.

But you have lived through losing Astarion once, and it has haunted you for two hundred years. You had known loneliness and fear and anger, and the thought of surviving it for even a day more makes your stomach roll. You press your forehead to Astarion’s and stand as tall as you can so the sun can’t touch him ever again.

‘Won’t your arms get tired?’ Astarion asks you faintly.

He watches you with a sense of wonder. His skin slowly returns to normal, no more flickering stardust and ash, and you grin. He slowly smiles too, nervous but you shake your head and keep your cloaked raised.

‘Never,’ you say. ‘Not when it’s you.’

‘My reform worked, then?’ he says.

‘I’ve learned about your stuck-up decorum,’ you say. ‘It’s true. I can confirm.’

‘A sense of propriety?’ Astarion asks, and if his voice goes any softer, you’ll melt too.

‘Let me carry the weight of your sins,’ you tell him sincerely, laughing a little. ‘And if we need to find another desk then we will. But I’ll be your knight in shining armor, your honor, and carry a parasol above your head as a proper chamberlain would.’

Astarion snorts. ‘That isn’t quite the job of a chamberlain.’

You hold the cloak up for two hours at least while Astarion recovers from the damage. You can’t help but notice that he looks happy and content even in the shadows. It must be because you’re there, although you’re hesitant to take credit for all his happiness. When you let down the cloak, the sun has set. When Astarion rises, he kisses your cheek sweetly. ‘The silence stretches on  —  I’m all alone,’ you muse, ‘Please, can I hold your hands, just for a while?’

Bernard’s arms wrap around you gently, and you wrap your arms around his steel ribs. You’ve taken up residence in the old Arcane Tower in the Underdark. You appreciate the permanent nighttime, and if you admitted you only did it because Astarion wanted to be close to his family, it wouldn’t be entirely true. With a bit of help from Gale, you’ve managed to turn the tower into a comfortable fortress. Sometimes Omeluum comes to visit you. Occasionally, there’s word from Shadowheart from the Selûnite Outpost. She’s hoping to restore it. She wants you to come visit.

‘Are you still playing with that dusty old thing, my love?’ Astarion hums from the doorway.

‘You be kind to Bernard,’ you warn him. ‘He’s my friend.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Astarion says, holding his hands up. ‘I’ll be kind to the scrap metal.’

You roll your eyes and step away, touching Bernard’s chest briefly. Astarion has just arrived back from a trip. There are spawn all over the Underdark now, and they treat Astarion as though he’s some sort of prince. They heed your word too, but none so much as his. Their eldest brother, their favorite. They tolerate  you if it means getting to see Astarion.

You’re a jack-of-all-trades and master-of-none now. You leave your handiwork for the day or night or whatever it is to go down to your bedroom and recline in bed. Astarion lights each candle one by one until the room is illuminated. You smile and watch as he works.

‘Having responsibility suits you well,’ you say, resting your cheek on your palm. ‘Although it’s funny how our positions have changed somewhat.’

‘I’m the contracted killer,’ Astarion says with a laugh. ‘Are you a magistrate now?’

‘I have at least four hundred years of life left,’ you snort. ‘I, Magistrate Judge Stick-Up-My-Ass, sentence thee to fifty years of community service!’

Astarion rolls his eyes at you dramatically and throws himself into bed, kicking off his boots as he does so. He smells of fresh oils and mist. You bury your nose in his hair. You practically burrow yourself into him, wrapping your arms and legs around him like a mindflayer. You squeeze him tightly in your arms.

‘We have a sprawling manse and all you can think of to do all day is mock me for a position I have not occupied in two hundred years?’ Astarion pouts.

You kiss his hair. ‘What else should I do?’

‘Well,’ Astarion says, tone turning conspiratorial. ‘There are a certain amount of fuckable places here. Several desks, I’ve counted them all, and couches.’

You contemplate it, but after several tendays on the road and a wiggling visitor in your head, you think the bed is the best place. You pull Astarion up to kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck so he can’t leave you. You never want him to go again. You bump your nose against his and hide a smile in his coiffed hair when he melts against your chest.

You sigh prettily when Astarion takes you in your velvet sheets that you float as though in a dream. Your troubles are long over, and that person you thought you lost  —  your immortal soul  —  has returned to you as beautiful as the day you lost him. When you shudder, Astarion brushes hair out of your eyes adoringly and tastes your pulse at your jaw. You dig your fingers into the small of his back.

It’s like you’ve found a family. A very bitey, very competitive family. Still, you wouldn’t change any of it for the world. You hold Astarion’s face in your hands and see the man you knew and the man he’s become. Slowly, you pull his mouth towards your neck and feel your heartbeat jump in your chest.

He bites you for the first time that night.

[ryemackerel]

ref with no filters!! vvvv

scarlet rose from my “this is not the end” (tine) au! her design started from a doodle of me trying to integrate barn owl characteristics into her design, and it later progressed into her own ref. tried bringing back aspects of her old design while changing up things to make her more into an oc.

scarlet rose is a self-taught warrior the gods of life and death trusted to defend them after the death of their child, wyllow, to the hands of the god of chaos, lucid. along with her wife, scarlet vows to protect the family by all means necessary.

for years, she has been long-time friends with the family and their children, sunflower and wyllow. knowing that there was nothing to stop wyllow’s death from lucid, the family used everything in their power to protect themselves from lucid himself, and that meant putting their trust in the warriors they knew would protect them. scarlet holds those she cares about deeply and will do anything to keep them safe.

i can imagine wyll and scar would reunite with each other again YEARS after wyll’s revival. after ages of rebuilding bonds with each other, and with wyllow’s trust, scar would be the very person that tells the family wyllow survived. especially after years of the family not knowing whether wyllow still made it out alive from lucid’s wrath.

[thedreamlessnights]

Someone to shed some light - pt. 8

Astarion x gn!Reader

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: With Gale arriving, you and Astarion discuss your futures away from Calthir.

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, and vampire bites.

Word Count: 2.6k

Your dreams are restless things, even in the warmth of Karlach’s spare bed. 

Cal once told you that troubled minds make for troubled sleep, and the sentiment has always proven itself true. There’s no exception tonight. Your mind is the most troubled it’s ever been, and your sleep is no better. 

It’s his face you see the most. At first, only flashes of things: sensations and images, as quick to come as they go. The wrinkles on his forehead, the grey of his eyes, the feel of his strong, callused hands. Then, longer things, more memory than dreams. Working the tavern with him in the quiet of the early morning, warmth flooding from the nearby fire. Hot drinks in winter, flickering candles in the dead of night. 

Your anxieties meld themselves to things long past, intertwining reality and nightmares. Picnics by the lake turn to mouthfuls of sticky, metallic blood and running, running as fast as you can until your muscles ache and scream and finally buckle underneath you. Your knees scrape against the dirt. Cal’s screams echo in your ears. His laughter bubbles up into the air. 

There are other things, too. Erelin, her eyes bloodshot and cheeks flushed, hunting you in the night. Aris, signing a contract in ruby ink, quill dripping with it, hands coated in it. Cazador Szarr, nothing but a mass of darkness, a mere silhouette - but his signature sears into your vision like a brand. It burns, it burns, it burns.

When you finally come to, it feels as though you’ve gotten no rest at all. Your muscles ache and your cheeks are wet, and your trembling hands won’t go still. When you finally see Astarion sitting at the windowsill, it almost feels like you’re still asleep. You’re expecting something to harm him, something nice to twist itself into something utterly tainted, but it doesn’t come. 

He’s curled up under the sunlight, studying something down on the street, still in his clothes from last night. His shoulders are wound with tension, his brows are pinched together, and his arms are folded across his chest. Even half-asleep, it doesn’t take a genius to realize that he doesn’t feel safe here like you do. 

Last night had been so full of chaos, you hadn’t even taken the time to consider it but - of course he wouldn’t feel safe here. Why should he? You’re among friends you can trust, people you know perhaps even better than yourself, but everyone here is a stranger to Astarion. You know that Karlach and Wyll and even Gale would give their lives defending him on principle alone, but he doesn’t. All he has is your word, and it can’t mean very much when there are still dozens of people hunting him.

As soon as you sit up, his head tilts the slightest bit toward you. He’s heard you, but isn’t willing to tear his eyes from whatever he’s looking at.

“Your friend’s just arrived,” he says simply. 

“Gale?” you ask, getting to your feet. Your throat is still thick with sleep. 

He shrugs. “I presume,” he says. His tone is sharp enough to cut.

You can’t resist leaning closer, following the trail of his eyes. Guards, posted not far from the front door. Ancunín guards. 

Astarion doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. You know very well what he’s thinking. Those guards are a key back to his mother, a key to safety. He’ll be running into Erelin’s arms as fast as he can - anything to get away from the unprotected nature of the city. The vulnerability that never ends as long as Cazador is after him.

With Calthir’s hand around your throat these last few weeks, you’d nearly forgotten that the two of you would be separating. Now that it’s actually happening, it feels like the shard of a blade lodged in your chest. You don’t dare try to talk him out of it. You know him well enough to know it’s a futile effort.

The two of you are similar that way. There’s nothing you can say that would convince him to stay, and there's nothing he can say that would convince you to go. An impasse. A quiet, mutual understanding.

You should go down and see Gale, but not quite yet. Not while you finally have a moment with Astarion without danger or soldiers breathing down your back, or sleep pulling at your eyes. Not when you have precious little time left with him.

“Astarion,” you start.

He instantly bristles. “Yes?”

“I know you’re going to her no matter what, but how exactly are you planning to do this? Are you turning yourself in to the guards?” 

“I don’t know,” he mutters. He hisses out a breath - air pushed through clenched teeth, then composes himself. “I suppose I’ll just… tell them who I am. They’ll take me to her, and then it will all be over, won’t it? You’ll run off with your little friends, and I’ll be protected from Cazador.”

“But what will you tell her about me? If she knows I’m in the city-”

“Relax, dearest,” he says, giving a loose flick of his wrist. He still isn’t looking at you. “I’ll tell her you got mauled by a bear. I escaped the vicious beast, naturally.”

Silence settles over the two of you, thick and aching. You want so badly to ask him to stay - to reconsider. To run away with you, to get out from the claws of Erelin and Calthir. 

You know he would never accept. 

Your palms are already beading with sweat. You wipe them dry. “Thank you,” you finally reply. “I appreciate that. Really.”

“Well, darling, if being here is what you want,” he says, his tone dull, “who am I to stop you?”

Another beat passes.

“I’d better go see Gale,” you tell him. “Don't leave just yet?”

“Of course,” he responds. “I couldn't leave without saying my goodbyes, darling.”

Goodbyes. 

You close the door after you, and the shard in your chest pushes deeper as you head down to the main room.

The Wizard of Waterdeep looks just like you remember him - give or take a few grey streaks, a few new wrinkles. As soon as he sees you, his eyes light up and a smile breaks across his face. When you dash into his arms, he smells like home. Coffee, books, a touch of something warm. 

“There you are,” he says, propping a hand on your shoulder as he steps back to look at you. “According to Karlach, you’ve had quite the journey!”

“I have,” you reply, examining his expression. How much does he know? You shoot Karlach an anxious glance and see the emotion returned in her eyes. She hadn't told him about your predicament, then.

“Sorry. Didn't want to say anything,” she explains, rubbing the back of her neck. “Figured it was a story you should tell, you know?”

Gale’s expression sombers as he looks from you to Karlach, then to Wyll. “Has something… happened?” he asks.

“Gale, my friend,” Wyll says, “you’d best fill your plate. This story will sit better on a full stomach.”

“Not hungry, soldier?” Karlach asks. She’s looking at Astarion, tension drummed up into her shoulders. He’d come down in the middle of your explanation to Gale, and now he’s staring at the plate set in front of him like it's going to bite him.

“Er - no appetite, I suppose,” he responds, plastering on a smile. “Trying times and all.”

She clearly doesn't believe him, but she doesn't press the issue.

“Well,” Gale says, rubbing at his temples, “I suppose I’d better start a letter to Tara and my mother. They’ll worry if they don't hear from me. And, given the circumstances, who knows how long it will be before I’m able to return to Waterdeep.”

You lean forward. “You don't have to stay, Gale, I don't want you to feel obligated-”

“Oh, pish posh,” Gale says with a wave of his hand. “I’m staying. This is no minor trifle. I’ve made up my mind, and there’s no talking me out of it.”

Karlach beams, flashing her fangs. “Eyy! The more the merrier,” she exclaims. “You might have to conjure yourself up a bed, though. Already full to the brim.”

“Not a problem,” Gale says. “I’ll make myself comfortable.”

“Good man,” Wyll exclaims, clapping Gale on the back. “We’re happy you're here.”

As the three of them ramble on, eventually discussing what Gale will be making for dinner, you glance over at Astarion and find his eyes on you. He raises a brow. A silent question: When are you going to tell them? 

It’s a good question, to be sure, but the more pressing matter is how you’re going to tell them. What can you say? 

Sorry everyone, I know you’ve just met him, but my husband is running off to return to his horrible mother!

Both of you would look ridiculous. 

You give a small shake of your head in response, hoping he’ll understand. It’ll be easier to explain to everyone after he’s gone. It’s not as though he’s particularly close to any of them, after all.

He nods, then goes back to examining his nails. Eventually, Karlach leads Gale to an open area to get himself settled, and as soon as they’re out of the room, Astarion is on his feet - wrapping his cloak around him, slinging his pack over his shoulder.

He turns to face you, and that shard from earlier makes a painful reappearance.

“Well, my sweet,” he says softly. “I suppose this is goodbye.”

Something uneasy stirs in your stomach. “Shouldn't I come with you?” you ask. “What if something goes wrong?”

He scoffs. “And exactly how are you planning to do that without getting yourself caught?”

You give a shrug. “I can tail you. Make sure everything goes alright.”

He tilts his head, but fondness lights his eyes. “Clingy little thing, aren't you?” he asks, giving you a light chuck under the chin. “It’s your neck on the line, darling.”

You can still feel the dull ache of the marks he’d left in your skin from his last feeding. Tender, hidden under your collar at the junction between shoulder and neck.

“A neck which I’m planning to keep intact,” you respond. “Don't worry about me.”

Really, you shouldn't be leaving the safety of Karlach’s home unless absolutely necessary, but something isn't feeling right. Your gut tugs at you, saying something you can't understand, and it’s strong enough of a pull to have you putting on your own cloak and following after him.

Astarion would never let the others accompany him with something like this, not when he doesn’t know them, and he’ll be leaving with or without you. Going along with him seems the best option. The only option, really.

The guards are further away than they’d been this morning from your view out the window, but Astarion seems to know his way. Is he familiar with the city? It takes a good amount of weaving through the crowd, but no one stops twice to look at either of you. A good sign, you hope. 

Just as the pit in your stomach has churned itself into something almost painful, Astarion slows. The guards are just ahead, standing post in the distance. Then, he turns to look at you one last time and waves. 

This is it. Goodbye. Who knows if you’ll ever see him again. If you’re completely honest, you’re not prepared for this. You already know you’ll be spending the next year dreaming of rosemary and bergamot, waking with the echoes of sharp teeth in your neck and soft lips pressed against yours.

For just a moment, your resolve falters. For just a moment, you almost follow after him - damn everything else. Then, the memory of that suffocating castle catches up with you, and you halt yourself before you can do something you’ll inevitably regret.

Astarion means a great deal to you, but he could never make you happy. Not in a place like that. So long as he’s in Erelin’s shadow, the two of you could never be together.

So, instead you swallow down the lump in your throat and manage a wave back at him. He smiles a little - the edges of his eyes crinkling before he turns away. 

You barely manage the composure to stay. Your body yearns for him, pulling with a magnetic force. Your mind tells you to run, to go back to the safety of Karlach’s home. Your soul can manage neither. It’s all you can do to flatten yourself against a nearby wall, silently observing as he approaches the guards. 

The tension is torturous. The days are rapidly cooling, and there’s a bitter chill in the air, but sweat still drips down your neck. Your hands are clammy, and something in you is feverish. Something here feels so very wrong.

The conversation is long, too quiet for you to hear. The guards shift from foot to foot, exchanging glances as Astarion talks. One of them speaks. Astarion stiffens, then replies - something heated, judging by the way his gestures increase. Another response. A shaking of the head.

More gestures. A glance over his shoulder to make sure no one has taken notice of him. A final response before the guards walk away, leaving him behind.

By the time he makes his way back to you, Astarion is coiled up like a spring, ready at any moment to snap.

“Astarion?” you ask, unable to hide the shock in your voice. “What happened?”

“I can't believe this,” he says indignantly, puffing up his chest. “They wouldn’t listen to me!”

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to avoid laughing at that. “They probably get someone posing as the missing prince on the daily.”

“No one knows I’m missing yet, darling, and that’s beside the point. What in the hells am I supposed to do now? Who knows where my mother is, and - even if I knew, those idiots wouldn't let me in to see her!” 

You rest a gentle hand on his arm. “We should get back to Karlach and the others,” you suggest. “I know it’s not your favorite option, but it’s better than being exposed like this.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, holding all his tension in before he visibly deflates. “Lead the way,” he says, punching out the words through gritted teeth.

The two of you slip back through the crowd and through Karlach’s front door with relative ease. Your disappearance doesn't seem to have been noticed, but Astarion is still wound tight as a noose. He throws off his cloak and paces up and down the floor in a rage, eyes flashing in anger.

“This is ridiculous,” he fumes. “Absolutely ridiculous! Really, you’d think those morons would at least - check! Verify with someone higher up! Instead, the half-wits threatened me with a week in prison. I can hardly believe the nerve. As soon as I get back to my mother, those two will be out of a job!”

Karlach must hear the disturbance, because she pops her head through the doorway and observes Astarion’s madness as he stalks across the room. “You alright there, mate?” she asks. “Hungry? Need some water?”

“He’ll be fine,” you tell her. “He’s just had a bad day.”

“If you’re sure,” Karlach says. “Just… let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

Astarion stops pacing, but his hands ball into fists. “For the love of the gods, will someone please tell me there’s a half-decent wine around here,” he snaps.

Gale leans into the room from where he’d been watching, a small smile growing on his face. “You wouldn't happen to have a taste for Elverquisst, would you?”

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi

[orphic-musings]

The pain we wrought from words unspoken…

Characters: Karlach x gn! reader, Wyll x gn! reader, Halsin x gn! reader, Aylin x Isobel, Bex x Danis

Genre: Angst, fluff (but not for you)

Warnings: hurt no comfort, misunderstandings, spoilers for the end of act 2, implied reference to death (character)

Summary: After an arduous battle everyone is celebrating and taking a much needed reprieve. Except you, whose heart has a hole that is home to loneliness and grief. Is there no one to comfort you?

Notes: Omg i am back and with a BALDUR’S GATE FIC!?!!??! yes i have been taken by this game too and it has me in a chokehold and forced me to write for it. im sorry it had to be angst it makes me so sad maybe i will write comfort pt. 2 if people want it! pls enjoy :-) (sobbing) lemme know if i missed any warnings also not proofread aha

Karlach:

Aylin had her arm around Isobel the whole night. You recall earlier how she had lifted Isobel into the air and spun her around, nothing but mirth and pure love in her eyes. The action had brought a genuine smile to your face. To see something so joyful and pure after so much torment and toil was a gift, an uplifting you didn’t know you needed. But it came with a bittersweet pang. Everyone was busy chatting away at camp, spirits were high as everyone had a much needed moment of reprise after the defeat of Ketheric. Though you still wore a smile, your heart faltered.

“Holding up, Soldier?” A warm and familiar voice appeared behind you, and you turned to be met with an equally warm smile. You nodded, returning the smile, a genuine one.

“I’m so glad to see everyone reunited and safe, it seemed like such an impossible reality before, but now….” You turned back to the Selûnite couple in a loving embrace as your sentence trailed off. Karlach’s eyes followed, but then she looked at you. Your eyes were faraway, and your smile seemed almost sad.

“Alright there?” She asked, concern in her voice. Ever conscious of the feelings of others, she could pick up on any hint of bitterness or longing in others. She knew it all too well.

“It’s just, seeing all this love… I should be so happy, I am! But it still hurts. It must be nice to mean that much to someone.” You didn’t face her as you spoke. Despite your calm voice and your content, peaceful face, she sensed a deep hurt behind your words. Her mouth opened, and her hand instinctively reached out to grab your shoulder, but she stopped.

You mean so much to me, I cherish every moment we spend together. I could forget myself in your smile, forget the world in your eyes. Just one look at your face can quell all my rage. I would spend every hour I could with you, I would not hesitate to defend you and protect you. I want to be with you. Is what she wants to say. But instead she turned away with a solemn silence of her own.

You didn’t react to her silence, times are hard, and love seemed like a luxury. You stood like a statue as she slipped away, mourning internally her prescence, as she ripped herself from your side unwillingly.

Fighting Zariel’s war was easier than fighting her feelings in that moment. But any moment could be her very last. For someone who would rather live and die in the present, fully and without regrets, she feels a hypocrite. But imagining the hope of being with you, the joy you might have from knowing how much she needs you and cherishes you, was too much to bear. She couldn’t stand the thought of taking that all away from you. It’s a lesser evil to keep it from you, to keep it from herself, in the first place, than to have fate cruelly crush it all. At least that’s what she told herself as she faced the wall of her tent, away from your own dejected form, with hot tears in her eyes.

»»————-　♡　-————««

Wyll:

It seemed a miracle that you managed to save all the tieflings, and the gnomes on top of that. And even more so to defeat Ketheric Thorm, and at last promise safety and rest to all in the shadowlands. But any praise or recognition went over your head as you reeled in the aftermath. It felt surreal, and almost like it happened too quick, and you were still having trouble processing it. Even as you walked around Last Light Inn to rejuvinate your mind.

“You’re alright! My gods you’re alright!” You heard a voice call, and as you rounded the corner you saw two Tieflings in a tight embrace. You recognized Danis as one of the prisoners you had rescued, and pride swelled in you momentarily. As you watched the reunion in tender delight, you failed to notice a presence join you.

“A joyous sight. It makes me feel better about all the toil thus far.” Wyll’s voice spoke beside you, smooth and clear. It made you smile, even as you felt the sweet atmosphere waver, threatening to leave behind a cold emptiness.

“A shame it seems so scarce these days.” You said, watching the couple wander off into the warm inn. His face fell as he noticed the melancholy in your gaze.

“Indeed. I only hope those who have love, and hope, hold onto it dearly.” You merely stared off into the distance, unmoving and unresponding. It wrenched his heart, but he remained with you. It somehow felt like the least, and the most, that he could do. He wished you would turn to him, so he coukd see the light reflected in your eyes. But you couldn’t, for the price of love and hope was one too high for you to pay, in your mind. And despite your proximity, there was a perceptible distance between you.

»»————-　♡　-————««

Halsin:

The camp was brimming with relief, chatter sounding from every corner as parties discuss the aftermatch of the fight at Moonrise towers. Many people had joined you after the fight, since it had really only begun, and your companions had proven themselves capable of leading the cause. But you were mostly grateful for the presence of those who had helped you make it that far, namely the archdruid of Emerald Grove. Halsin was relieved, and content as well. He had fulfilled his century long quest, and the lands were now safe. And so were you.

“What now? You’ve got what you wanted, after all.” You asked, unsure if he would stay now that his task is finished.

“I have. But perhaps there is more that I want.” He replied, a smile on his face. You felt the warmth of his words, and you almost let it invade your senses, but you shook it off. Curiosity threatened to get the better of you, even if you werenmt sure you wanted to know the answer. But before you could stop it the words had left your mouth.

“What is it that you want?” He paused to glance at you, the smile never having left his face.

“Not what,” he began, his gaze shifting past you, “but who.” He let out a sigh after that, like it was good to get it off his chest. But your heart fell. You had known you shouldn’t have asked, but you needed to. Just in case of that small possibility.

“Ah.” Is all you managed in reply. After a beat of silence you turned and left abruptly, the intense beat of your heart felt like it was punching your ribs. Halsin’s smile faded as he watched you walk away. Had he said something wrong? No, he realized, he had merely misread the situation. You didn’t feel the same way, you couldn’t have. He felt silly in that moment, and laughed it off as he had done with the other rejections in his life (though they were few). But he could not shrug off the pain that wrenched his heart.

The next day the camp felt uncertain again. Comforting, yes, but uncertain. The party would be on the road again, and many things could change until they next made camp again. But the heaviest thing hanging in the air was your silence, your distance. It was to be expected, he reasoned, after the awkward encounter, but he hoped it didn’t mean you couldn’t still be friends. The very thought caused his throat to tighten.

But you couldn’t even bear to look at him. Of course such an experienced, handsome and capable man such as him wouldn’t have a soft spot for you. Thinking about it now made you ill. You couldn’t be near him, because all you thought of in his presence was how lucky someone else was to have him. And as you journeyed down the road to Baldur’s Gate, your distance grew. So much that it caused an uncomfortable wedge in the group, a palpable bitterness that soured the air.

Every night sorrow would muster in the two tents on far sides of the camp. Frustration, tears and regret proliferated there in those moments, planting seeds of woe to be reaped when the dawn broke. And the cure for sickness was only right where they dare not look.

[pursuitseternal]

“Recalling:” update to ETL Astarion x Tav(OC) in “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x F!OC | E | 3.5K Dark Tragic Backstory

Summary: dawn before battle, Cordehlia ponders her past, recalling the monster she was… reassured by her companions that even monsters need someone to lead them, accept them, and in Astarion’s case, lust for her…

Dawn, Goblin Camp raid, Rescuing Halsin, Unaliving the Goblin leaders

CW: Violence, bloodshed, blood kink(umm vampire), trauma bonding with Karach and Astarion, Dark

Backstory for our F!OC, massive amounts of flirtation with the Vampire, effective use of the Tadpole as a way of communicating said Dark Backstory with everyone, NPC character death…

Previous chapter | ao3 link | Astarion Masterlist

Chapter 5: Recalling

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Dawn kissed the woods, the soft light breaking, making the Emerald Glade really, truly verdant. Aptly named, Cordehlia thought to herself, sitting atop the knoll. She looked down into the sun. It had been decades since she had last stared into the sun, the dawn before battle.

But old habits die hard, as she knew. And a hundred years of shedding blood became more than muscle memory for her. A hundred years of the same pleading before her blade tasted flesh, begging for forgiveness, begging for mercy from the lives that would be taken today.

Pleading that when she falls to the slow embrace of death, that her judgment would be swift and just.

She could hear the rustling of her band awakening with the light. Strange, she pondered, musing how they all trusted her unendingly. Recalling all that she had done. Recalling all she had been. Foul and dark.

If they knew who walked among them… even the mortals, so young compared to her and the longevity of her sins… surely even they had heard tales…

Cordehlia took a deep breath, her mind turning quickly from those memories of battle. She tried to bury herself in that feeling of him…

That kiss, Gods had it felt good. Unchanged by the erosion of time, his fervor, his devotion. The pure flame that was Astarion’s soul, bright as the stars he was named for.

She could taste him, not as the vampire he became, but as… the one whose soul she had loved. It was magical, as if time itself stood still, being consumed by him, feeling his remembrance, the way his body transported her two-hundred years. It was… eerily the same. His hands… his taste… the little tangles of his tongue between her lips.

She closed her eyes. Gods, if she could give anything to reclaim that feeling, of being thrown back before… before all this darkness and blood. For both of them. Recalling what was once good about her…

Footsteps drawing up the hill made her almost leap from her skin, her fingers patting her cheeks, as if she could hide the blush that thinking of him called to her face. She didn’t want him to see her lusting after him so badly. Not yet, even though she suspected he would be more than pleased… perhaps pleasured even.

Gods, she swallowed at the thought.

Clearing her throat, she turned to smile at the uninvited company, but it wasn’t a handsome pale face leering down at her.

Karlach grinned, sparking brighter than the dawn. Her unabashedly joyful smile made her stomach sicken. “Seems I’m not the only soldier that needs a moment before battle, eh?”

“Seems that way,” she forced a smile, her hand patting the ground beside her a split second before Karlach helped herself to the company.

“You know, Cordehlia,” she spoke, drawing her knees into her chest. “I can see the way you love and hate the battle. Something you’re good at, maybe too good. But not something you chose for yourself, isn’t that it?”

“How…” the She-elf turned, every nerve in her body on fire to defend.

But Karlach just laughed quietly. “Because it’s a mirror to myself. I didn’t choose to become… what I am… Advocatus Diaboli, as Wyll was so quick to label me.”

She swallowed, voice still steady, even as Cordehlia could feel the pain flowing from her Tiefling companion. “I was also taken, not unlike your vampire boyfriend.”

Cordehlia groaned, but let the insinuation pass.

With a breath, she continued. “I was robbed of a future, imprisoned, experimented on… made into the person I am through no choice of my own.” Then, she turned those glowing eyes on the elf beside her. “But that doesn’t make me anything less than what I am. It doesn’t change my freedom now, you know, same as Astarion,” she nodded her head somberly, “same as you.”

Cordehlia scoffed. “I’m not free, however.”

The pain in her voice even pierced her own heart.

“I was never forced into being the dark thing I was… and I didn’t choose to stop being the creature I had become. I was forced to stop. I… I loved it. I lived for it, when I was in the deepest throes of that life. It was… thrilling. Addicting.” She breathed, bunching her own knees into her chest, same as her friend. “But I was brought before the High Council, deemed too dark for my own kind. I was forced to retire, to live peaceably alone. To atone for my sins and darkness…” She looked into Karach’s worried face. “You wonder why I’m not quick to condemn anyone as a monster? It’s because I would be their queen. I can’t condemn those who are less monstrous than I.”

Karlach said nothing, watching as Cordehlia turned her face into the light again. Watching those silver eyes flutter shut, her chest shaking with breaths as she struggled to continue. “They even told stories about me, to scare the young ones into submission, all along the Sword Coast, they still tell the fables about… what I was…”

A hot hand rested on the top of her knee. “If it helps, it is what you once was…” she grimaced, “once were.” She laughed at the correction. “And we monsters are glad for your company, your leadership, Cordehlia.”

The elf met her gaze then, as the tiefling’s hand slipped away. Her chin shook, eyes wet with unshed tears. Karlach just gave her a gentle, reassuring smile, “Hey, soldier, if anyone knows what it’s like to put yourself back together after being made a war machine, it’s me, okay?”

“Thank you,” she managed to reply.

“Now,” Karlach stood and smiled. “I’ve got your back, and you still got your soul, you hear me?” She waited for a teary breath and a nod. “Let’s go get a Druid who can get these things out of our brains and take out some Goblins, eh?”

Cordehlia managed a laugh, rising to her feet as well, hiding the sniffle she made as they walked back down to camp.

But her heart rapt harshly in her ribs to see the first face that sought her out as she made it back.

Astarion grinned his greeting, flashing those beautiful, terrifying fangs at her. “Morning, my sweet,” he bid, so happily. “I don’t know about you, but I had some of the most… delicious dreams…” That genteel grin twisted, desirous and bright. “Let’s just say there was a lot of pale skin, soft breasts and bright red hair everywhere I wanted it to be…”

Her stomach lurched. The rush of emotions from grief to lust, from self-loathing to desire… She placed a hand on her belly, her insides heaving at the all-too-rapid shift of her heart.

His eyes narrowed, scanning her blanching face before following the wake of the Tiefling. “What’s the matter?” he queried, harsh in tone. “Did Karlach do something to you?”

“No,” she took a breath, waiting for her body to return to her. “I’m fine.”

“You look it, darling.” He chuckled sarcastically, “Fine, I mean.”

“What? Not delicious?” she threw the taunt back. Her head clearing, her muscles easing.

“Always,” he growled, that sultry smirk instantly replacing any trace of concern. “For a moment I was worried that the idea of us fucking made your stomach sour,” he continued.

She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Once, it would have, you know,” she chimed, letting the barb catch him off guard.

He gasped in feigned injury, “Darling, I would be wounded,” he drew himself closer to her body, that slow, stealthy creep that made her shiver, “if it weren’t for the resounding past-tense of what you say…”

The implication hung in the air between them, in whatever minimal distance did remain between their bodies. And Codehlia let it, grinning, mouth twitching to think that it wasn’t inaccurate, his reading.

But she drew back a step. “You do know it’s morning, dawn before battle? We have much to accomplish before anyone can even dream of such delightful pursuits.”

“Yes yes,” Astarion flicked his wrist before tapping both hands on the sheathed daggers at his waist. “Infiltrate the nasty little Goblins, get the Druid, get these worms out of our heads…”

“Precisely,” she began to turn, but his cold, iron grip caught her hand from her side, pulling her after him, commandingly leading her back into his tent.

“I need to tell you,” he spoke quickly, quietly, once the flap fell behind her. “I’m not too fond of the idea of a Druid joining our ranks,” he grimaced. “They are loud and hot-blooded, and so… earthy.” His eyes skimmed over her body. “And they will be eager to mate with anything and everything they set eyes upon…”

“Jealous?” she grinned, folding her arms across her chest, an amused smile teasing her lips.

“Of course,” he replied coolly, eyes narrowing to that half-lidded stare that seemed to pierce right through the clothing she wore. “After all, I am just beginning to remember who I was… what we were… I would hate for some lusty wildform to waltz in here and ruin things.”

“Funny,” she continued to taunt. “You didn’t seem too worried about a human warlock the other night.”

“Please,” he shook his head, all wry-humored and sultry. “As if…” he gagged, “Wyll,” he spat the name in disgust, “could compare to my levels of charm and good looks.” He took a breath, his face softening in a seconds, crimson eyes wide as he looked down on her. “Which brings me to the next thing I wanted to tell you. I wanted to, to thank you for all our little understanding…”

Her brows furrowed. “Of letting you feed?”

“Yes, naturally,” he nodded. Sincere in every outward way. “You were my first you know…”

Her lips pressed firmly at his words, almost imperceptible, but he took note of the reaction. A little further hint to their past, perhaps, that he stashed away.

“You are my first living blood, first thinking blood. Drinking from one such as you was forbidden me. I was made to live on rats, mice, foul vermin, or starved until I was nearly too weak to be good for anything. That was my… reward… for the victims I would lure back for Cazador.” He spat the name. “A moldering rat as a treat for my obedience.” He huffed a disparaging laugh, scanning her questioning gaze. “I can see your thoughts, darling, why not just try to feed on my own? Well, as if I could disobey his command not to even try to sample something else.”

He looked so forlorn. As if even the words he shared couldn’t possibly describe what it was he endured. Suffered.

Unphased, he continued, “That’s the thing about vampire spawn, you know, they are compelled to obey, forced in their bodies to do… whatever is ordered of them.”

A moment passed between them before he looked up. Her eyes were soft, her face rife with concern. He was glad of it.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “For telling me.”

“I only wanted you to know my plight before we add another rutting male to our midst,” he crooned with a sneer. “I depend on you, you know, darling….”

Cordehlia gave a little hum, patting the chilled cheek of her rogue. “If you wanted to make certain I value you, Astarion, you don’t need to go to such lengths to convince me, you know.” She smiled, “A simple, please allow me to keep feeding on you, would suffice. Though your way with words is so skilled and eloquent.” Her brows raised as he began to smile too, “Even more than I recall.”

“Two hundred years of living on nothing but your wits and good looks makes you learn all things new,” he taunted in reply. Even as his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Is that why you pulled me in here alone, Astarion?” she pressed.

“Well…” he flashed that look again, the one rife with danger that made her belly flutter. “I wanted you to be my first thinking blood, you know… I wanted to know how you tasted.”

That last word sent her stomach fluttering again, her nerves burning.

“I wanted to thank you for such a favor, darling. And after the way you kissed me yesterday…”

“You kissed me, you mean?” she taunted, her face unmoving as she watched him take the barb in perfect stride. Making him smirk all the wider. All the hungrier.

“Regardless, you seemed to… enjoy it too. It just gave me ideas… of ways to thank you properly, you know.”

“Oh,” she grinned, innocent and bouncing on her toes. “You mean like fighting in battle today? Being a critical part of our party? Keeping me from losing all control on the battlefield?”

“And why would I do that?” he purred, letting his fingers stroke up the sheathed blade that hung at her side. “You are most attractive in battle from what I have seen. Magnificent, intelligent. Do not deny yourself that chance to shine, darling.” He leaned closer until his breath passed between her panting lips. “And besides, I’m certainly hoping that bloodlust from today becomes plain, old, carnal lust by nightfall.”

Her face is hardened, a distant fire behind her eyes. Her breathing is so faint, he had to lean in close to even hear it. “Take care, Ancunín,” she hissed. “You have yet to see the real monster that lurks beneath me in battle.”

“I hope she’s fearsome to behold,” he grinned, letting his hand wander up from her weapon, grazing her hip to tug her just that bit closer, to pull her against his body. “I’m sure she is nothing to be ashamed of, as one monster to another.”

She shivered under his touch. “You are not one, not compared to me.”

“Well, as you have said to me, darling, when you’re ready, I’ll listen. I’m all pointy ears, love.”

That made her huff a laugh, a slight smile peeking at the corner of her lips.

Nothing could come from her mouth. No words. No amount of gratitude, of awe for the way he didn’t push or recoil. His hand just pressed into her lower back, his lips waiting to see what she would do.

Hells take it if she didn’t give him a little sign of her thanks. She raised on her toes, pressing her lips to his.

Almost surprised, he accepted it, her quick little peck, letting her step away, out of the shadows of his tent.

—————

The goblin camp stank, just as they all had, Cordehlia wrinkled her nose.

At least, the Druid was freed. But victory was far from near. Halsin brimmed with gratitude, even as Astarion failed to hide his eyes rolls. “Funny way of showing thankfulness, giving us another mission,” he grumbled as they left the Druid behind. Three Goblin leaders to dispatch would be no meager task.

Cordehlia shushed him, but he only continued to hiss his complaints as they crept deeper into the camp. “I’ll try not to think of it as helping, mind you, just gaining some other opportunities to dispatch more of these Goblin trash…”

“How altruistic of you,” Gale let the sarcasm fly in reply.

Astarion turned that insincere smirk at the Wizard. “You all keep using that word to describe my choices. I’m beginning to think you’re the ones who don’t know its meaning….”

“Hush,” Cordehlia rounded on the pair of them, only making Kalrach snigger as well. “We must be cautious, these are no dumb Goblins. They think us True Souls. It will take cunning, especially against Drow warrior Minthara…”

As if on command, the entryway opened to a greet chamber, the dark skinned, ruthless Drow bellowing orders at the other end.

Her sharp gaze glanced quickly. Her smile sickeningly twisted. “Speak, are you here to join the battle?”

Cordehlia stepped with all the confidence centuries of bloodshed could give her. “Hail, True Soul,” the She-elf nodded her head. “We are sent to aid in the ravaging of the Grove.”

“Prove it,” Minthara snipped, her hand drawing her blade. “You are not Goblin nor Drow, and as such, I have no qualms with spilling your guts on the ground for fodder.”

“Very well,” Cordehlia replied, more exacting in her voice than even her foe.

She raised her hand, calling upon the worm…

The ground ran red. Blood. Elven and wizard and alien, it smelled delicious. Her feet squelched in it, the lives of her enemies drained by her hand. She resheathed her dagger, bright metal, etched with a signet near the tang.

A Raven, a black bird in a dive.

She began to brush the blood from her coal-black armor. The pattern of feathers collecting the crimson running down her body.

Cordehlia took a deep breath, looking at her field of glory one more time. For her people. For herself.

Everyone gasped as they returned to the caves, their consciousness all stunned as her band looked at Cordehlia, up and down. Their minds all linked by the worm, her vision in their heads too. The recalling of her past, dark and bloodied, as it broke upon them all.

“My my,” Minthara crooned, impressed as she resheathed her blade. “I know of that blade, that chilling reputation. The Absolute surely knows how to choose souls for her service. It has been ages since you have been seen, isn’t that right?”

“Half a century, by the reckoning of my people,” she replied, her tone distant. Harsh. “They would like to think I’m dead. Forgotten.”

“That will not be your fate with the Absolute, and not with me, my Lady Corvus,” Minthara bowed. Low, bending at the waist.

She could hear the way her band’s breath froze. But she couldn’t reply. Not yet. “My company of True Souls needs a moment of respite, if you will give it to us. Those damned Druids depleted our resources, but we know where they are. My scout will give you the location once we tend to our needs, Lady Minthara.”

“Of course,” smiled the Drow, dismissing them with a wave.

She held her head high, marching them down to the corner of the cavern. Of course, it was Gale who stared Cordehlia square in the eyes once they were alone. “The Lady Corvus, Bone Picker, most intelligent elven warrior of her kind, so ruthless in battle, every bone of her enemies was left bare.”

She shook her head. “You see now,” she sighed. Mouth twitching. Eyes cold. “You all pale in comparison to me, no one can match my monstrosity.”

“Ahem,” Astarion cleared his voice right beside her. “First of all, you say pale and monstrosity like they’re bad things….”

“Astarion!” Gale snipped to interrupt, but the Pale Elf just held up his hand to silence him.

“You don’t know half the things I’ve done… that perhaps any of us have done. And yet you don’t turn us away,” he continued. His voice was smooth, gentle, not dripping in seduction, but wrapped in comfort. “We won’t turn from you either, you know, whether you are Lady Corvus, or just Cordehlia.”

“That’s right, soldier,” Karlach was the first to pat her on the shoulder. Rough and steady. “Why, I’ve severed more heads than I’ve kissed faces.”

“I’ve damned a thousand souls for Cazador’s meals,” Astarion added, a smile on his face. “Bet I’ve done worse than you, Lady Corvus…”

“You wish to compare body count?” she gave a single, dark laugh.

“Well, we know whose hands are bloodier now at any rate,” he quipped.

“You mean face, I believe,” Karlach pointed as she guffawed.

“Shhh,” Cordehlia suddenly held up her hands. “We are supposed to be evil. Not some silly band of youths here to loot and pilfer.”

“Tch,” Astarion smirked. “You’re no fun if we can’t do that…”

Minthara did stride over, frowning at the sound laughter and merriment. “Well, it is curious to see such mirth in the warriors of Lady Corvus,” she hissed. “I’m surprised, given the tales of your deeds, your bloodshed.” Her thin lips quirked. “Have the decades of seclusion softened you? Does the Absolute know of your…”

Her breath left her body. The quick work of Cordehlia’s dagger shoved between her ribs. “The Absolute can rot, and so can these brainworms,” she hissed into Minthara’s dark, pointed ear.

Cordehlia’s eyes looked into the Drow’s, watching the light fade from them, a dark smile on her lips. Then, those silver eyes flashed at the rest of her party. “Get them,” she ordered, a nod of her head at the rest of the Goblin hoard.

Gale and Karlach snuck off, the wizard’s hands glowing already, the Tiefling’s ax ringing in her hand as she swung if off her back. But it was Astarion who lingered and grinned at her, watching as she dropped the body of their enemy at her feet. “With pleasure,” he purred, snatching her bloodied dagger in his hand. The Drow’s blood dripping down the bright blade, the etching of the Raven near the hilt darkened red.

He licked her blade clean, his eyes locked into hers, watching her chest heaving, her eyes hazy as she watched every little flick his pink tongue made along her weapon before he handed it back.

[animentality]

You ever think about how the fandom will go nuts trying to explain how Astarion is ~basically~ an elven child and how he’s absolved of all guilt for everything he’s done by the abuse he endured and yet… on the other hand we also have Gortash, who very literally was a child when sold to the hells and put through who knows what manner of abuse, saw who knows what messed up shit, who has had chances to do better, yes, but has also had to fight to survive and be more than just a beggar on the streets once he escaped. And he’s the totally evil and irredeemable one according to most fans. I’m not trying to woobify him btw, it’s just always interesting how every other character gets defended on the basis of “but cult conditioning/abuse/etc” but Gortash is uniquely the worst man alive. Which he is, but also. Cmon. Astarion has a long list of innocent victims and is a razors edge away from becoming the next cazador in any given play through and yet he’s a perfect uwu angel apparently. This isn’t about saying Gortash isn’t evil, this is about saying he’s not drastically more evil than a lot of other nuanced characters in this game who get defended by the fandom masses.

ANON if I could kiss you, I would commit tax evasion with you.

THIS.

Like I know Gortash is awful, but so is fucking everyone.

Shadowheart can become a Dark Justiciar and do awful things for Shar. Lae'zel and the githyanki are a bunch of pricks who kill their own kids for showing weakness and kill innocent people all the goddamn time. Minthara obviously slaughters a bunch of innocent refugees, if you allow her to, and as a drow, probably committed a cavalcade of evil actions.

Gale's blind ambition could've nuked a fucking town. He might not have intended to become a living bomb, but he did, and by running around Faerun, he WAS putting literally everyone within like five miles of him in mortal danger. Wyll would've killed Karlach if you weren't there, and he expresses this horror, because he has definitely killed innocents for Mizora before.

Astarion would've gladly become Cazador 2.0, if you didn't stop him. He might've started out ok, but he would descend into that same evil, using you until there was nothing left of you, and treating others the way he was treated, because he sees himself as a god now.

Even fucking Karlach...who is a sweetie, and god I love her...well fuck, didn't Gortash accuse her of knowing just how shady his shit was? She was a desperate kid, yes, and he definitely took advantage of her, but he explicitly calls her out for working for him, even though she knew he was shady (if not a Banite). Plus she was his bodyguard for years. As if your bodyguard wouldn't know you were being a peace of shit?

The WHOLE POINT of Baldur's Gate 3 is that you and your companions are defined by your choices.

The option EXISTS to SAVE THESE PEOPLE.

THERE IS NO OPTION TO SAVE GORTASH.

The game gives you the option of seeing him die one way or the other way.

I'm just SAYING it's not totally fair to act as if Gortash is truly irredeemable, when out of all the villains, he at least had an idea of a better world, even if it was still self serving and frankly awful.

He was slightly better than the Dark Urge, and they GET the choice of redeeming themselves.

He never does. And maybe he wouldn't have taken it, but that's really not the point.

You hit the nail on the head, bud.

Gortash is evil, no doubt, this is true, he is not just a victim of circumstances, he made every wrong decision he could've made...

But the fandom has no problem woobifying Astarion even though that scene with Sebastian is fucking soul wrenching.

They raise their hackles at Gortash, as though he's been alive for 200 years and lured thousands to their deaths/vampirism, and they forget that Lae'zel is absolutely awful, and approves every time you murder children in front of her.

And Shadowheart spent her childhood learning to torture people.

You can say well their crimes aren't equivalent- and yes, that is true, HOWEVER.

Remember that you have met them when they were powerless.

If given power...if they had never been mindcontrolled by parasites...well shit, they might've fucking killed you.

They might've become tyrants themselves. I know it's purely conjecture on my part, I just kinda...I don't even necessarily want a redeemed Gortash storyline.

I'm fine with him just being a villain!

I just also have a working brain that doesn't understand the reflexive urge to say, he couldn't redeem himself if he tried.

I think, in this fictional world of course, that redemption should be possible. I think if they are honestly trying, and they repay the debts they incurred, then it might be justified.

But we didn't get that choice, and neither did he, and honestly, with what the game presents...I can whole heartedly say no, he wouldn't have redeemed himself. Even if he could, he would not have done it.

But the possibility does exist.

Trying to deny it makes you look like a hypocrite as you insist Ascended Astarion is still an uwu baby.

Like nah, sweetie. Good luck with that.

[rim-draws]

Faerûnian Writing Challenge

Day 6 | SFW

Teaching each other how to do something

Tav strums the strings. Everyone immediately groans.

“When will you just give up? You do realise you and that are never going to work out?” Astarion motions at the instrument and Tav.

“I like how Alfira made it work.” Tav strums again. Another audible groan from the whole camp. “I will make it work, somehow!” They had the same mentality about themself and Astarion at one point. It didn’t work out.

Shadowheart groans on her side of the camp. “Where is Halsin when you need him? They always listen to him!”

Halsin was a few metres away from camp gathering berries and selecting wood for his new whittling project.

The gang are on their own with this one.

“Tav, I don’t think instruments are something you can just… ‘make work’.” Wyll, finally revived, spoke as soft as he could, potentially to not offend Tav - potentially again.

His soul was trapped somewhere within death and living for about a week. On the verge of coming down to Hell but also not yet their time to be allowed to leave. Only to become, on technicality, a citizen of Hell right after being revived.

Life is cruel. Or perhaps he’s just stuck with lunatics.

Tav strums again. Even the little owlbear covers its small ears, hiding behind Scratch to escape the noise. “I made this operation work, I can make this instrument, or any instrument, work!” They can’t and they won’t. They just don’t know it yet and have the audacity to try.

Wyll pinches his forehead. Is it the horns, the tadpole or the horrid music that is making his head hurt so badly??

“Ok, Gale, you’re a good teacher. Maybe assist our friend here before the spider lyre is reduced to ashes.” Wyll quickly shoots Gale a pointed look who shoots back an equally pointed one.

A beat of silence.

“You don’t know how to play an instrument, Gale?” Karlach asked offhandedly.

Gale turns to her, then to Tav. Another beat of silence.

Astarion immediately bolts up. “You don’t know. You seriously don’t know. Oh finally, we found something the wizard can’t tell stories about.”

“Hold on, hold on. I never said I know nothing!” Gale quickly jutted over, yanking the lyre of Tav’s hands. “I watched many plays in my years, it’s nothing out of the ordinary…” His hands hovers above the strings, sweat is beginning to form.

Tav’s eyes trail up slightly. His fingers are shaking. His arm is trembling. He has his tongue out and he’s seconds away from biting it clean off out of stress. His hair is sticking to his forehead.

He strums.

It’s chicken scratch against a board.

A collective groan, hands covering ears.

Tav yanks it back, finally understanding the reason why everyone has been throwing rocks at them all morning.

“That was… certainly an attempt!” Karlach smiles, a lot more lopsided than how it usually is.

“No need to sugarcoat it. That was trash. Absolutely horrible.” Astarion rubs his ears as if that would help him forget the collective horrible sounds Tav and Gale had forced him to endure.

“He does magic, he’s smart and he can cook. At least with this, we can confirm Gale is still human.” Shadowheart teases, playing with the fire with her stick.

Gale perks up a little.

“He is as human as they come. Frail, egotistical and knows not of his limits.” Lae’zel hisses. “You are lucky you are still of use. Do not indulge this buffoon further,” She’s clearly talking about Tav with the way her hands move, “You have nothing but knowledge while they have none. You’ll only make them worse.”

Gale deflates again. “It’s not often our friend here seeks out means of hobby other than stealing, lying and looting. It’s healthy to have a lighthearted skill, for once.” Gale tried to defend. Tav strums. His defense is crumbling.

“Well, maybe this is not the right hobby. Perhaps a different one would be healthier for all of us.”

Tav strums again. It’s proving Lae’zel’s point.

Wyll charges forward, “Maybe if you’re looking for a hobby, I could… teach you a dance or two? I did take a few classes back in my youth.”

“No. I don’t like dancing.” Tav strums again. Another collective groan.

“How about some magic? I can show you the basics! Show you the power and the embrace of Mystra once you enter the Weave—”

“I’m not interested. You know I’m not good enough to figure that stuff out.” Another strum. Groans.

“Gods, someone make it stop or there will be blood on this night!” Astarion stands. His voice softens as he leans onto the lyre, putting on his seductive charms. “How about you drop this lyre and I’ll show you something much more interesting later tonight?”

“Too late on that. And I know too much about you to wanna fuck.” Tav strums again.

Astarion physically recoils. “Are you doing this out of spite??”

“Okay, how about we put down the lyre and I’ll show you, um… some of the teachings of my Goddess I serve? Maybe show you a cantrip or two?” Shadowheart has never sounded so defeated.

She knows she has no chance even before she started but she just needed to at least try. Tav strums again, as if to rub it in her face. “I have speak with animals. That’s all the cantrip I need.”

Lae’zel pulls out her sword, large and long. The type of sword only her and one other camper can use. “Cease your strummings or I will cut it into pieces!”

Unfortunately for her, the other person happened to be Tav. “You won’t dare! I will fight you to the death for it!”

“This will not be like the fight between Shadowheart and I! We will settle this with no mercy!!”

Karlach jumps in between them. “Woah woah, hey! Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, alright?” She places her hand on Tav’s shoulder. It burns. “Say, I don’t really have anything to teach you but maybe you’re… going too quickly. All skills need time and careful practice, right? Can’t expect things to just go your way immediately! Reminds me of the time when I was still serving under Zariel. Was still young at the time. I had been trailing the tail of this particular demon,”

Tav slowly lowers their sword along with the lyre. They latch onto Karlach’s words and stories of her misadventures.

Everyone shared a look.

“At first I thought I had it but it slipped right under my finger! So I had to re-adjust. Learn about the species, the weaknesses, the strengths and once I cornered it… BAM. Easy as pie!”

Gale jumps in. “Oh yes, reminds me of the time back when I first started studying magic. It must sound crazy now but I wasn’t good at it the first time I started. My first spell was fire bolt. Simple and easy. Yet at one point I couldn’t figure, for the life of me, how the fire element worked. I poured over it days and nights trying to get that in my head otherwise the spell just won’t manifest! And finally, I figured it out! But, shamefully, I didn’t put enough hours on aiming!”

Just as one finishes, another jumps in. Wyll tells tales of his youth, days spent as the son of the duke, standing in his shadows, struggling to find a place to stand on his own. Lae’zel speaks of her time spent at camp, slowly figuring out the life and habits of Faerûnians, how different it is to her people, how lively and seemingly strange yet… interesting they can be. Shadowheart expresses her slow and steady learning curve of taking on more than just a cleric, learning spells from both Wyll and Gale, wanting to pull her weight. It then circles back once more to Karlach. Then continues as the campfire crackles nearby.

Tav didn’t learn how to play an instrument that day, or any day soon. But the time spent with their new found friends, family?, taught them more valuable lessons than stubbornly working at an instrument they can’t play ever could.

[spiderwarden]

Sometimes I’m sad that most people don’t get to enjoy the tempering that Minthara adds to the camp in terms of dynamics.

Wyll? Will call him a hypocrite and humble his proud pedestal he’s built up on goodness and if he goes down the path of keeping ties to Mizora she will always be there to remind him, but on the flip side will tease him and say no matter what she does, he will always be the better person.

Gale? Will call him weak and question his remaining loyalty to Mystra and support his ambition and independence away from her, will only reveal much much later how much she respects him if he’s not acting better than her because he knows he’s great he doesn’t need extra ego stroking.

Astarion? Will remind him that despite his confidence he is nothing to her and his death would be meaningless. However in truth supports his freedom from Cazador and his right to slaying his tormentors and making himself stronger and will admit that he reminds her of the beautiful drow men back home. So really it’s a “you are meaningless so make yourself meaningful damn it.”

Lae’zel? Is foolish because she chooses an inconvenient time to rebel and does so without thinking. But will support her standing up against her queen, and commend her training and culture and is the first to defend it against anyone who speaks ill of the Githyanki.

Shadowheart? Does not approve of her pitying herself and will remind her of how foolish it is, but understands the plight she has with Shar and Shar’s teachings because she too now has fallen from Lolth’s grace quite recently and speaks on how it is better for Shadowheart’s health to be severed from her influence.

Karlach? Will note how she helps everyone but herself and will encourage her to take care of herself because at the end of the day she has to live with herself and her pain. But note Karlach is the only one that Minthara thinks is entitled to self pity - but she admires that despite all she’s suffered she still smiles and laughs.

Halsin? There is nothing with him in game. But I imagine like Wyll she would question the air of goodness apparently around him and call him a hypocrite for his decision around Kagha and question the balance of nature talk while neglecting the predators. And question why Sylvanus does nothing to help when it’s so clear that Lolth herself has broken the rules of influence of the mortal realm.

Minthara is very much in the temperance aspect of the camp. And I don’t think many consider that part of her dynamic she adds and it saddens me.

[kirain]

What's your personal headcanon for Wyll's ending? 👀

Wyll cuts through his foes like a whirlwind of vengeance. Devils, demons, imps; none of them see him coming until it's too late. Both hands cling to rapiers, one celestial—a gift from Dame Aylin—one demonic, dropped by a general who couldn't match his swiftness. Even without his Warlock powers, Wyll is a force to be reckoned with, and his enemies know it. Alongside Karlach, he carves out a name that becomes feared all through the hells: The Blade of Avernus, Defender of the Innocent.

For two years he and Karlach fight, thinning the numbers, preventing any force from crawling to the surface. There are many close calls, but they have each other's backs, until they finally make it to Zariel's forge. With Karlach free and his promise kept, Wyll returns to Baldur's Gate, where he quickly forms a legion of unique demon hunters sworn to a code most virtuous. A code that favours courage, justice, strategy, and insight. Under his tutelage, students learn to hunt and kill demons, as well as anything that might threaten their city.

And during this time, a woman catches his eye. A lady of High Court, who is all too happy to see the man behind the horns. Together, they expand his creed to other cities, until it becomes recognised far and wide as the Slayer's Ring. For three years he commands this troop, until the death of his father, Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard. A painful loss not only for him, but Baldureans entire. It is then that Wyll realises his true calling. He wasn't ready before; the life of a politician seeming droll and corrupting, but he's ready now. With a heavy heart, he takes up the mantle of his father and leads Baldur's Gate into a bright, enlightened future, leaving the Slayer's Ring in the hands of his most trusted associates.

For a time, he mourns his father. The job of a Grand Duke certainly isn't an easy one, especially in the midst of grief, but sorrow doesn't last forever, as it's often remedied by joy. Not long after his father's passing, Wyll receives news from his Lady. She's pregnant. Together they have a son. Then another. Then another. Adam, Alder, and Cenric. Three spry, healthy boys, zipping through the halls of Wyrm's Rock Fortress. They take after their father in all the best ways, and despite his duties, Wyll showers them with all the love and attention they deserve—just like his father did for him. Raising his own children only makes him revere his late father more. Doing it alone, without a partner, he can only imagine how difficult it must have been, but his father never showed it, and for that he'll always be grateful.

"I vow to give everything to my sons and to my city."

And he does. After a lifetime of travel and adventure, bloodshed and war, misery and companionship, Wyll is happy to settle in the place he once called home. The place he never truly wanted to leave, but circumstance compelled. Though some take quiet issue with his form, those that matter, and the vast majority over, devote themselves to his leadership. He doesn't demand respect, but he earns it in abundance. Though once afraid such power might corrupt him, it never does.

As for his dearest friends—the ones with whom he faced near certain death, the ones who pulled him up at his lowest moments, the ones who fought beside him with grit and loyalty to spare—he sees them often, and he keeps a steady correspondence when fate takes them further. Even in his golden years, when his sons are grown and his reflexes slow with age, they remain in touch, visiting as often as they can to bring a smile to his wrinkled face. It's a busy life, but it's a good life. A fulfilling life. One he can be proud of.

And when his time comes, those same friends are there, by his bedside, giving him the send off he deserves. He leaves as a friend, a father, a husband, a grandfather, and the beloved hero of Baldur's Gate.

[queenaeducan-writes]

A Study of Hands

Chapter Five: By the pricking of my thumbs

Pairing: f!TavxGale Dekarios Characters: Female/Tiefling/Druid Tav, Gale Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Other Tags: Canon Dialogue, Gale POV, Named Tav Summary: Gale had bid farewell to his beloved Waterdeep. For what he thought was the last time, he watched its splendid walls dip below the horizon, and dried his eyes of their tears. Yet before he could find the quiet death he sought in some remote corner of Faerûn, the mindflayers find him. And then Ophelia does.

A thick blanket of regret permeates the air, fit to choke on. The atmosphere of the hag’s lair bears down upon Gale from all sides as they descend into its depths. Around them, a grisly display of doomed petitioners are arranged like animal heads in a hunter’s lodge. No two are alike, save for their shared misfortune. Ethel has purged them of their joy, their grief, their hope, leaving only their regret as her gruesome trophy.

“It seems the hag has no shortage of fools eager to fall victim to her promises,” Lae’zel says with her typical level of hostility. “A pity we arrived too late to save them.”

“Those who are too far gone to help, we will deliver them a headsman’s justice,” Wyll assures her, despite undoubtedly parsing her true meaning. “And I disagree: I see the desperate, not the foolish. We do not know what drove them to Ethel’s poisonous hospitality.”

Lae’zel scoffs. “Spoken like a true warlock. If you did not wear the mantle of those horns, you might see them as I do.”

“Stop it, Lae’zel,” Ophelia chides. She had been gazing mournfully at one of Ethel’s victims until the githyanki’s commentary shook her from her stupor. “It is not becoming of a warrior to mock people who cannot even defend their honour.”

“Chk.”

Well, that seems to be the end of that.

(Read the rest here on AO3!)

[m3rricat]

Advocatus Ardens - Ch. 11

>>Read on AO3<<

Pairing: Wyll/Astarion

Rating: M

Wyllstarion slowburn set in a modern-with-magic-lurking-there AU Baldur's Gate and eventually other settings; public defender attorney!Wyll (aged up to 30s) and client!Astarion (still a vampire)

Chapter preview:

The rag-clad priestess did not lead Wyll further into the city ruins. Their little procession headed to the outskirts, to a great metal slab set into the sheer stone that walled the cavern. The priestess halted. Her bodyguards stopped behind her.

She caressed the rusted metal, then turned to Wyll. Her eyes were perilously thoughtful.

“The door will open only for death. That frail servant with you. His death will answer.”

Wyll fought against every instinct to look back at Astarion. No. He had to stay calm. He could not let his mask falter.

“No. No, it will not,” Wyll growled, buying time. A few seconds more to think. To come up with something—

Wyll swallowed thickly. Tried not to wince as he said, “The life of the Chosen’s mate is not forfeit to open a damn door.”

Astarion managed to choke very quietly behind him.

“Mate?” The amusement was clear in the priestess’ voice. “You will not be getting spawn on that one. Foolish.”

Wyll straightened up tall. Filled the space with his dread presence. He sneered down at the priestess. “I answer to none but Bhaal. Choose another.”