#also i decided Astarion gets a tail

[nebblesmakesthings]

Lined some doodles I did of Astarion and Phaxis!!

I've been having an absolute BLAST with Phaxis's save in BG3 and I'm absolutely obsessed w/ xyr dynamic with Astarion, they're like a couple of catty high school means girls TO ME

[prettyboykatsuki]

— ❈ YOU'RE SO PRETTY, BABY.

▸ prompt ; companions and their responses to being called pretty boy / pretty girl.

▸ a/n ; bit of a generic post im sorry forreal. while i was originally just going to write this for astarion i had ideas for. all the other companions.

most of the characters have a reader w a specific class or background, all varied! also spoilers for gale, shadowheart, karlach, and lae'zel.

reader / tav is always gender neutral!

▸ wc ; about 4.5k, about 700+ words per companion.

ft. astarion, wyll, gale, shadowheart, karlach, lae'zel

no minthara or halsin bc i could not bring myself to write it. but maybe later if enough people ask lol.

❈ ASTARION ;

Astarion tries his very best to find your affection for him trite, even when he knows it doesn't feel that way. It's an instinct for him, one you'll simply have to make peace with you if you're really planning on tailing him to the end of the world.

Truth be told though, he likes your generally affectionate nature. He hasn't reached a point he can admit this so openly, but the comfortable and easy way you reach for him is nice. He likes how your hands seem to stretch for him, the way you cling to his spine when you sleep in his tent and the likes.

And while he is not stranger to hypocrisy, he thinks it'd be amiss to try and bar you from calling him any pet names when he calls you so many. He's got quite a few handy. Darling is a favorite, followed by dear, and sometimes my love when he can muster up the courage to mean it instead of saying it like he's trying to perform.

You like to call Astarion by his name though, most often. He isn't exactly sure why you're so fond of it, and truthfully he's done little to consider his own name. You say it wonderfully though, tasteful and loving and soft.

Sometimes you gasp it in offense or horror or shock, other times in pleasure. Sometimes you whimper it in your sleep, groping around until your hands fist in the material of his shirt and you drag him back to you.

In any case, he's used to hearing his name. So hearing you utter the words pretty boy to him, he can't help but be a little shocked.

You're a little tipsy. A hard, arduous journey of fighting githyanki soldiers has taken a terrible toll on your normal inhibitions. You're quite flushed while you're drunk, and all the same sitting in his lap like you've not a care in the world.

Astarion doesn't mind holding you. In fact, he's thinking of all the terribly teasing things he can say to you come morning. So far, you've done nothing but mumble. It's a sudden movement, your hands clasped around his face.

"Feeling forward are we darling?" He says, like second nature. It's so reactionary it's banal, though he does have some enthusiasm since the flirtation is directed at you. Instead of your usual giggling, you stare at him with your lips parted.

"I suppose I am pretty boy," You reply, a completely foreign confidence in your voice that stops him dead in his tracks. Underneath the thick layer of flirtation is sincerity so unmistakable it almost proves to be too much "Could I ask you to keep me company?"

Astarion is, eternally grateful about the fact you don't get much more than that out of you. He spends the entire night thinking about it. You're certainly not the first to call him pretty, and that particular phrasing has been thrown to him more than once.

Yet it rings a little differently. The way you said it so tenderly, your hands stroking the nape of his neck and cupping his face. Well, it's not nothing. He can't decide if he hates it or not until the next morning comes.

Your eyes flutter open as light pours through the open part of his tent. You reach over to him with a deep sigh, engaging in some quiet morning affection when you repeat yesterdays sentiment.

"Good morning, my very pretty boy," You say - and this time Astarion is sure whatever he is feeling he has not ever felt previously "Sorry for the antics last night."

"So your memory hasn't failed you. Good to know." Astarion says back. You laugh lightly. "Your charming little pet name worried me quite a bit."

"Nothing to worry about my love." You say, warm and nuzzling into his neck likely to cool yourself from over-heating "I really do find you very pretty."

He can't help the feeling that floods his sense. He likes it even though he feels a little clingy, but perhaps there's no need to admit that.

"Oh, really, darling? How sweet you are. Tell me again, then. Just for kicks this time."

❈ WYLL ;

it's a matter of getting used to it for Wyll.

For the first month of your adventuring together, pretty boy, had been a somewhat condescending substitute for his name. Among other ones, like daddy's boy and prince. None of the pet names held any real affection.

You liked getting under his skin, after all.

You didn't get on at first, not for a long while. You're a rogue, a ratty street urchin turned mercenary who'd spent your youth climbing through the soil and mud of the Lower City's underbelly. Your words verbatim, not his. At first, your resentment for him caught him off guard, especially because Wyll prefers to keep the peace and get along with everyone. But, he had a difficult time understanding you, even with his people skills

Eventually it clicked that your resentment was less towards him, and more towards what he represents. You're a Baldurian, but one abandoned by the city and it's people. What else could the Ravengards represent if not the future you never had a chance to look towards.

It was easier after that. And Wyll had promised to himself to observe you closer. In that, he found to like you a great deal.

He's fond of pet names in general, but more fond of you lately. At the beginning of your adventure, it was a little difficult to get accustomed to your... roughness. You lack delicacy, but you're not exactly silver tongued.

Yet, you're not as cruel as you make yourself out to be. Contrarily, while you've traveled together, Wyll bore witness to only gentleness. Nothing more. The words you spoke about only doing things for coin had been clearly disproved by your countless acts of charity. Especially gentle and kind to children, and especially unforgiving to the rich and unhelpful.

Once he got used to it, there was something kind of...sweet about it. To see you say one thing and do another had it's own novelty that Wyll grew fond of you.

It was the night of tiefling party that roused his feelings. That night, he'd watched you play with the tiefling children all night, teaching them tricks of the trade.

And you'd started falling for him, too, judging by the way your usual snark was nowhere to be found.

Especially vivid is the change in your tone when you call him the same way you did before.

"We'll take a short rest for you, pretty boy." Your voice murmurs, looking carefully over his wounds while place down your own weapons "Get your spells back. Organize our things in the mean time."

He gives you look, examining your own worry before his smile stretches into one of fondness. It doesn't bother him at all, not anymore. No, lately - it sounds rather fond, and each time Wyll hears it, it does something for ego.

"No need for the concern, though I am appreciative," He says, not bothering to mask the smug quality in his voice at your change. He delights in it a little, admittedly . "I'll be alright soon enough."

You don't seem to notice, too busy wiping your blade of fresh blood, metal shiny as moonlight. "And there's no need for your heroism, Blade of Frontiers. Have some discernment about time and place."

You look up at him with your brows furrowed, and Wyll can barely help himself. "Are you worried I'll lose what's left in my appearances? I'm just telling you there's no need to trouble yourself over it."

It takes you a while to register to his words, but when it finally does - your eyes blow wide. The look of embarrassment on your face is well worth it.

"I thought you hated when I called you that." You say coolly.

"It's not so bad," He says back tenderly, staring at you "At least not anymore."

You pout a little. Wyll fights some unspoken urge to kiss you. A little longer.

"I prefer when you're acting oblivious,"

"Sorry to disappoint."

He lets his head lay on the wall behind him - reaching a hand for yours instead, trying to rest up as promised. He sees you smiling from the corner of his eye and affirms it to himself. You squeeze, soft, but otherwise say nothing about it.

Yes, lately, nothing you say could get under his skin. Even when you so obviously try.

❈ GALE ;

Gale is always the poet, never the muse.

He thought highly of his relationship with Mystra, and in many ways still does. He loved her. This much is true. He can't say for any certainty if she had loved him just as much, or at all. He wasn't the first mortal, and would hardly be the last.

But he loved her, enough to write about her and wax poetic about all that he'd lost.

When Gale examines any of his past relationship, he realizes this is some kind of pattern. Gale is good at being loving, but he does not know for certain if any of them loved him back. Or if he was loved in the way he loves - if it was anything near close. Gale had thought, at one point, it was just matter of destiny. Gale is after all, a man who bleeds with all he has.

He can't blame anyone for loving him less than when he is categorically too much. He thought that way for a long time, destined himself to never find love again or beg for Mystra's forgiveness for some new found purpose.

When you came into his life, he hadn't been sure what would come of your relationship. Certainly a brain parasite would make camp a difficult place for romance, but the two of you managed against all odds. Among all the things that Gale finds astonishing about your relationship - it's your affection for him that catches him the most off-guard.

It's a little sad, he can admit. But it's true. When you speak to Gale, your voice is always soft. It's never demanding. Before, always, there had been some kind of expectation. Gale had to be a certain way, to pour himself into someone else for the sake of it being returned.He loved. Surely he loved.

But now, lately, you love him back. Overwhelmingly. The easiness of your love makes him feel a little... spoiled. Which is embarrassing, at the stage of life he's in. He finds the whole thing tips him over the edge. The heat creeping up his neck every time he remembers. Your hand brushing against the back of his neck, cupping his face so gently.

Gale, perhaps unsurprisingly, is fond of your various pet names. All of them sound good. Make him feel important and desired. You like to call him a bookworm, sometimes you call him baby (which he really likes much more than he is ever willing to admit), and other times you settle on saying my love.

Pretty boy is new. Pretty boy is different, and makes heat crawl up the back of Gale's neck like a smitten school boy.

It has a special effect on Gale.

In between classes, spoken with your hands cupping his face as he leans on his desk. The sunlight is pouring through the large paneled windows, casting a warmth on your expression. Gale is sat on his desk, making you eye-level.

"I'm glad you've come to see me," Gale says to you first, breaking a period of comfortable silence. You're a busy person, given all the heroics. Gale finds it troublesome, despite the fact you've moved with him to Waterdeep. Your reputation precedes you "It's been ages,"

"Of course I'd come to see you, pretty boy," You hum, thumb brushing under his cheek - carefully drawing a line "You're very healing to look at."

The effect is rather immediate. As soon as the words leave your lips, spoken to him so lovingly - he unlocks a part of himself he always seems to forget about. Forgets himself in a fundamental way, the flurry of heat and euphoric sensation of adoration washing over him like water.

He gives you a look, and you laugh - pressing your thumb to his lower lip as you lean in for a kiss. "Stop pouting, will you?"

"I'm doing nothing of the sort," He insists, kissing you despite him. You laugh into, warm and bubbly. For a minute, he remembers all he might've lost had he done what Mystra told him.

He's glad he's alive. To feel you.

"You very much are," You reply back, once you've managed to pull away from each other "Don't be so surprised. You've always been very pretty to me."

He blushes again, deeper, and closes his eyes.

❈ SHADOWHEART ;

You don't often communicate your feelings to Shadowheart through words.

You're something of a stoic. Of the few people in Shadowheart's past who remain by her side, many of them communicate about how surprised they are about your partnership. Shadowheart is known to be a little snarky, witty. She used to be very prickly, at the start of your adventure together - so everyone questions how you were able to win her heart.

Truthfully, Shadowheart didn't know what to make of your personality at first. There's a silence to you. Maybe she should expect this of paladin so loyal. A Paladin of Torm, the unswerving enemy of injustice and corruption. You've always been a devout person, putting action and justice over everything. She hated it at first, a natural response for a Sharran, she figures.

Once she'd left it all behind, she could no longer use it as an excuse.

Truth be told, Shadowheart had always liked that aspect of you. Your devotion spoke to something greater than your oath or even your god. You had simply believed in the world, and inadvertently in her. You saved her from herself, her parents from her fate, and then some.

Your devotion to her as a lover isn't something so different. She often thinks you would swear yourself to her if you could. For Shadowheart, your affection is akin to worship. Every morning, the animals are tended and the flower bed is damp. You wake her mother up without a start, remind her of where she is without making her feel ashamed. You're good to her father, talk to him of worldly politics at the dinner table.

She has no complaints to make about you. Your love for her is tangible, something she can reach out and touch with her fingers.

She's unused to hearing your affections, though. Unused to hearing the words.

You lay together in the darkness. You're alone tonight, the entire cabin empty. Her mother and father have gone together on an outing together, after you accompanied them into the city. You've finally returned, put the horses up in the stable, and have to come to her side.

Shadowheart likes to lay in your arms. She lets herself curl into your weight, inhales the scent of your skin - earthy and rich as you let your arm fold around her waist. She lays ontop of you today, her whole body on yours like a blanket.

She looks up at you, her her tied loosely. She can practically feel how glowy her own expression is as she examines you - sees her reflection in your irises.

You let your hand lay over her back, reaching up underneath her nightwear to lay touch her skin. She gives you a look - her smile small, sincere. Your own expression is tired from travel, but fond. You insisted on taking her parents instead of letting them go alone.

She loves you more than she cares to admit.

"You're staring." She comments blithely "See something you like?"

Normally you'd flush a little at this, silent as you kiss her forehead or cheek. This time though, you use your fingers to brush the stray hairs from her face and nod.

"Yes, pretty girl," You hum, nonchalantly. Sagely. "I really do,"

She's so caught off guard, she can't help but gape. She lifts herself slightly to stare at you in shock.

"I've never heard you talk like that. Not once while we've been together. I mean.. you've called me beautiful but," Shadowheart stumbles, a fluttery feeling in her stomach she'd rather ignore "But it's never like that,"

"I think it more often that I say it,"

"And you always think to call me that?"

"Like I said, often," You look over he carefully, before your lips pull into an easy smile "You're pretty to the point I want to tell you all the time,"

Shadowheart is scarcely embarrassed by anything. She's a practiced woman at this point in her life. It's almost juvenile the way the words effect her. It's you saying it that makes all the difference. The way you've said it that makes her squirm. She lets out a little puff of air, silent as you laugh.

"Pretty girl," You repeat, warm and gentle and laced with exhaustion "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met."

Shadowheart tucks her face into your neck, voice as soft a murmur as the sound of her own heart rings in her ears.

"Don't make a habit of talking like that," She huffs "I already know, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to hear."

You smile brightly. "I'm glad,"

❈ KARLACH ;

Karlach adores you, utterly and completely.

She's a little caught off-guard by it. Just when she'd convinced herself she couldn't love you more, you surprise her all over again. She'd probably harbored some sort of affection for you from the start of your adventure together, when you'd gone to bat for her and make sure Wyll didn't take her head as a trophy.

Since then, though - on your journey together, she'd taken careful notice of you. And gods, she likes you. You're very different she must admit. Where Karlach is strong and fiery, you're cool and calculated. She figured that's just what magic users are like, but Gale is pretty keen on correcting this assumption. You're a sorcerer, specifically, means the whole magic thing is in your composition and not your study.

Which explained why your head isn't the books like their local wizard. She does find you to be rather charming. You're good at talking your way in and out of almost everything, and you can outwit even the cleverest people on camp. You'd think it'd make you... annoying. Or cruel. And sure, you're a little calculating - but mostly, you're sweet.

Karlach's really never met anyone like you before. Her companionship is a little limited because before the Blood Wars, she was a rag-tag kid in the street of the city. But you grew up in a noble house, learned to charm and finesse your way through everything. You know how to read situations before they've even happened.

And you always explain them to her afterwards.

You make Karlach nervous, strangely. Which is wild! When it comes to socializing, she can get along with almost anyone. You though, you always see right through her. You know when she's using her own personality as a shield, and you always know just when to intervene. Or when to say nothing, and just let her sit with you.

The day she blew up at you, after defeating Gortash - you'd handled it better than she could've hoped. You were comforting, and kind, and let her feel it out without making her feel bad. With you, she felt hopeful despite knowing that the end was probably going to come for her eventually.

With you, she thinks she could endure even the end of the world.

You're in the city now, no longer sleeping in the woods. When everyone else has gone to bed, Karlach finds you in the study, a room attached to the main living quarters.

She knocks before entering. Your voice is soft as you tell her to come in. Dressed in your comfy night clothes, your hair damp from washing up. You're bent over the desk with a furrow in your brow that Karlach finds sweet.

"Hey, baby," She asks, her heart thumping soft "Hope I'm not disturbin' your research."

"Of course not," You reply back, encouraging her towards you "I'm actually due a break."

Wordlessly, you sit up from your chair, pointing for Karlach to sit. She follows through, a little confused as to what you're doing before you plop yourself back into her lap. She throws her head back in laughter.

"Don't know what I was expecting there," She giggles, arm curling around your waist "All cozy?"

"Mm," You melt yourself into her embrace, turning to look at her. Your eyes are soft, free hand cupping her face "I'm cozy. What's keeping you up, pretty girl?"

The words catch her off guard completely, her engine flaring from the heat.

"Shit, what's with that?" She glances down at you, smiling like the cheeky fucker you are "I can't get any redder, you know? It's making my engine burn."

"You like it, no?" Your voice is smooth, smug in a way that gets her hot "My pretty girl,"

Karlach stares at you as you say it. Traces the curve of your lips, the slight arch of your brow. Asses the weight and warmth of you as you lay your legs over her lap and feels her body start to react. She didn't think it was possible to feel so complete by someone, even among the impending doom at the end of the world.

With you it fades away to nothing. Permission to want freely, she had no idea she had wanted that so bad. She had no idea she could want more when you'd already given her so much.

It's nice to be greedy. A little greed is fine, after everything.

"If you keep talking to me like that, we're going to do a lot more than just sitting, you know?" She tells you seriously.

You smile and laugh but don't deny her "Only if you say please,"

❈ LAE'ZEL ;

The Githyanki do not fall in love.

It's a fact of the culture, a mark of their honor. Love is for the soft, tender fleshed species of the material planes. It does not suit warriors, not the ruthless githyanki who spend their entire lives training the sword and learning magic. Love had always been a flimsy concept to Lae'zel. To the point she'd never thought about it or cared too. For the gith, there is only pleasure and carnal desire. The foolishness of longing can only be harbored in the lesser existence of the outer-world. The world outside of her creche.

For a long time, this was true for Lae'zel. She had never intended her time in the material plane to weaken her in the ways in which it did. Or that the experience of a ghaik parasite trapped behind her eyes would will her into cooperation with lesser beings. In many ways egregious, unfathomable. In trying to rid herself of one parasite, she'd found herself another one - more intolerable and more consuming than the first.

You. What a foreign and remarkable bond. From the beginning she had told you the truth, that the gith do not love and she would not be able to love you. Though she could admit passion, admit admiration for your courage, admit possession - she could not admit love. She knew nothing of it.

Over the course of your journey, you'd managed to prove her wrong. Slowly stripped bare of the identity she'd made her life around, you stripped Lae'zel down to her soul. Her most honored solider, and most formidable ally. When the time came, you'd told her to do what she must, to liberate her people. That you'd be there when she returned.

That you'd wait for her.

Months apart with few visits in between meant that each time Lae'zel sees you must make every minute count. Enjoying your body and indulging in carnal pleasures is only so much of that. What Lae'zel looks forward too most, she must admit, is the gentleness of your touch whenever she comes back to Fae'run.

Soft warm whispers among the indulgent plush of bed sheets and candles. A room that smells like lavender and oak, prayer books and scripture littered on the desk. A cleric of Bahamut, and a soul strong as steel.

But this, her head resting in your lap as you stroke her hair so carefully, is what she's missed most of all. No doubt she's going soft.

"Chk. You are smitten by the text in front of you as if you have forgotten of my return,"

You look down at Lae-zel with a laugh, carefully placing said book down on the bedside table. The voice you speak with her is different from her own. Tender fleshed even in your speech, you let her curl herself into you.

A vulnerable position, open to whatever may come.

"I'm sorry, pretty girl," You hum. The words practically startle her "I don't mean to neglect you. It was an interesting passage."

"Pretty...It is true among the githyanki, I am among the finest of their ranks," She replies, turning herself towards you - getting comfortable "Yet still, something stirs."

"Are you embarrassed?" You reply, delighted as her frown deepens. Before she has a chance to argue with you, you lean down to press your lips against hers briefly "How sweet of you."

"I do not get embarrassed," She insists, scowling as you begin to giggle at her "It was merely unexpected."

"You're beautiful to me, Lae'zel." You hum, stroking her cheek gently as she continues to lay herself across. Your eyes are tender and lidded. That look of obsession she recalled from the months prior returned in full, and no longer hidden. Unlike your other mortal companions, or the pale elf - there is nothing hidden in your words. No agenda "More beautiful than anyone else. At least to me. Getting to look at you so closely is a gift."

She softens, her hand gripping yours resting on her chest

"When it is over," She says seriously, a solemness to her voice "I will return to you. This I swear. Without you, the liberation of my people would be no less then a dream,"

You return her smile in kind.

"My pretty, wonderful girl," You hum. She loves you. She thinks she understands it now "I know you'll return to me, nailo. You always keep your promises."

"Yes," She says, an unfamiliar emotion overwhelming her "I will not forsake all we have promised."

The affection in your voice shakes Lae'zel to her core. Initial abrasion fades only into warmth. It's not so bad to hear, even if it is tender fleshed.

▸ a/n ; the word reader uses for lae'zel is elvish for swift winds!! reader is meant to be sort of a book worm so you do not need to picture them as a elf and more of a linguist.

this is the most substantial thing i've written in the last few weeks so commentary is very appreciated. i'd be willing to do a minthara and halsin addition to this eventually if anyone is interested!!

anyways, baldurs gate companions i love u. reblogs so appreciated !

[im-am-not-a-weenie]

🍓playing with their hair for the first time

Writing bg3 hc Now! Will also still be doing rdr2 a/n at the bottom for more info! spelling errors

Gn Reader

Gale, astarion,halsin,

Establish relationships

🍓Gale

You see Gale sitting all alone enjoying a good book. He always looked cute when he was enjoying what he was reading, he looked so concentrated and expressive

You couldn’t help but walk over to the wizard. “Mind if I join you?”. He smiled and patted the ground beside him “Of course, what’s better than a good book? Good company to share it with”

You sat down and made yourself comfortable ” What are you reading” You looked curiously over at the book in the wizard's hands. “Ah, It’s nothing really, just another tail of dragons and knights. I could read it aloud if you wish?”

He looked a bit nervous “On second thought you’ve probably grown tired of hearing my voice”. You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze “Never”

You laid back, Gale didn’t look very comfortable, being hunched over “Here,” you said sweetly and pulled him down so his head was on your lap “Better?” He looked a little stiff but quickly regained his composure “Yes, yes it’s quite nice”

As He started to read Your hand absentmindedly went to his hair, and your fingers started to card through his brown locks, you felt him tense but then relax back into it

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back listening to him read, but after a long you heard him trail off, opening one of your eyes to peek at him you could see he was starting to doze

With a smile, you gently took the book out of his hands “Huh?” He opened his eyes to look at you. ”you were falling asleep” your hand still in his hair

“Could You…could you maybe keep doing that?” Gale mutters sheepishly. You just laughed softly and smiled

That night Gale fell asleep with a smile on his face and your hands in his hair

🍓astarion

The party decided it would be best to stay at a tavern that night, treating themselves and of course, astarion headed straight towards where the bath was located

It had been an hour and still no sign of him, getting a tad bit worried you decided to go check on him, you knocked on the door softly “Star? Are you alright in there?” You were met with a muffled “Yes darling quite alright”

After a few minutes you hesitantly “Can…can I come in?" he automatically responded with a "Yes darling"

as you opened the door thick clouds of steam poured out. "hurry my love, we wouldn't want it to get cold in here now would we?" astarion was sitting in a bath you could only assume was boiling hot water "Star, how hot is that bath? your skin is red" he waved off your concern

"now what did you need?" his eyebrow raised in curiosity. "I was hoping to join you honestly" his expression dropped as he opened his mouth to speak but then closed it

"You can say no" your voice filled with nothing but love and encouragement. he hesitates for a moment before finally saying "It's just I don't believe the tub would be big enough for us both that's all" he flashed you a charming smile. you knew there was a deeper reason but didn't push

"i was actually thinking of just sitting in here with you. Would that be ok?' he looked taken aback "You just wish to sit here with me that's all?" you gave a nod "Well I mean who wouldn't want to sit here and marvel at my beauty, go ahead"

as he reached for the soap you beat him to it "Here let me." pouring a generous amount of soap into your hands, making your way behind him, first lathering the soap in your hands before sinking them into his hair

"What are you doing?" his body tensed up slightly. "washing your hair what does it look like" teased him with a sweet voice as your fingers gently massaged his head. "I get that darling but why?" his voice sounded unsure, not used to non-sexual intimacy.

"Because I love you, and you deserve to get pampered" his breath caught in his throat and quickly cleared it "Of course I do, I'm glad we're on the same page." you gave him a small laugh as you kept washing his hair, he closed his eyes and lent back into your hands. you swear you could hear him purring

you both sat in comfortable silence until he softly said "I love you too" You could hear the faint smile on his lips without having to see it

🍓Halsin

this morning was a rare morning, not only did you wake up early voluntarily, but you woke before Halsin which never happened. (to be fair he just got back from a long and exhausting journey but still!)

waking up feeling warm. not sure if it was because of how the sun was hitting your face or because of the giant man holding you close to him

your eyes fluttered open and you were met with the sight of a sleeping Halsin. he looked peaceful. the sun made him look radiant, glowing almost, as his chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm. something else caught your eye. he had his hair down

yes his hair was always down but it was always pulled back, but this morning it sprawled messily over his pillow, and a couple stray strands laid on his face. you couldn't help but reach out and brush it away

his eyebrows frowned before he quietly spoke "Your hands are cold" You quickly retracted your hand. "sorry" you whispered back, Halsins eyes opened slolwy. blinking away the sleep, he smiled and grabbed your hand and placed it back on his cheek, and kissed the palm of your hand. "it's ok my heart"

you could feel your face heat up all you could do was smile dumbly "It's down" was all you said and tucked a few more pieces behind his ear. "does it bother you my heart?' you shook your head, all too eager to see the druid with his hair down. "no, I like it"

running your hand through his usually well-kept hair. "how is it so soft" you wondered out loud, Halsin just chuckled and let you have your fun.

he let out a content sigh. "awfully affectionate this morning. not that I mind" his lips pressed against your forehead. "Is something the matter?"

"no, I just missed my bear that's all" You studied his face, taking in every detail. "I think I finally understand the whole "appreciate nature's gift" thing." the druid just laughed warmly and shook his head fondly

the two of you spent all morning like that. his arms wrapped around you and you playing with his hair

🍓A/N

hey guys im back! so much as happened i graduated and im 19 now? life has been crazy!! i know this is different from my usual content but playing baulders gate gave me inspiration to write again. dont worry i will still take requests for RDR2 but i will also be writing for BG3. With that said im cleaning out my inbox so if you see your request finally go through a year later.............🤷‍♀️. i will also be taking BG3 requests. i did astarion, gale, and halsin i think i can write them comfortably. but do not be scared to request other characters if you really wanna see me write for them or have a really specific scenario in mind. i will also try to post every other Wednesday

love yall and thx for the support <3

[reverieblondie]

Romanced BG3 companions of your choice each reacting to Tav crossing paths with an ex - the ex had cheated on Tav and didn't take kindly to them breaking off the relationship immediately after discovering this. This ex also takes umbrage with the fact that Tav has moved on to a different relationship and starts accosting them.

This was a super fun prompt, and I hope you enjoyed what I did with it. It was just going to be headcanons, but I thought little drabbles would be better! Let me know what you think! 

Warnings- slight violence but mostly fluff!

Astarion:

 It was a usual date for Tav and Astarion, a pleasant late-night stroll through the city. Astarions hand on the small of Tav’s back as they walk together, taking in the candle-lit streets. It had been a recent hobby as of late for the couple to partake in people-watching; Tav had to admit Astarions snide remarks about the lost drunks stumbling out of the bars did tend to be quite funny. Though Tav would always remind him,

“We are heroes of the city star; we shouldn’t be so judgy.” 

Astarion playfully tsk his lips before leaning in to whisper in Tav’s ear, playing softly with their hair, sending a playful shiver down their spine. 

“Don’t pretend to be all high and mighty, darling. You laughed at that one fool the other day…that was very naughty of you.” 

Tav’s heart starts to race; Astarions teasing always does this. Astarion sees a particularly sloppy drunk stumbling from a tavern as they continue to tease and walk back home. 

“Oh, get a look at this one…” Astarion whispers. As Tav turns to take a look, Astarion watches as their smile quickly falls to something of a panic. Tav quickly grabs Astarion’s hand. Something is wrong, and Astarion is now on high alert. The drunk looks up, squinting their eyes at them, and finally, through their drunken haze, it clicks who they are seeing. 

“Well, lookie what we have here…Tav, with some pretty boy nonetheless. Some advice: They’re a real stiff. You could probably find a better lay somewhere else…I know I did…” Tav clenches Astarion’s hand tighter; the words cut deep. 

“Star…can we please go home…”

 Astarion holds Tav’s hand tightly. “Of course, darling…” 

Astarion and Tav quickly head home as the drunk yells at them, bellowing their nasty hate on Tav. Once home in a safe space, Tav opens up to Astarion about their ex, and Astarion just calmly listens, holding them closely, telling them that they won’t hurt Tav anymore; no one will ever hurt them with him around. With Tav resting peacefully, Astarion decides to go out one last time…A particular drunk needs to be taught that nobody ever upsets his darling with him around…Tav need not worry about running into that Ex again… 

Rolan:

Only sometimes did Rolan get distracted at work, but since Tav had started working with him in Sundries wanting to ‘Help out’ and ‘Spend more time with their Rolan,’ he can’t help but get distracted more often. Rolan finds his glowing eyes raking over Tav as they work so diligently. Tav would frequently catch Rolan in these states of distraction, usually opting to smile and wave at him or even sometimes kiss Rolan. Rolan loves having Tav so close and getting to work with them so closely; it makes the stress of being an archmage fade away. 

Rolan is working behind Tav as they operate the counter, trying so hard not to fall into a mess of giggles as Rolan runs his tail up and down Tav’s legs in a teasing gesture. The shop is slow, and in a moment of weakness, Rolan wraps his arms around Tav’s middle and starts playfully kissing along their neck, making Tav giggle and fidget around, protesting about upsetting customers and Rolan insisting that he doesn’t care. 

Amid their joy, they didn’t notice the new customer who had walked up to the happy couple. “Tav, tsk tsk, this is very unsightly customer service…” 

Tav’s smile drops as they open their eyes to face their ex face-to-face. Letting his instincts take over, Rolan immediately gets defensive and gets in front of Tav and this rude person. 

“Can I help you with something?” Rolan’s voice dripped in disdain. 

“I’m just coming to check if the rumors are true: Tav shacking up with the new archmage…. It seems they are true.” 

Tav quickly argues, “It’s one, not like that, and two, none of your business!”

“I think it is my business when my ex is going about acting like a damn slu-”

Before they can even finish the insult, Tav watches as their ex suddenly goes flying out of the shop. A surprisingly calm Rolan walks after them, his hand still sparking with magic. 

Rolan looks down at the pathetic lump of a person lying out in front of the shop. “I suggest you don’t return to this establishment again…and if I hear you speak ill of Tav, I will make it where you never speak again… Now get away from my shop.” 

With a snap, Rolan slams the doors shut and quickly goes to Tav, grabbing their hand and leading them upstairs. Tav asks what he is doing and who will watch the shop, but they see that Rolan’s hologram is now at the desk. Rolan smiles back to Tav, taking a moment to kiss their hand, 

“Let’s take the day, just for ourselves…” 

Rolan knows how to shower Tav with care and love…His hands didn’t leave Tav for the rest of the night…

Wyll:

The tavern was an uproar of cheering and laughter, but Tav didn’t notice the noises or anyone else as they swayed in Wyll’s arms. Of course, Wyll dragged Tav to the dance floor as soon as they entered the bar. The dances had started quickly, with jumps and claps, and people turned about in blind merriment. 

But now the music is slower, allowing them to hold each other tightly and ignore the rest of the tavern. Wyll often had this effect on Tav; when in his embrace, things would instantly be more peaceful. However, the sudden drying in Tav’s throat makes them painstakingly separate from Wyll. 

“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?” 

Wyll spins Tav and places a quick kiss on Tav’s hand, “Just for you to hurry back, love.” 

Tav boops Wylls nose. “Flirt.” they tease, wholly lost in their affection for him. 

Tav quickly makes their way to the bar, chugging their drink down to return to their dance partner. But as Tav pushes through the crowd, they freeze at the sight. 

Tav’s terrible ex is talking to Wyll, and from the look on Wyll’s face, he is not happy. Tav tries to get there quickly to save Wyll. Then they see their ex push Wyll—oh hells No! 

Tav is ready to bounce when they suddenly watch Wyll punch their ex, laying him out instantly. Tav’s jaw is on the floor as they stand over the pathetic person. 

Tav looks at Wyll’s unapologetic face, “What..” 

“They were saying rude things about you. Honestly, you dated this trash? I am so sorry you went through that, darling.” 

Tav’s smile is vast as they hug Wyll tightly, “My hero, how could I ever repay you?” 

Wylls smile widens, “I have a few ideas…If you are willing…” 

“Oh, I am…” 

Wyll leads Tav over their knocked cold ex out of the tavern and back home, where Tav spends the whole night thanking their hero…

Gale:

Morning Markets is not exactly Tav’s favorite way to spend time with Gale, but anytime they get to be with him is a plus, and watching that wizard try and fumble his way through haggling was funny. After Gale had failed to haggle a deal for some fresh fish, Tav just grabbed him and kissed his cheek tenderly. 

“Yeah, not everyone haggles for magical items, but maybe you will get a good deal one day.” Gale huffs as he holds Tav closer, slowly lowering his hands to grip Tav’s hips. A look of mischief fills his eyes as he buries his head into Tav’s neck, stealing a quick smell before whispering in their ear, 

“One more stop, and then we are heading home. I’m getting impatient…” 

How he whispered the last part excitedly made Tav’s skin shiver in anticipation. 

Entering the shop, Gale leaves Tav to wait for him by the door. “I will be there for just a quick moment,” he promises. 

As Tav stands there as patiently as possible, someone calls their name, turning Tav’s previous smile, which is furrowing into a scowl, looking at their ex. Tav raises their arms to fold over their chest, quickly scanning the room for Gale, but he is busy now. They will have to face this annoyance on their own. 

“I heard you were back in the city; we should get a drink for old time’s sake. Hm, what do you say?” 

“Not interested…” Tav spits out. 

“Oh, come on, it’s the least you could do for dumping me like that.” 

Tav’s eyes go wild, “Excuse me? You cheated, remember! And I want nothing to do with you!” 

“One little slip you can’t let go. Always so dramatic…” 

Tav is about to lose it until a familiar warmth on their shoulder calms them. Turning, Tav’s eyes met Gales’s smiling face. 

“Ready to go?” 

Tavs ex tsk, “Hey, we were talking here.” 

Gale’s face goes stren when looking at the stranger, “Well, now the conversation is over.” 

Without hesitation, Gale gently leads Tav out of the shop and back home. “Sorry I didn’t get to your side sooner, my dear. Are you okay? Did they upset you?” 

Tav leans into Gale as they walk together, saying, “I am much better with you by my side. Thank you.” 

Lae’zel:

Tav and Lae’zel were taking a pleasant stroll in the park. Lae’zel didn’t exactly care for the atmosphere, but they knew Tav enjoyed it, so they followed, letting Tav talk to her endlessly about their time in the city and teaching Lae’zel about new things. Lae’zel couldn’t help but smile at Tav as they rambled on. 

Usually, so much talking bothers her, but with Tav, their sounds were pleasant, soothing…

As Tav is walking, they are unaware of the person quietly approaching them from behind until suddenly they feel a push to their shoulder, breaking them from their conversion with Lae’zel. 

“Tav! I-” -SMACK!-

In the blink of an eye, Tav watches their ex receive a swift nose-breaking punch to the face. 

“Do not address my mate so casually!” I shall have your hand!” Tav slings Lae’zel over their shoulder, running away from the crime scene. 

Lae’zel isn’t exactly sure why she is receiving so much affection from Tav, but she isn’t complaining about it…Maybe she should punch people more often…

After Lae’zel punches a random man trying to sell Tav fish, they explain what happened to Lae’zel. Tav has to spend the rest of the day keeping Lae’zel’s sword away from her so she doesn’t behead their ex… Lae’zel cares for Tav very, very profoundly…

[talesofesther]

until one of us caves

Rolan x Reader

Summary: After fighting Lorroakan, you decide to stay with Rolan.

A/N: I know that like maybe three people are gonna read this but I couldn't care less. The more I learned about Rolan's story, the bigger of a soft spot I got, and this little thought wouldn't leave my head so I had to write this down. Nothing serious, just something I wish I could do in the game. Also, this story kinda drifted a little from the original plan about halfway through and started writing itself, so don't blame me if the quality is dubious lmao. Requests for him are open I guess, if anyone's interested.

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

The scent of smoke and ash hung in the air. Stones and mud, remains of the elementals, littered the floor of Ramazith's Tower; as well as a few burned books here and there, smashed furniture, and splatters of blood in the marble. It would take a while to get the place back to the glory it could hold, but you figured it was doable.

The body of its previous master lay lifeless on the floor, spine broken, skin torn. You held no pity for him, only resentment.

From the corner of your eyes, you could spot a twitching tail and clenched fists, staring blankly at the body of his tormentor. He said nothing, merely huffed and walked away before you could think of saying anything, your gaze followed his steps.

The time between when you'd first set foot in Sorcerous Sundries and now had gone by in a haze. You had stopped dead in your tracks then, breath hitching as you caught sight of the countless bruises on Rolan's skin, and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness took over you. You'd walked up to him, the words "Who did this to you?" were stumbling past your lips before he even had the chance to utter the practiced greeting. Rolan had evaded the matter, as you'd expected, building ever higher walls around himself. And you'd surprised yourself with how restless the sight of him had made you feel.

"Soldier?" Karlach's hand on your shoulder pulled you back to the present, making you quickly turn your head back to her.

You blinked several times until your eyes regained their focus; "yeah?"

She gave you a halfhearted smile and you wondered just how much your turmoil showed on your face. "I was just asking if you're alright, and… where do we go from here." Her voice held kindness to it, as it usually did. More often than not Karlach was, surprisingly, a calming balm in your hectic days.

"Uh-" you hesitated. Perhaps you should already be used to being the one people turned to in search of guidance, leadership. But it was a title you'd never really asked for, was it?

"You guys should go ahead, dispose of him somewhere," you gestured to Lorroakan's lifeless form, "before anyone walks in on… all of this."

Karlach nodded along and then raised a brow at you. "And what of you?" She asked, yet there was a smirk on her lips that alluded to the fact that she already knew the answer.

"I'll hang back." Your cheeks warmed up, "I'll meet you guys at Elfsong later."

"Take your time, soldier," Karlach winked at you, then turned to hurl the dead Wizard's body over her shoulder. "Right let's go people, nothing left to see here."

"And how exactly do you intend to walk around the city with that?" Shadowheart asked exasperatedly, yet followed Karlach to the swirling portal nonetheless.

The tiefling shrugged, holding Lorroakan's body with one arm, "I don't know. If anyone asks we'll just say he's drunk or something."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Oh, I want to see that."

Shadowheart and Astarion added simultaneously, one rolling her eyes and the other smiling brightly.

"Alright then, you think of some excuse for-"

You chuckled at the banter of your companions, their voices growing distant as they disappeared through the portal that would take them back to the bustle of Sorcerous Sundries.

With a deep breath in and a long exhale out, you turned around, gaze slowly roaming over the empty expanse of the luxurious tower; now so quiet, bordering on serene, save for the damage the battle left behind. Until you finally spotted the one you were looking for.

Rolan was tucked away in a shadowy corner, head bowed as he stacked a few fallen books on his hands and then beside each other on the shelves. His movements all stiff and slow, as if the books were much too heavy and it hurt to carry them.

The worry twirling in your stomach threatened to escape as you took careful steps towards him. Yet you still weren't sure how to approach him. The tower suddenly held a nearly intimate air. It was delicate, fragile. The lines between you and him had started to blur, you couldn't pinpoint when, but they did; and now, in the privacy of the high tower, you started to feel the weight of it.

You cleared your throat, but the tiefling didn't turn to look at you, though his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. You wondered if he knew you'd stayed, or perhaps hoped you would.

"Rolan… would you like some help with organizing things a little? At least for the night?" You tried, unsure what else you could possibly say and biting back the urge to tell him that he looked like he needed a good night's rest. He wouldn't admit it, you knew; but the fight had taken a huge toll on his already bruised body. He looked utterly exhausted; shoulders slumped, tail laying limply on the floor, barely holding himself together.

He turned his head to glance at you, an unreadable expression on his face, and lips hovering with uncertainty for a moment. "No, I can manage…" Rolan's voice was quiet, his features softly highlighted by the last fading rays of sunshine coming through the tall windows. You could see the bruises on his cheek, jaw, and nose—some new, some old; darker shades blooming on his reddish skin.

"You can go," he turned away again.

"Are you… sure?" You took half a step forward, fidgeting with your own hands. You didn't feel like leaving him just yet.

"Yes. I'm sure." He finally faced you fully in a quick motion, eyebrows slightly furrowed, "I'm not a helpless child, I can at least take care of organizing this mess by myself, if nothing else."

You closed your eyes momentarily at his words, "That's- that's not what I meant, I know you can-"

"What is it you want then? That I thank you for saving my sorry ass? Again?" His tone held bite to it, anger even, yet you had a feeling that it wasn't directed at you, but at himself. With a huff, he threw aside the one book he still held in his hands, "Okay then, thank you, your heroic attitude of the day has been achieved." He gestured toward you, speaking as if he had been just another thing to check off your list.

The movement of his mouth had pried open a fresh cut he had on his lip. Rolan didn't seem to notice, but the small sliver of blood glinted in the low light. Your heart ached, but not for his words, they were mostly empty. It ached because you saw how much he was hurting. That defeated look lingered in his golden eyes, the same you'd seen at Last Light Inn when he had been incapable of rescuing his siblings. You wished you could tell him he was enough. You wished he would believe you.

You took in a steadying breath, holding onto your composure for both of your sakes. "It's not about being a hero, Rolan, it's about helping the people I care about."

Another scoff fell past his lips, he avoided your eyes, looking distantly out the window beside him; "What are you doing here then?"

You merely raised an eyebrow at him, features soft, allowing him to believe in whatever he wanted to believe.

His throat worked through a heavy gulp when he glanced at you again, tail swishing behind him as he took half a step back. "Sod off," the words came out heavy and unstable, "You came here because Lorroakan was after your Aasimar friend… Your job is done now, you can leave." He stormed past you then, quick steps taking him to the other side of the tower.

With a roll of your eyes, you followed after him, "I came here because I care about you, too." You tried to convey as much sincerity in your words as you could, staring intently at his back as he raised a fallen chair. You caught a glimpse of his tail, coiled tightly around his own leg. You wondered if he even realizes he's doing it, if it's some kind of self-soothing habit he's learned over the years.

His hair had been undone, too, falling freely over his shoulders and looking a tad longer than what you were used to. The look suited him—a touch of softness in his usually sharp appearance—in the back of your mind you promised yourself to tell him that someday.

Several beats of silence went by. With Rolan holding tightly onto the back of the wooden chair. You tended to be annoyingly insistent, the tiefling thought to himself. Ever since the first time he met you, you had a habit of refusing to give up on people. On him. Rolan tried to tell himself it didn't get to him, that the butterflies in his stomach, and the overwhelming relief your mere presence brought him meant absolutely nothing. Because of course, you wouldn't look twice at someone like him, would you?

It was ironically sad that his heart would choose you—the hero, his hero—of all people, to have a soft spot for. He could never measure up, not really, and he knew that; told himself that very fact over and over whenever his mind dared to hope with what-ifs.

"You don't mean that," his voice was small and he berated himself for allowing it to be. He closed his eyes tightly, knuckles growing white with his grip on the chair. "And I was fine," Rolan emphasized the words yet he didn't know anymore if he was trying to convince you or himself.

Silence engulfed the tower again. Deafening silence. One sharp claw tapped the back of the wooden chair, a fast rhythm, following the heartbeat thundering through his veins. With a defeated sigh, Rolan turned to face you. Still, he refused to meet your eyes, focusing instead on the fabric of your glove wrapped around your hand; he could see faint scars on your fingers, wondered how you got them.

"Were you, really?" You asked then, softly, near desperately; waiting with bated breath for him to just look at you.

Rolan was a little difficult to get to, had been since you first met him. Part of you rather enjoyed your harmless bickering every now and then. Behind the witty words, there had always been hidden smiles and bashful eyes, the hopeful glint of being in each other's presence, if briefly.

Alas, you weren't exactly entitled to pry or demand, much as you cared for him it wasn't your place, so you relented; "Tell me you're alright, truly alright, and I'll leave if that's what you want so bad."

Rolan hesitated for a heartbeat, and then two, and three. Any words he might want to say were stuck in his throat, tangled in between feelings that confused the hells out of him. How could he ever tell you that he's not alright? That he hasn't been for a long time?

How could he tell you that he doesn't want you to leave, ever?

There was a distant stinging behind his eyes and he hated himself for it, for being so needy and vulnerable. He hated how his palms were sweaty and his heart threatened to break free of his ribcage with the speed it was beating. He hated how his knees seemed on the brink of collapsing with his weight. He hated how he suddenly felt all the bruises in his body hurting so badly, as if only now he allowed himself to feel the pain they inflicted. He hated-

A soft touch on his lower lip halted Rolan's spiraling thoughts abruptly, and his breath. With the sleeve of your robe, movement as light as a feather, you cleaned a sliver of blood that had escaped the fresh cut there. Rolan shuddered under your touch, for like a breath of fresh air after nearly drowning to death, that was all he could feel.

Pointy teeth dug into the inside of his cheek, holding back what would only be a flood of embarrassment for him if he allowed his pestering emotions to spill. His throat closed up tight, vision growing hazy until you were nothing but a blur in front of him.

There was something about the way you touched him oh so tenderly that got his walls tumbling down as if they were paper under the rain. Your hand lingered, refusing to part from him. Your fingers trailed a hesitant path to his cheek, mapping the bruises underneath- no, mapping his skin, him.

And he could crumble. Rolan felt himself falling, falling, falling.

When was the last time he felt a kind touch? one that didn't hurt or sting or threatened? He couldn't recall.

"I do mean it, I care about you, Rolan." You promised him, and only him. Whispered words dripping with affection.

The front of your boots hit his shoes as you took a final step closer. Rolan brought one hand up, his fingers closing around your wrist with urgency. Yet his hold was gentle, pressing into the veins there and feeling your pulse running beneath his fingertips. He held you there, all but begging you to stay. Words were difficult, complicated, and messy; hopefully his soul could tell you what he couldn't.

With your heart in your mouth, you mumbled; "it's okay. It's over." You're not sure if he heard or felt the words, but Rolan dipped his head forward until his forehead bumped yours.

Suddenly close wasn't close enough. You wanted to kiss away his tears, his bruises, his pain; promise him that everything would be alright now even if your own life was a sea of uncertainty.

"Why?" It fell past his lips. Such a genuine question uttered with such a small voice that it hurt you like a dagger to the heart.

"Why do these things happen to me?" Rolan's voice cracked and stumbled, his eyebrows briefly furrowed in a mix of anger and sorrow. "I-" he breathed in deep and unsteady, bright eyes welling with unshed tears that shone brightly under the soft candlelights on the walls.

You gulped back your own heartache, struggling to keep to yourself how soft he made you feel. You slowly raised your other hand to push fallen strands of hair behind his ear.

"I hoped it had a purpose," he admitted then, quiet as breath. His lower lip quivered before he spoke again, closing his eyes and leaning timidly towards your touch. "That it was a test, and he would- he would eventually stop. That I just needed to endure a while longer."

A choked sob stumbled past his lips and you felt the first of his tears landing on your thumb. Rolan shook his head, a self-deprecating scoff falling past his lips; "that I deserved it."

"Stop," you said before you could think, finally taking your hand away from his cheek, only to bury it into his hair instead. With the encouragement you knew he needed, you pulled him to you.

Rolan fell forward with no restraints, no hesitations, only a weary soul looking for solace. He buried his head between your neck and shoulder, both arms coming around your waist and squeezing tightly, to the point of his claws nearly ripping your robe.

You held him back with the same desperation, one hand tangling in between his hair and cradling his head to you. Your lips brushed the nape of his neck in a silent confession of adoration.

The fabric of your robe grew damp as silent tears fell past Rolan's defenses, his body shaking in your hold, releasing months if not years of bottled-up emotions.

With a kiss to his warm skin, embers of the fire he ignited in your heart broke free; "You could never deserve what he did to you. You're so very special, Rolan. To Cal, To Lia…" You told him, slow and tender, twirling strands of his hair between your fingers, and a small smile stretched your lips when you felt him relaxing against you. "… To me." It was nothing but a whisper, blown into the wind only for him to hear.

Rolan's breath stumbled, you felt it in the way he gripped you tighter—if that was even possible—and heard it in the soft gasp beside your ear.

"Please don't-" His voice broke in the middle, all husky and wobbly from his tears. "Don't say… that. If you don't mean-" he hesitated, fresh tears cascading freely down his cheeks, beyond any foolish attempt to be held back; they dripped down the bridge of his nose and soaked the fabric of your robe, making him curl into you all the more to hide his embarrassment from the outside world.

"Please," it was so quiet as he pleaded. For what, he wasn't entirely sure anymore. Maybe he just knew he couldn't take losing anything else.

You pulled back and Rolan felt his heart stumbling and cracking in his chest. But you were quick to mend it back together, with both hands coming up to hold his cheeks again, your thumbs brushing away the wetness there, near reverently.

"I promise," you whispered, gaze drifting ever so slightly downward before focusing back on his bright eyes. You were bold enough to lean in until the tip of your nose touched his, and as you did so you felt something coiling around your leg. You smiled; "I promise."

Rolan gulped, his mouth parting as he barely held himself back from closing the gap between you. Goosebumps littered his whole body when his upper lip accidentally brushed yours.

He pulled away but refused to loosen his grip on your waist. "I don't want you to leave," he said it so quietly, offering you his bleeding heart with a shaking hand.

Gentle fingers brushed away the messy strands of hair clinging to his forehead. When Rolan looked up, there was a loving smile on your lips, it was the first time he saw it and he already knew he'd kill to see it again.

You leaned closer, and with a kiss between his brows, you said; "then I'll stay."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Rolan’s taglist: @milkiane@v1ci0us

[thedreamlessnights]

Someone to shed some light - pt. 5

Astarion x gn!reader (NSFW)

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: You and Astarion come across the camp, and its discovery adds a complication to the mix. The two of you share an intimate night together.

Warnings: 18+ - Blood drinking, mentions of past abuse. Explicit sexual content. Penetrative sex, fingering, first time sex.

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: As you can see, this chapter is an eventful one. I hope you'll all enjoy! This story is going to get wild, and we're going to start seeing some new (and perhaps familiar) faces 👀 Also, thank you so much to @aerynwrites for making the amazing header image and for looking over this chapter! I appreciate you so much ♥

The thick, awkward silence in the air follows you all the way to the stream - tailing along with you like it’s your shadow.

You’ve never been more grateful to see a body of water in your entire life, and it’s not due to the thirst slowly building in your mouth, or the grime on your skin itching to be cleaned off. It’s because you’re dying to do something that isn’t walking, dying to curb the silence, and dying to think of anything that isn’t Cazador.

How long have the two of you been traveling, now? How long since you’d come across Gandrel? The trees have been too dense to tell the time with any accuracy, but there’s a break of them over the water, and the sun is mid-sky when you glance at its position. 

Hours, maybe. 

Hours of thinking up a thousand different conversation topics. Trying to find something to fill the deadening quiet. None of them seemed appropriate, though; not in the aftermath of finding out that an evil vampire had enslaved Astarion for two centuries and is now relentlessly hunting him. What could you possibly say after that? 

Nothing, you’d eventually decided. You’d say nothing. But that hadn’t made any of it any better. 

The camp shouldn’t be far, now. But that can wait.

You sink to your knees on the bank, taking a handful of the mercifully cool water and splashing it over your face. It’s sweet when you bring it to your lips, blissful on your burning-hot skin, and you can’t help letting out a sigh of relief.

“I can’t wait to get out of these woods,” you say softly, more for yourself.

“They were your idea, my sweet,” Astarion replies, somewhere behind you. 

“Freedom was my idea,” you combat defensively. “The woods just happened to be a temporary part of that.”

“If you’re planning to run from my mother, then it certainly won’t be temporary,” Astarion says. “I’d become very, very friendly with the woods if I were you.”

You drop your hands, shaking away the remaining water as you try - and fail - to bite away your frustration. “Why can’t she leave me alone? All I want is to go back to my home.”

“And I want to wake every morning with a virgin at my side,” he snipes, every word laced with melodramatic condescension, “but life doesn’t give us what we want.” 

This time, your anger cuts through your chest like a knife as you shift to face him. “Well!” you exclaim. “Congratulations then, Astarion, because you do!”

He freezes, a glint in his eye, and you know you’ve made a grave error. “Do I, now?” he purrs. “Interesting.”

You ignore him, turning back to the stream, but your cheeks go hot. “Well?” you finally say. “Are you going to get cleaned up or not?”

To your surprise, he doesn’t respond.

You glance at him and find him staring at the water like it’s a poisonous bog. “Oh, come now, Your Highness. Don’t tell me the stream isn’t good enough for you?”

He scowls at you, but his gaze is quick to flit back to the stream as he speaks. “Running water used to burn like acid, dearest. I’ve never tested if it still does.”

Your mouth snaps shut. No more teasing him, you resolve. It’s only making you look like a complete ass. “Oh,” you finally say.

Astarion sinks down into a squat, hesitantly dipping his fingers into the water and giving a hum. “Well. I suppose that answers that question,” he says, shifting onto his knees.

He’s just as dirty as you feel. Gandrel’s blood is splattered all over him, and the grime of the woods has etched streaks of dirt onto his skin. Somehow, despite all of that, he’s still as beautiful as always. Maybe even more so, like this.

You feel a strange sense of disappointment when he starts rinsing the mess away.

It’s blazing hot out. It was easier to ignore earlier when you were under the shade, but the light is in full effect over the stream, and it’s unavoidable, now. You’re covered in sweat and dirt and the gods know what else. The itch to get clean is maddening.

At first, you try splashing water onto your skin and your filthy shirt, but all it ends up doing is drenching yourself - not cleaning anything at all. You’re left dirty, wet, and frustrated, and, well. Who knows when the next bathing spot will be. You’re already soaked…

You peel off your shoes and socks, get to your feet and take two steps back, then jump in.

The water is freezing cold, but it’s wonderful - euphoric under the pounding sun. It washes away the dirt and blood and sweat with ease, carrying them away as you kick around. The mild current feels like silk over your limbs. For a moment, you even float around on your back, enjoying the peaceful murmur of the water.

Then you remember that you aren’t alone, and you go upright. Astarion is watching you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, distracted from his task. As soon as he sees you looking, he instantly goes back to trying to clean the stains out of his shirt - which is going about as well for him as it had been for you.

You watch his struggle for a moment before a string of words leave your lips. Words that wouldn’t have come out if you’d taken the time to think about it. 

“You should join me!”

He glances at the water. It’s completely clear and a beautiful blue, but that doesn’t seem to matter to him. “Darling,” he says, letting out a haughty laugh, “you want me to jump in there? Only the gods know what’s in that water.”

“You’re using it to clean your shirt,” you point out, “which isn’t going very well, Your Highness. It’ll be the closest thing to a bath for miles.”

He simply scowls in response, and you shake your head.

“Alright,” you relent. “Stay up there in the heat, then, covered in blood and dirt. Just don’t start complaining to me when you start to feel dirty.”

His scowl deepens, but he gives up on the shirt and shifts until he’s sitting on the edge of the bank. “Fine,” he says sharply. He looks down and hesitates, tilting his head. Is he wondering how deep it is? If water used to burn, then he probably hasn’t gone swimming in…

Two centuries. 

You let yourself stand, your toes sinking into the mud. The water isn’t much higher than your rib cage, and the crease between Astarion’s brows fades away. Following in your lead, he takes off his boots and socks, then lets himself slide into the water. He grimaces for a moment at the temperature, sinks under the surface, and comes up sopping, wiping water out of his eyes.

You almost feel bad, looking at that silvery mop of curls, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply pushes the mass of wet hair out of his face, then resumes his process of cleaning the blood out of his shirt. Or, trying to. It seems thoroughly fixed into the cream fabric.

For some reason, your attention on him feels like an invasion of a private moment, so you take to making sure you’re cleaned off, averting your gaze - especially when he takes off his shirt to scrub away the stains. The brief flash of porcelain skin you catch has your cheeks blooming with heat; it’s the most you’ve ever seen of him.

To distract yourself, you speak. “I’m surprised you actually got in.”

“Well,” he says. “Unfortunately, my warm baths have been conveniently misplaced. This will have to suffice.”

“Of course,” you mutter, paddling absentmindedly through the water. “For a moment there, I thought you might like something that’s remotely fun. My mistake.”

You’re still turned away, which is why the splash of water that hits you catches you by surprise. “Oh, you bastard,” you gasp, instantly sending another splash back at him.

He pauses, flashing you a wicked grin, and then you’re hit with another one, and another, and another. You’re splashing him back as much as you can and trying to swim away from the splash zone, and he’s splashing you, and you’re both breathless and calling taunts into the air. The sun is in your eyes, and water is in your lungs, and for a brief, blissful moment, it’s like all your worries have slipped away.

When the two of you are finally worn out, muscles aching, you push your way to the shore and lay on the grass, trying to catch your breath as your eyes flutter shut. The sun is golden and warm overhead, and with your now-drenched clothes, it feels wonderful. 

A moment after you’ve gotten out, Astarion joins you. You hear the light thump of his wet shirt landing on the grass next to you, and then he’s sighing. “Gods - it’s hopeless,” he mutters. “Hopefully one of those Zhentarim knew something about fashion.”

 His footsteps head back to his pack, but the feeling of warm sun on your skin is relaxing enough to keep you where you are as he digs around. When he stalls, you finally sit up, coughing some of the leftover water out of your lungs. Another joke is poised on your lips, but when you catch sight of his back, the words turn to ash on your tongue.

The soft pink lines seem like an intricate tattoo at first, but as your eyes continue to take it in, you realize that the skin is raised - far too much to ever be a tattoo. Scars. They’re scars.

You only see them for that brief moment before Astarion has found a new shirt and pulled it over himself, blocking out the sight of them, but even after they’re gone, the markings burn under your eyelids.

He turns to face you, and when he sees your face, the lightheartedness in his eyes immediately fades to something sharper. He knows you’ve seen.

“Your back,” you say softly. “It must have been painful.”

He looks away. “A gift from Cazador,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft. “A poem. He spent the night carving it into me.” He pauses, and pain flashes over his eyes. “He made a lot of adjustments as he went.”

You briefly think to yourself that - evil, powerful vampire or not - if you ever come face-to-face with Cazador Szarr, you’ll tear him to shreds with your bare hands.

Gods. You want to say that you’re sorry, but you already know Astarion won’t take it well. He clearly despises pity, and you’re not going to give it to him. 

Instead, you get to your feet, ignoring the way your drenched clothes now stick to you, and head to your pack. “Why didn’t your mother kill him?”

He scoffs. “Believe me, she tried. Unfortunately, killing a vampire isn’t exactly easy. Rescuing me was the main priority, and, honestly? It was a miracle she even managed that.”

You nod, picking at a loose string on your sleeve. “Do you have any idea where he is now?”

“Baldur’s Gate, no doubt,” he replies stiffly. “In his ridiculous palace. He’s a Lord, you know.”

Ridiculous palace. It’s an ironic thing for him to say, but then you recall that Astarion probably doesn’t enjoy Erelin’s palace, either. Then, very much delayed, the reality of his words sinks in. “Hold on. You mean to say that there’s an evil vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate, and no one knows?”

“Oh, some do; they just don’t care,” he says, tilting his head. “You see - it’s all about power. He has a fair amount, and people will do anything to get even a taste of it. You should see his servants. They come to the door, begging for his eternal gift, and they’re stupid enough to think he’ll give it to them if they work hard enough.”

The concept of that is sickening. You fear nothing more than being thrown back into your personal prison, and here people are, volunteering to be in one - and one that’s far, far worse than yours, at that. All for what? Immortality? It doesn’t even remotely appeal to you. 

From the look on his face, Astarion feels the same way. 

Gods. You can’t even imagine what he’s experienced; not even half of it. Everything you’ve been through pales in drastic comparison to his two centuries of torture. Shame sweeps deep through your gut, dark and oozing, and it’s all you can do to not despise yourself. 

Still - he complains about the petty things more than you do. And he hadn’t faulted you for wanting to run. He’d just told you not to bother, because you’d be caught.

“I don’t understand them,” you remark quietly, gathering up your things. “I can’t… imagine wanting something so much I’d give up my freedom for it.”

He shakes his head, and something reproachful paints itself into his expression. “Power is addictive, dearest. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

You sling your pack over your shoulder once more, and Astarion follows in your lead. “Well,” you say, “I suppose we’d better see what that camp is all about.”

You smell the camp before you see it.

The smoke you’d seen yesterday has faded in the air, but the smell of it is present: a distant, hazy odor that lingers in the forest. You and Astarion squat down to be safe, observing from behind the treeline, and it becomes immediately clear what it is.

Banners of silver and blue - those are Calthirian colors. This is your kingdom. What’s left of it, at least. 

You’d been right. This rebellion is a prominent force, from the looks of it. No wonder Erelin had married you off instead of fighting. Still, it makes you wary to go waltzing straight into the place, expecting everything to turn out right. A level of paranoia lays over your skin like sweat, making it hard to think clearly. What if someone recognizes you? Do they know what you look like?

“Well,” Astarion remarks, “I suppose we’ve received our answer. And now that we have, we should be on our merry way.”

“Unfortunately,” you murmur in agreement. “You don’t think they’d give us directions to the nearest village?” It’s a long shot, and mostly a joke, but having traveled all this way to leave no better off is a sinking disappointment. 

“They’d sooner recruit us,” Astarion answers. “Or kill us.”

You stare for a moment longer, then shake your head. “All right - new plan, then. We get the hells away from here. I’ll scale another tree and see if I can see anything.”

Astarion frowns, but doesn’t seem to have any better ideas. He follows silently as you creep through the woods, watching out for any nearby scouts. 

You don’t like this place. It feels ominous, in a way. 

Your breathing doesn’t return to normal until you’re a decent amount away, and you can’t help feeling like you’ve narrowly avoided something awful. Astarion stays on the ground while you climb another tree, and this time, the forest provides something very useful to you. 

A city. Your city.

Baldur’s Gate, in all her glory, lies in the distance. It’ll take days, maybe even a week, to get there - but gods, is the sight of her a relief. Warm beds. Familiar faces. These days, there’s not many people you trust, but the ones you do are all in Baldur’s Gate. If you’re ever going to find any true escape, it’s there.

And, you think, your stomach sinking, there’ll be Ancunín outposts for Astarion to get back to his mother. 

Astarion is pacing along the base of the tree when you hop down again, and his eyes brighten when he looks at you. “Gods. You saw something, didn’t you?”

“Baldur’s Gate,” you tell him, unable to mask the smile that spreads over your lips. “It’s a few days away, but it’s there.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Astarion sighs. “I couldn’t take much more of this.”

But you know what he’s really saying. He’ll finally get back to safety.

The two of you will have to have a talk sooner or later. You aren’t sure if he’s expecting you to return with him, and you’re not keen on arguing with him. You don’t want to leave him, but if it comes down to it - you can’t go back to Erelin. 

Can’t, not won’t. It’s not even a choice. Every part of you rejects the suggestion like an unsuccessful transplant; every inch of you viscerally objects to returning to that palace. You’d bring him with you if you could, but you know that he’d never feel safe. Not while Cazador is out there, hunting for him.

The realization sombers the air as the two of you continue, skirting your way around the camp and in the direction of the city. You do a bit more hunting, and so does Astarion. Your food cooks in silence as the sun starts to set, and he seems to be lost in thought - just like you are.

When the crunch of a nearby branch sounds, the two of you leap two your feet without a second thought, reaching for your weapons. When you see who it is, your knife tumbles out of your hand.

“Cal?”

He looks more worn down than you’ve ever seen him, but it’s undeniably him. Chestnut hair. Grey eyes. A full, trim beard. He’s dressed in Calthirian colors, and his eyes widen in recognition as he stares at you, looking like he can’t believe you’re real. 

“By the gods, is that really you?” he asks. “How? When? Last I heard, you’d returned to the queen’s palace - we’ve been trying to find a way to get you out, but - well, it doesn’t matter. You’re here! You’re really here!”

He glances behind you, and when he sees Astarion, he pauses. His eyes trail over the wedding rings you both wear, and the blood drains out of his face. “Oh no,” he says softly, taking a step back. His expression hardens, and his hand flits toward the sword at his belt. “No, no, no. Tell me that is not who I think it is.”

“Oh, him?” you say quickly. “This is Lirien. He helped me escape.”

“Of course it is,” Cal replies flatly. “Instead of Astarion Ancunín.” He shakes his head. “You think I can’t tell when you’re lying? I raised you! Gods - why? Why in the hells would you bring him? Do you have any idea what people will do when they find out?”

Astarion scowls. “I can hear you, you know,” he says.

Cal ignores him. “What am I going to tell them?” he mutters to himself, pacing, looking like he might topple over. “What am I going to do?”

“Nothing,” you say adamantly. “Cal? They’re not going to hear about it. Not about me, and not about him. Alright? We’re leaving.”

But Cal, instead of softening for you like he usually does, simply clenches his jaw. “You can’t be serious. This camp has been searching for a way to get you out for the last month,” he says. “We’ve lost… hundreds of men. They’re planning to mount a rescue mission for you, two days from now! Of course I’m going to tell them you’re here!”

“Well, I got myself out before they did,” you tell him, even though that isn’t really true. “And now, I’m going.”

Cal stares at you, incredulous. “What the hells did they do to you?” he asks. “Brainwashing? Torture?” He shakes his head in disbelief, then steps closer. “I won’t hide you. You were born to rule, understand? I raised you better than this.”

He mutters something under his breath before you can respond, and your and Astarion’s weapons fly toward him, falling neatly at his feet. You start forward, but Cal has snatched them up before you can make a grab for them. You have another knife in your bag, but - gods, do you really have it in you to kill him? Even now?

Before you can decide, he’s reciting another incantation. Warmth blooms on your skin, and something electric fills the air, hazing the air and tickling the inside of your lungs.

“What was that?” you ask, flinching at the sensation. “What did you do?”

“A tracking spell - over the both of you. It’ll tell us where you are even if you run. Don’t go trying anything. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

This side of him is something you don’t know, not even a little, and it breaks you. Betrayal cuts through you like a knife, etching permanently into a sharp, painful spot between your ribs. Something sours on your tongue. 

You’re a pawn. You always have been, even to him. Erelin had been bad enough, but this? Cal cares more about your position than he does you. It hurts so much that you think something in you might actually rip apart and spill out of your gut, seeping into the grass below. 

You have to swallow down the nausea to speak, but the slime of this situation coats your throat and your words when you talk. “Wait until tomorrow,” you request. “Give me one more night away from them. Please.”

He sighs. “I don’t have much of a choice in that. Aris won’t be back until morning anyhow. Come on, you two - I’ll get you situated.”

He starts off toward the camp, but neither you nor Astarion follow after him. Your mind is flying over thoughts at a thousand miles per minute, trying to think of what to do. Gods, what in the hells are you going to do? 

“If I have to get the guards to drag you, I will,” Cal calls. “You’ll spend the night in chains. Come willingly, and you’ll get a tent. It’s your choice.”

You start walking. Your hands are shaking like a leaf. You look to Astarion, whose expression has tightened, who looks even more pale than usual. He’s scared, and you are, too. You have no idea what the hells these people want from you. Cal may have taken your weapons, but there’s still the other knife in your bag. Astarion has his teeth, and there’s two of you… 

Astarion meets your eyes curiously, and his gaze flits over to Cal, raising his brows. His intention is clear, and it's the same thing you’ve been thinking to yourself. After a moment of torturous internal debate, you nod. 

What had you once thought to yourself? That you were willing to do anything for freedom? Gods. Apparently, you are.

You’re just bracing yourself for a fight when the flicker of torches passes through the trees, and you hear the chatter of voices. More men, and from the look of it, they’re all armed. “Cal, is that you?” one calls, lifting his torch higher in the approaching dark so he can see. “New recruits?”

All hope left in you dies at the sight of them. Astarion tenses at your side, his hands clenching into fists. Shit, you think. Shit, shit, shit. They’re going to take you both, and you’re completely fucking helpless to stop it. 

“Yes. Another round,” Cal says casually. It occurs to you that he probably doesn’t want to announce your identity right off the bat, and you can’t decide whether or not you’re grateful for it. 

“Aris will be happy to hear that,” the guard replies. “With the siege, we need everyone we can get. You’re sure they can be trusted?”

Cal glances back at you, smiling grimly. “Positive.”

“Good.”

The two of you are escorted all the way to the camp, and the guards trail away when you reach the outskirts. “This way,” Cal says, leading the two of you to one of the empty tents. “There’s room for both of you, since you seem so fond of each other.”

You stare at the tent, wanting nothing more than to tear through it like a rabid animal.

“Don’t be like that,” Cal implores. “Whatever they did to you, we’ll reverse it. We’ll get you back as you were, hm?” He waits for you to respond, but you don’t. If you do, you think you might actually lose your mind. 

“Alright,” he finally sighs. “Feel free to explore camp, get something to eat, but don’t go past the outer torches. If I wake tomorrow and don’t find you here, the whole of this camp will come after you. Understand?”

You swallow hard, your nails piercing into your palms. “Fuck you, Cal.”

He shakes his head and turns away - but as he moves past you, you catch a flash of movement by his pack. You say nothing, and he’s gone before he’s noticed. You and Astarion are left in front of the tent, alone. 

Well. Here you are.

The tent is larger than you’d expected when you retreat into it, Astarion following after you and sheathing the dagger he’d stolen. There are two bedrolls, some blankets and pillows, and a large amount of space to the side. No amount of blankets and pillows can make any of this better.

Silence falls, sour and agonizing. You want to throw up. You want to drink yourself to death. You want to cry. And you really, really want to punch something.

“So…” Astarion says slowly. “I suppose we’ve met each other’s parents, now.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s bitter. “And what lovely introductions we’ve had.”

His brows pinch in feigned offense. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

You try to smile, but it falls flat. You’re so angry it feels like fire is bursting from your chest. Pressing your face into your hands, you try to breathe, wanting this not to be real - please, gods, don’t be real - but it is. You can smell the torches burning in the distance and feel the soft breeze that’s pressing through the partially-open flap of the tent.

Astarion sighs, then pushes the flap to the side and crawls through.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“To find something to make this situation bearable,” he says, and then he’s gone.

You don’t think he’s foolish enough to fight against the tracking spell with nothing but a dagger, but it doesn’t stop anxiety from fluttering in your gut. 

You can’t stand sitting still, so you leave, too - not following after him, just restless. Drifting.

For a long while, you wander aimlessly around the camp, trailing from place to place with no destination. A person or two gives you an odd look, but you really don’t give a damn. Your problems are much larger than some strangers and their opinions. All of it will turn irrelevant come morning.

Is it fury you feel, seeping so darkly through you? Has your anger turned ice-cold? It’s as if your life has all been an illusion, some kind of cruel trick. Was any of it real? Did Cal ever really care about you, or were you simply a means to an end?

You often try not to think about your parents, but you allow yourself to do so now. Would they approve of this? Would they have wanted this for you, if they were here? Or would you be nothing more than a pawn to them, too?

You don’t know. You’re starting to wonder if there’s anyone who’s ever really cared for you.

The approach of velvet-blue sky brings you wandering back to your assigned tent. It’s different than it had been before - but you can’t recognize quite how. Not until you get inside, at least. 

Astarion has set up a meal: candles and wine and much fancier food than was in your packs or at the ration stations. You stall at the opening, and he nods for you to come in. You take a seat across from him, admiring his work. With the tent closed, it almost feels private. You can almost forget the camp out there, even for just a moment.

“What’s all this?” you ask.

He hands you a goblet, and you take it without another thought. “Well, darling,” he says softly, “I thought we should enjoy our last night of freedom. Who knows where we’ll be come morning.”

You press the glass to your lips and drink, finding a dark, heady wine on your tongue. “We didn’t have wine,” you recall to yourself. “Where the hells did you get this?”

“Oh, you know,” Astarion sighs, waving a dismissive hand. “Around.”

This time, it’s a real smile that overtakes you. “Just like that dagger?”

“Of course,” he says, tilting his head. A mirroring smile plays on his lips, and he takes a sip of his wine. “If he didn’t want it taken, he shouldn’t have had it out in the open. Besides,” he adds, rolling a shoulder, “I was only returning it to its rightful owner.”

You shake your head. “I still can’t believe he did that. I never thought he was capable of… anything even similar to that. I thought he - cared. About me.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Astarion replies, but there’s a quiet sympathy on his face. “Especially if they intend for you to rule, which they almost certainly do.”

“Of course.” Your throat tightens, and you take another sip of wine. You feel drawn so incredibly tight. It’s like a part of you is waiting to burst.

“So,” Astarion muses, swirling the glass around, “our last night of freedom. Any idea what you want to do with it, my sweet?”

You let out a huff, staring down at your wine. “Aside from blowing this entire gods damned camp up?” You let out a shaky exhale. “No idea.”

“No?” he asks. “No lifelong list? Something you’ve always wanted to try?”

There must be a thousand things you want to do while you still can, but none of them are coming to mind. You’re wound as tight as a rope, fuming, and would give absolutely anything to stop thinking. 

When you shake your head, Astarion leans forward, setting down his glass. “Nothing comes to mind?”

“I - I don’t know. All I can think about is how… angry I am. I don’t know what I want.”

“Then allow me to make a suggestion, darling,” he says, taking the wine out of your hand, neatly setting it on the chest he’s using as a makeshift table. He leans forward, trailing his thumb along your cheek, and something in your stomach jumps. “We’re here, aren’t we? We might as well take the opportunity to distract ourselves.”

“Astarion-”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice low and honeyed. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’ve felt those little… trembles of excitement when my teeth are in your neck.” He pauses, tilting his head, and another smile plays on the corners of his lips. “No need to be coy,” he purrs. “Your body has already given you away.”

And you do want it. You want it so badly that you can hardly stand it. “And what about you?”

“What?” he asks, frowning. “What about me?”

“What do you want?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Gods. Isn’t that obvious?” he asks, “I want you.”

You’re caught between the ever-growing want now steadily coursing through you and - something else. Something you don’t recognize. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure,” he insists, frustration bleeding into his voice as he pulls back to look at you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You give him a half-hearted smile. “Well, for one, I’ve never done this before. Remember?”

The frustration bleeds out of his face, and the line that’s been creased between his brows disappears. “Please,” he says incredulously. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Haven’t you heard of vampires preferring virgins?” 

Something flutters in your gut at his words, at the heated way he’s taking you in. “Alright, then, vampire,” you say, before your fears can suck you in. “Do what you will with me.”

His eyes darken. “Oh, I most certainly will,” he murmurs. 

He leans in, and his lips meet yours, fragrant with honeyed wine, ardent and sweet. Gentle at first, but that quickly becomes a haze of need - his hand tightening on your cheek, your hand tightening on his shirt. 

Gods, you think. Kissing Astarion is like hearing a new melody and knowing that it will never leave your mind. The kiss you’d shared at the wedding has already haunted your mind plenty, but this? This is incomparable. Electric. He coaxes your mouth open with ease, and arousal shoots down your back like a bolt of lightning. When his tongue brushes against yours, every muscle in your body goes slack. 

In the midst of everything, you’re still inexperienced. Your hands don’t know what to do or where to go. One settles on his shoulder, the other keeps itself clutched in his shirt. You can’t tell if it’s right, but if it’s wrong, Astarion doesn’t say.

He places his free hand at your side, using it to stabilize himself as he crawls over you, still kissing you, straddling your legs with his hips. Then that hand is at your waist, and his lips are at your neck, and you’re letting out a soft, wanting noise.

He huffs, kissing up your jaw, gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your earlobe. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?” he hums. 

And what the hells are you supposed to say to that? Of course you’re eager. You’ve been wanting him for ages. The building need between your legs says that more than enough. You’re viciously turned on, and the smugness of his voice isn’t helping, but there’s still an awkwardness to the situation. 

You have no idea what you’re doing. You can’t tell if anything you want is remotely right. In between the pleasure and passion, there’s a building anxiety that’s becoming more and more prominent. It’s distracting you from what he’s doing, which is leaving you nothing but frustrated.

“You’re thinking too much. Relax, darling,” Astarion murmurs, pulling away. “Close your eyes for me.”

And you do. You take one last look at him, so impossibly beautiful in the warm candlelight. His curls have dried tousled from the river, his eyes are half-lidded and dark, and there’s a certain amount of expectancy laced in his gaze that makes you shiver. Then, satisfied that you’ve enclosed the image to memory, you shut your eyes. The darkness helps, you think. A little.

“Good,” Astarion praises, and his lips return to your neck. He takes your hands and places them at his waist, and you’re more than happy to keep them there as he kisses down your jaw. In the darkness of your closed eyes, every touch becomes intensified. Every thought begins to slip away in favor of the feeling of him.

Sharp teeth, grazing along sensitive skin. The icy touch of his skin, sating the scorch of the arousal that shudders through your veins. The soft, almost ticklish brush of his curls against your neck as he kisses along your clavicle. The moment his hands stall at your top, your breath hitches, and your body flinches - an automatic defense you’ve ingrained over the years.

But you want him to touch you. You want this. So you take in a steadying breath and compel your muscles to relax, and he continues - not teasingly slow, but not rushed, either. Taking his time with you.

You’d thought he was beautiful when you first met, but you have to admit: you’re glad that your first time with him, as horrible as the outside circumstances are, is happening here, and not on your wedding night, when you were so hesitant of him. You wouldn’t have enjoyed it, then, even if he’d been the exact same with you. But now? 

Gods, you’re enjoying it. And, judging by the growing hardness between his legs, he’s enjoying it too. 

You’d like to think you’re a patient person, but you really aren’t. The more your want grows, the more your impatience does as well. Your breathing has turned heavy, and as his hands, slowly taking on your warmth, grasp lightly over your ribs, the rhythm of your lungs turns shaky - your entire body singing in want for something you’ve never even experienced.

Just as you’re truly getting desperate, he pulls away again, his hands trailing along your abdomen as he nips at your ear. “You poor thing,” he says, his voice light and teasing. “How did you stand it all this time, alone with me?”

You open your eyes and find him staring down at you, observing the sight of you. You shake your head, failing to bite away the smile that’s threatening to show itself. “Sex wasn’t exactly my priority in the middle of the woods, Astarion. The circumstances were awful.”

“True,” he remarks, tilting his head. His fingers graze over your thigh, still clothed with fabric, but you almost can pretend you don’t know better. “Still,” he says softly, his hands stalling at your lower navel, “here’s hoping we’ll get more time to enjoy this.”

Before he continues undressing you, he pauses, and that crease between his brows forms again. “Just to be clear,” he says, “you do want this?”

Your response is immediate, albeit breathy with want. “I do.”

He flashes you a grin, suddenly wicked. “Good.” 

To your dismay, he crawls off of you, but it’s immediately remedied when he places his hands on your shoulder and eases you to the soft floor of the tent, coaxing your legs apart with his knee.

Any clothes you’re still wearing are quickly disposed of, and needless to say, being so naked while he’s still fully clothed leaves you feeling entirely too vulnerable. “Planning to take me with your clothes on?” you ask, and he pauses, blinking - shaking his head, as if shaking away a stray thought. “Of course not,” he says, the corner of his lips tugging into a smile. “Simply admiring the view, darling.”

His shirt comes off, first, tugged over his head. All silky-smooth skin that you want to trail your hands over, admire inch by inch. Gods, he’s beautiful, shadows reflecting over lithe muscle, supple skin and unearthly beauty you shouldn’t be able to touch. But you are. You gently lift a hand to him, running your fingers over his forearm, and he smiles, undoing his trousers. 

Your entire body tenses in anticipation of him, but your gaze can’t stay in place. It meets his for a moment, taking in the dark ruby color of his eyes. It flickers over his nimble fingers, studies the tendons in his hands, dances over his chest and abdomen. Something stirs in you, something that aches well beyond the temporary arousal, something that cuts deeper. It’s something that, selfishly, wants him to stay. Wants him to curl next to you in the nights, wants him to leave his mother behind and continue on with you.

An impossible want, but it’s still there. After this, where will it leave the two of you? 

You aren’t sure - but if this is the only chance you’re going to get at it, you’re damn well going to take it. Astarion leans over you, kissing you softly, and then his talented fingers are going to work between your thighs. They work a smooth, blissful friction that you’ve never been able to achieve by yourself - and, though the anxious rooting inside of you wants to shut your eyes, you don’t. You hold his gaze. 

For just a moment, he looks almost distant, but his eyes clear - and something darkens in his gaze as he looks at you. He props over you, watching you as you squirm in pleasure, his lips slightly parted.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and you nearly come apart right there. You don’t, though. He pulls his hand away and you’re left shuddering, panting and aching. Then, he moves closer, places a hand on your thigh to coax your legs apart, and works a finger into you. 

His hands are warm by now, but - gods. The feeling of him, compared to your feeble attempts, is nearly shameful. He takes his time with this - goes slow, watching your face intently. He doesn’t want to hurt you, you realize.

Your impatience is less now, as he increases it to two, then three; the stretch, despite his best efforts, is bordering on painful. The almost-pain fades the further he goes on, bleeding into something else that’s so intensely pleasurable you want to beg him to just take you. 

When he finally stops, he tilts his head. “Oh, you’re ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice silky and low. 

“Please,” comes your response.

“Darling, no need to beg,” he says. “I won’t keep you waiting.”

And he doesn’t. He props himself over you, lowering himself to kiss you, and your leg hitches around his waist. His skin is warm from touching yours, but it’s cold where your arms move to wrap around his neck. You’re mindful of his scars, because you doubt he likes them touched, and he brushes his nose against your cheek as he pushes into you. Slowly, again, but you’re not going to complain. There’s that wash of pain again, and then - oh, gods. Pleasure. Delicious, blissful friction. Your chest heaves and your mouth lets out a loud, needy sound. 

Only then do you remember you’re in the middle of camp, but honestly? You’re so removed at this point that you don’t even care. If all of Calthir hears you getting fucked to the heavens by their enemy prince, so be it. Cal’s probably fucked off to somewhere else anyway, no doubt burdened by guilt. He has to feel some sort of guilt, doesn’t he?

“Gods,” Astarion pants, drawing you back to the present as he slowly deepens his thrusts. You swallow hard, watching the crease of pleasure form between his brows, studying the flash of fangs between his lips. You’re drunk on pleasure, the feel of him, the tiny solitude in this tent that separates you from the rest of the world. He kisses you again, and this time it’s heated, desperate, messy. 

His tongue molds against yours, his fangs graze your lip. Gods, his pace is picking up. Your muscles are starting to tense - the flushed warmth that’s building under your skin is growing. He lets out a soft moan and grips your shoulder, and you instinctively tilt your head for him, giving him access to your neck.

He studies your expression for a moment, as if he’s confirming what you’re offering, and then - gods. He sinks his fangs into your neck. 

If you’d thought the practice was intimate before, it’s so much more now. You barely even feel the pain of the piercing skin - all you feel is him tasting you, groaning into your skin, his hips still rolling evenly. 

He only takes a little, but when he pulls away, there’s that rosy flush to his cheeks. When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on him, metallic iron. His movements are less graceful, now. His gaze is dark and intense, and his grip on you is stronger when he takes your shoulder again, thrusting harder - enough to have you tensing, the both of you panting. 

When the pleasure finally takes you, it’s so intense it’s almost painful. It starts somewhere deep within, working its way through you, singing through your veins until the world blurs at the edges. Blinding, white-hot waves of it ebb and flow through you, taking you away from every sensation but that of Astarion, skin balmy against yours - floating somewhere in the depths of your mind until you finally come down. 

Astarion shudders through his climax just after you, letting out a sudden, wanting noise - as if it’s been punched out of him. As if it had surprised him, just the way it had surprised you. You want to memorize it. You want to take that sound and remember it forever.

When it’s all passed, you’re left covered in sweat, sated, and very, very vulnerable. The arousal that had drifted away your insecurities is waning, and you’re left wanting to hide - to crawl away. But Astarion gently kisses you, carefully pulling out of you, and exhaustion takes over instead. 

The Gur. Finding out about Cazador. Cal’s betrayal. All of that in one day, and it’s taking its toll. Your eyes feel heavy. Your muscles feel achy and worn out. Your thoughts are clouded over, too intertwined and complicated to drag apart when you’re like this.

You sit up and grab a stray rag, intending to clean yourself, but Astarion tugs it out of your fingers. “No, darling, let me,” he says. 

And you do.

He confuses you - that he can be so vicious and so tender. He’d killed Gandrel without hesitation, without remorse - though, admittedly, you’d let him. Let him. As if you had some control over him. As if you could have stopped him. It should scare you, perhaps - that callous, venomous side of him - but it doesn’t. The rough edges of him you keep finding only make you want him more. The details don’t sate you. You always want more. 

And now, you suppose you’ll find out what comes next. 

The tent is silent. You fumble through your pack and find your sleeping clothes, and Astarion does the same. You’re hesitant, not wanting to push too far. You know very well sex doesn’t mean anything more - however much you might want more - and you know for certain that Astarion had not offered you anything aside from that. Still, the thought of curling up alone tonight has your chest aching.

When you finish dressing, you find that Astarion has pulled the two bedrolls together, fluffed up by the pillows and blankets. He raises a brow and pats the spot next to him, and it’s really very childish, the way your chest fills with a delirious sort of joy. You make your way next to him, and he folds you into his arms. 

His skin is cool again. The little sounds of him are relaxing - the movements of his ribs when he breathes, the bob of his throat when he swallows, the light sigh he lets out when his head meets the pillow. It almost makes up for the silence in his chest. The void of sound where a beating heart should be.

For just a moment, before sleep pulls you away, you wonder if he remembers how it felt - to have something alive, thrumming in his chest.

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi @g0retash

[spacebarbarianweird]

I loved your Tiefy headcanons! Highkey gonna picture horn and tail socks forever now 😭 also making LACE when you inevitably marry him??? Ugh—

But may I posit another race that rarely gets mentioned..? ���

Half-Orc!Tav, especially if they're nothing like the stereotype and are actually very quiet/timid/gentle despite being this massive wall of muscle 😭 (me living vicariously??? No! Never!)

I love Half-Orcs! I got to know DnD through Neverwinter MMORPG, and my first character was a very cute Half-Orc Ranger. She looked like someone who had a lot of Elven ancestry (she was even more petite than a fem!Tiefling my friend played), but I still love Half-Orcs (though, completely switched to Half - Elves as my preferred race).

So... Half - Orcs!

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Half-Orc!Tav

Unlike Half-Elves, Half-Orcs take the worst from their ancestors.

The Gruumsh, the evil god of your Orcish ancestors, whisper darkness in your ears, demanding to release the rage in your blood

For a human, you look like an orc, you are considered ugly with your green skin and fangs.

As for orcs, even if you wanted to live with them, you would be considered a weak seed.

You were adopted by a childless human couple who ran a tavern in Luskan. You don't know who your parents were but you know it was a story of violence, not of love

You decide to move to Baldur's Gate - you can easily blend with creatures of all races there. And no one will be surprised to see a half-orc there

But the only job you are offered is being a bouncer.

Unfortunately, you are too shy and timid to kick people out or beat them.

Sometimes people yell at you: "Go back to Many-Arrows, where you belong!". And you want to cry because it's not like you have ever been there. You are ugrukh and not welcome among the children of Gruumsh.

Eventually, you find comfort in hunting - the innate rage finds its way out, and you don't really need to talk to anyone except for the people you sell meat to.

Sometimes you don't talk to anyone for weeks.

And it works for you.

Until one day you somehow find yourself in a role of a leader of traumatized and fucked up people.

They are such a bunch of sad excuses for heroes you are done.

You yell at them. You Orcish blood boils in your veins, intimidating everyone in camp.

Beware the rage of a quiet half-orc.

Since that moment, you notice a lot of attention from Astarion.

It's weird since orcs and elves are natural enemies.

You suspect he wants something from you because no one in their right mind would call a green-skinned seven feet tall Half-Orc beautiful. It just doesn't work.

Maybe a real orc would find you more or less pretty, but to be honest, banging a half-orc would threaten them with weak children.

Though, you pity Astarion. You know what it is like to hide in shadows and to be disgusted about your own body.

You listen. You help. You give him blood.

Hoping deep inside, it isn't a cruel joke to mock you later.

He confesses to you, almost crying with embarrassment.

You are hurt. Of course, you were right. It was all manipulation.

You leave him be, going into the woods to hunt, to let out all the distress.

But you know too much about him. It's not fair to punish him for an attempt to make things up.

You return to him sleeping in his tent. You watch him with awe - he is so delicate, so fragile, as if made of glass.

Suddenly he starts breathing heavily as if someone is chasing him.

He screams. You've never heard anyone screaming so loud and desperate. He sounds like someone who is flayed alive.

He wakes up the whole camp, but you order everyone to mind their business.

You make him sit on your lap, wrapping his hand and legs around your torso and start lulling him like a child.

"Neyë, neyë. Ragh ala," you whisper to him.

You press him as tight as you can, stroking his back and hair, while he cries, pressing his face into your chest.

You sit like that for what feels like an eternity, when Astarion finally composes himself and mutters. "You are aware I speak Orc, are you?"

"Yes, I heard you practicing some compliments, but you couldn't choose the worst language for that."

You just ask for one thing. Never lie to you. Never say anything he doesn't really mean.

"If I ever hear you saying I am beautiful I wil hit you."

"But isn't a lie. I mean it."

One day, he untangles your hair and braid it.

The other, he takes your hands and fixes your nails.

"Gods, you are beautiful", he greets you every time you come to him.

"You promised not to lie."

"I don't lie.."

And… suddenly you stop hating your own reflection or hiding your body in rags.

Or choosing the worst pieces of clothes for yourself. You even start wearing adornments.

Post-game, you decide to stay in Baldur's Gate. The city is so diverse no one is surprised to see an elf and a half-orc together.

The first thing Astarion does is sew you a dress. It's made of thick black fabric which makes your muscled body look elegant. He even persuades you to wear heels, though it makes you even taller.

Together you open a tavern - Astarion is always inside dealing with customers and you bring food from the woods.

When he drinks your blood, he always sits on your lap, while you place your hand on his inner thigh.

You often carry him around bridal style - elven bones are hollow and orkish muscles are made of steel.

When you are upset, he puts everything aside and hugs you whispering: "Neyë, neyë. Ragh ala"

---

Orcish Language

Source

Neyë, neyë. Ragh ala. - come here, come here. Calm down.

Ugrukh - broken bones. Used to refer to those too weak and lame to be worthy of an orc's attention

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

[succubusdaydream]

By The Grace of The Moon || Astarion x Werewolf!Selunite!Reader || PT5

A/N: I’ve explained in an update (see here) but I’ll say again to those who didn’t see. This story was originally going to be one or two parts so I’ve been pulling a lot of this out of my ass. But, with encouragement, I’ve tried my best to write some of the underdark but have skipped the creche. I’ve also tried my best to write in Wyll, Karlach and Lae’zel but since I totally forgot about them, I’ve struggled for days to write them in. Because of this, I have ultimately decided to leave them out of this series. I love them and have even become a Wyll girly (have a fic idea that i've started) but I just can’t get them in properly. I’ve drained my writing trying to get them in, but nothing is fitting. I'm so sorry for that and I’m so sorry for the wait but FINALLY here is part 5 <3

Warnings: typical BG3 violence | made up lore about Lycans and Selune | kind of filler/fast paced

Masterlist || Word Count:4065

PT1 || PT2 || PT3 || PT4

---

The bright sun once again woke you up. Its rays pierced your closed eyes as you struggled to open them. For a second, you couldn’t remember what you were doing the night before. But then you remembered. You could still feel the touch of your mate’s cold hands as you sat up to look around for him. And you didn’t have to look far. He stood in front of you, arms stretched as he embraced the sun’s warmth for all it had to offer. On his back was a large scar. Carved into his porcelain flesh.

                His scent lingered in the air as you drank in his beautiful body. “Not staying for a cuddle?” Your confidence had skyrocketed overnight. No longer as shy around the one who you were bound too.

                “You sleep light.” He turned his head, looking at you from his peripheral. “I thought you’d be exhausted after last night.” His voice was light, and his arms lowered as he turned to look at you.

                “I could always go again.” You were quick to pull your knees up and hug them to you. The confidence was quickly gone as he turned to your still naked body.

                He smirked. “Tempting. But this might not be the time or place.” He reaches down and grabs something from the forest floor. Your shirt. He held it out to you. “Now, shall we go on? I want to go before anyone else thanks me for saving their tails.” You stood and completely dressed, finding your pants not too far from where he grabbed your shirt. “Oh. And don’t feel the need to brag to the other about our little tryst. Given the noise you made last night, I’m sure they already know.” With that, your walk back to camp was silent and your face once again a dark shade of ruby.

---

                No one had said much when you arrived back at camp. Gale was once again cooking, though this time it was a smaller pot, and Shadowheart was ushering out the rest of the hung-over Tieflings that had crashed in your camp. So after eating and gathering your things, you approached Halsin, who had made earlier promises to explain the next step in removing your tadpole.

                “I trust you enjoyed your evening. After all your efforts, it was well deserved. And it may be some time before you’re awarded another such night.” He told you about the cursed lands that surrounded the towers and two ways to get to it. An overpass through the mountains or a path through the underdark. Either way, your group would be faced with plenty of monsters and conflicts.

                So over the next few days, the four of you accidentally blew up an old temple of Lathander and then turned right back around to descend into the underdark through the now empty goblin camp. You had been trampled by a Bulette, been recruited by large fungi sovereign to kill nearby Duergar and then blessed by said fungi sovereign after fulfilling their request. The next thing they asked for was the head of a Drow, Nere. In their ‘camp’ you had helped a poisoned deepgnome and traveled across a large, dark lake to find and free her people. A large forge, the Lost Adamantine Forge, greeted your party when you docked, as well as some more angry duergar.

They too had a request for you. Help free your ‘fellow true soul’. The True Soul being the same one that the Sovereign had requested the head of. Nere. So with a bomb you picked up a while ago, you cleared the rocks he had caused to fall and easily defeated him and the rest of the Duergar that were around. It was an exhausting couple of days but after many sidetracks of requests, you and the others had finally made it out of the Underdark and into the Shadow Cursed Lands.

---

                The door creaked open and the light from your torch barley lit the way in front of you. It felt cold as you stepped out from Sharran building, a shiver running through your spin. Everything about this place set your senses to eleven and your grip on the torch tightened.

                “Halsin wasn’t lying. This place really is….” You couldn’t even find the words as you walked deeper into the shadows. You made sure to go slow and stick close to the others. If you had the confidence, you’d make sure to hold Astarion close to ensure his ultimate safety.

                As you walked deeper, Shadowheart’s whispers echoed through the whispering dark. “I can feel the shadow’s power here… but they don’t seem to be harming me. The Dark Lady shields me. I can feel her.”

                You quickly stop and turn towards her. You had of course already concluded that she was a worshipper of Shar. Her distaste for your Selune worship and the attempt to rebuild an altar of hers in the Goblin Camp had given it away. And her words of ‘the lady of sorrows guide us.’

                “Did you say something, Shadowheart?”

                “The Shadow Curse… it doesn’t seem to affect me like others. Not as badly, at least.” She stepped forward, a smile on her face. “Do you know what this means? I must be blessed. Lady Shar is protecting me where others are left to her wrath. She loves me. She must do.”

                In a spit of your own disgust towards her goddess, your words seemed harsher than you wished for them to. “Your mistress rewards you with survival against her own corrupt power? That’s not love, Shadowheart.” You too felt protected from the curse. You could still feel it, but it wasn’t overwhelming. Just as if the shadows were itching to get to you. Your own blessing from Selune protecting you. You hoped it protected your mate as well.

                Her brows furrowed and you immediately felt awful. You were never one to judge other’s beliefs, but Shadowheart’s adoration of your goddess’ enemy irked you more than you wished. “The darkness is the truth, Selunite. In the end, there with only be endless black. And those that Lady Shar has embraced.”

                Yous sighed and tried to wave it off. “I apologies, Shadowheart. I truly did not mean to offend you or your goddess. It seems my own blessing has secured me from these lands as well. Please, continue.” You nodded and her face softened. It was the harshest you had ever been to someone else and didn’t want to lose a close friend to something as petty as this.

                She nodded back before speaking once more. “Lady Shar wouldn’t bless me like this for no reason. There must be something she wants of me.” And with an agreement to try your best to help, your group continued through the lands.

---

                It didn’t take long to face the creatures in the dark. Not far from where you emerged, you had run into a group of people. One was quickly taken by the curse and attacked with more shadows. It took a little effort but after defeating them, you followed the group back to where they hid. Last Light Inn. Protected from the curse by a beautiful white dome. When you passed through the barrier, it felt warm. Familiar. Selunite magic.

                You didn’t get far before your feet were anchored into the ground with vines. A druid, Jaheira, had stopped you in your tracks and held a mindflayer parasite to you. She spouted about how ‘you shouldn’t have come here true-soul’ before you could even try and defend yourself. Luckily, you didn’t really have to since a small voice rang out from behind her.

                “Stop! What are you doing?! They’re the one that saved us!” A young Tiefling sprinted up beside Jaheira, panting and waving her arms around.

                “This is the one that saved the Emerald Grove?”

                “Yep! Saved one of my friends from a mean snake to.” And with that, Jaheira released you with an apology and a request to join her for a drink. She had spoken about how her and her harpers were also after Ketheric Thorm who was hidden in Moonrise Towers. She had fought him before, ultimately failing due to his immortality. She had also tried to lace the wine she wanted to share with you, questioning you about the tadpoles in your head.

                After deeming you and your group trustful, she pointed you upstairs. There was a cleric that had cast the barrier around the in, keeping it and its residents safe from the lesser affects of the shadow curse. And with a nod and a promise to scout out the towers, you all made your way upstairs. You recognized many of the Tieflings from the Grove but there seemed to be less, and Zevlor was nowhere to be found.

                 Reaching the double doors of a room, you lightly knock and when you hear no response, you peek inside. There was no one in sight but your ears picked up sound coming from the door on the other side of the room. Your soft footsteps creaked the floorboards along with the door you opened. On the other side was a white-haired woman in silver robes. You watched in awe as she summoned a magic orb and let it fly to the barrier, adding to the shield. The magic felt familiar, Selunite no doubt, and you felt warm.

                The women coughed and turned, slightly jumping. “Oh, pardon me. I didn’t realize I had an audience. Let me guess, you’re the true soul who’s going to save us all?” She walked past you and into the room, stopping in the middle. “Did Jaheira’s sent you to beg a protection spell of her favorite cleric?” She barely gave you a chance to speak before raising her arms, her body glowing as she sent a beam of light towards your group. The magic that flowed through you felt nice and almost like home.

                From her point of view, the symbol of Isobel’s goddess flashed on your skin and small ears of light appeared above your head before disappearing. “Ahh. A hunter of the night, I see. I’m sure our Lady has already blessed you with some protection, but now your group is alright as well. It will only keep you safe from the lesser effects of the curse, you’ll need to find a much stronger solution of you wish to make it to Moonrise. “

                Behind you, Shadowheart growled. “Selunite magic. Dark Lady forgive me.” The wound on her hand flashed and she winced. She continued to glare at Isobel, crossing her arms.

                “Good nose. Like a nasty little terrier.” Isobel retorted.

                Before Shadowheart could fire back, you stepped in front of her. “Thank you, very much. But, what did you mean hunter of the night? Are you talking about…” You trailed off, still nervous to reveal your nature even if she might already know.

                “Your Lycanthropy? I can sense it in you, and it was revealed when I blessed you. Lycans blessed by Selune are her ‘Hunters of The Night.’ They served has protecters, much like familiars. It seems she’s blessed you with full control of your abilities.” She held her hand up, an illusion of Selune appearing in her palm with a few wolves around her, standing protectively with her symbol on their snout just like yours.

                “Lycans are much different than werewolves. Werewolves can’t control their shift and are led by anger. They are no longer human, too lost in their animal side to return. Lycans though, are blessed to keep their humanity. Selune protects them and allows them to shift between shapes. I suppose you’re like a druid, in a way.”

                You nodded in awe. You and your parents still hadn’t discovered a lot about your blessing, your village too small to hold any information. “I see. Thank you. We should probably take our leave though, much to do.” You chuckled and stepped back, awkwardly pointed to the door.

                “Wait. Please be careful. Ketheric is a frightening man. But you have something that he doesn’t: allies worth having. While you’re busy in the towers, I’ll be sure to…” She stopped, turning to look up and around. “Did you hear that? Somethings wrong.”

                Everything suddenly went to the hells. A corrupted and winged Flaming Fist, Marcus, had crashed into the room. He was ranting about the absolute and used his own tadpole to connect to yours. He thought you were on his side and demanded your help to capture Isobel for Ketheric Throm. When he realized you wouldn’t be of help, he let out a roar and winged ghoul descended onto the Inn.

                Magic and arrows were flying, and you tried your best to protect Isobel from the man. In the chaos though, a yell of pain caught your attention. Behind you, a ghoul slipped through and swiped for Astarion, slicing his porcelain skin, and knocking him to the ground, paralyzed. Your vision went red, and you let out a roar of your own, growling and sprinting towards the monster.

                You weren’t exactly sure want happened. You swiped your hand at the monster, and it let out a screech, trying to swipe back but you shoved into it. Your hand bones cracked, and it felt like they were extending as claw took the place of your fingernails. You continues to slice at the monster, it’s blood coating your arms and body. When you realized it was dead, you were breathing hard and had already set your sights on your old target.

                The True-Soul finally died after a long battle, as well as the rest of his winged ghouls. Blood scented the air and stained the wooden floors. Your breaths were still hard, and your heart was pounding in your ears. Your vision was blurry, and you could make out Isobel’s shape walking towards you.

                She placed her hand on your shoulder, calling your name and pulling you aside. “Are you alright? You lost it there. I-I’ve never seen someone so angry.” You looked down at your hands, blood staining your soft skin and armor, and looked back at Astarion. He had gotten back up in the fight and was now being looked over by Shadowheart.

                “I saw him go down and I… I just lost it, I guess. I’ve never felt so angry.” A look a realization came across her face and you avoided her gaze. If you yourself had thought that having a vampire mate was a curse from your goddess, you weren’t sure what a cleric of hers would think.

                “I see.” She didn’t say much and before she could, Jaheira had busted into the room.

                “Isobel! Are you alright?” Isobel nodded. “Marcus has been with us from the start- they’ve been tracking us this whole time. This wasn’t a random attack. You were the target, Isobel. They know how important you are.” Jaheira paused and turned to you. “But they don’t know about you. Ketheric will strike again. We need you to strike first. Discover the source of his invulnerability. Make him mortal, so that we may make him bleed. Good luck.”

                With a determined nod, your group set out. You met a group of Harpers at the Inn’s bridge. They had a plan to steal a source of protection from the curse in an ambush of Absolute cultists that should be making they way to the towers. After gathering extra supplies and making sure everyone was good to go, your group set out with the harpers.

                The Harpers were correct in their ambush. A Drider led a group of cultists with a Moon Lantern, its aura shielding them from the cursed. The fight that insinuated wasn’t too difficult. The goblins went down fast and the Drider soon after. You were luckily able to keep all the Harpers safe, everyone only receiving some cuts and bruises. The moon lantern you looted from the Drider held a fairy and her muffled voice cried out for help. In return, she blessed your party, keeping you safe from even the darkest part of the curse. So after bidding farewell to the Harpers, you all made your way to moonrise towers.

---

                The trail to the Towers was long and your party had run into many shadow-cursed enemies, but after hours, you had crossed the bridge into the towers. The guards at the entry questioned you, but it wasn’t too hard to trick them. The walls of the towers stood high above you. The stone walls and darkness made the place feel cold and you grimaced as you walked through it. The smell that lingered in the air was rancid and it made your hair stand up.

                It seems you weren’t the only one who could smell it as Astarion grimaced behind you, holding the back of his hand to his nose. The closest scent in the air was coming from a door to your left, and as your curiosity got the best of you, you made your way towards it. On the other side, a drow woman stood in front of a table, bottles and vials of blood scattered around its surface.

                Her attention turned to you as the door creaked open and she made her introduction. “Araj Oblodra. Trader in blood and the sanguineous arts. It’s a pleasure to stand before a true soul. And your pale companion.” The way her eyes raked over Astarion’s form made your own twitch and your fists curl. “I’d like to offer my services, if you’re willing?” She offered a potion in exchange for some of your blood, and since it was only a bit, you held your hand out. It didn’t take her long at all to brew you a strong potion, gladly giving it to you.

                “Before you go, tough, there might be one more thing we could discuss?” Her eyes once again drifted to Astarion. “Your friend. He’s a vampire, no? Or at least a spawn?” Her tone made your blood boil and the look in her eye made you want to rip out her throat. How dare she look at your mate that way? Use that tone to him?

                “Oh don’t worry,” Astarion began, “We’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.”

                She smirked and let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, I prefer if you did.” She turned to you with a raised brow. “I assume he belongs to you?”

                Your eyes widened and you stood agog. “Excuse me? He doesn’t belong to anyone.” You growled out and your nails began to dig into your palm.

                She let out a scoff. “Oh, I’m sure he believes that. Do you have a name, Spawn?”

                Astarion took a step back, “Astarion, b-but hold on-“

                Araj immediately cut him off, a smile on her face. “Good. Now, Astarion, I’ve always dreamed of being bitten by a vampire. Ever since I was a young girl.” Your ears started ringing and your body grew hot. The voices around you became muffled as she attempted to push herself onto him. It was only when she raised her voice at you that you snapped. “Ugh! Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?!”

                Your eyes glowed a pale yellow and your hand wrapped around your throat, claws sprouting from your fingernails and digging into her skin. You shoved her body against her desk with a loud growl. “How DARE you speak to him like that? Do you not know the meaning of the word ‘no’?!” You companion behind you stepped back as fur peaked from beneath your armor.  Beneath you, Araj struggled and attempted to speak. You leaned down, bringing your growing fangs to her ear. “If you so as much glance or even think about my mate,” you tightened your grip, “I’ll tear your gods damned throat out. Do you understand?”

                She frantically nodded, and with one last shove, she fell to the ground, holding her throat and coughing. You took a deep breath and glanced down at your hands, watching as your claws retreated into your bones. Whatever has been happening to you recently, it was starting to scare you. You shuddered and shook your head, turning back to your group who was all looking at you concerned and with slight fear.

                You cleared your throat and pushed past them. “L-Let’s go find somewhere to camp, I’m exhausted and this place reeks.”

---

                The fire roared in front of you as you hugged your knees close to your chest. Your friends had kept their distance from you ever since making camp and you figured they were still nervous after your outburst earlier. You had been sitting alone for a while when soft footsteps reached your ears, and the scent of your mate met your nose.

                Turning your head, he sent a small wave to you. “Do you have a moment. I think we need to talk.” Your heart clenched and you stood, following him back to his tent. He turned to you, a look of nervousness in his eyes. “I uum, I want to thank you.” His voice was soft, keeping in mind the others in their own tents.

                You raised a brow. “For what?”

                “For what you said, when I was in front of that vile drow. I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered. You could have asked me to do the same- to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned.” His voice raised and he threw his arms out, but quickly brought them back in, his eyes softening. “But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.”

                You smiled. “Astarion, I would never make you do something you don’t want to do. And I’ll hurt anyone who tries to force you to.” You clenched your fists again, the thought of that drow heating up your blood again.             

                “It’s a novel concept, I admit. And a little intimidating.” He looked down and sighed. “Look. I had a plan. A nice, simple plan- seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so that you’d never turn on me.” He let out a chuckle, and in your chest your heart pounded. So he didn’t feel the pull. He had been using you this whole time? “It was easy, instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in.”

                You took a small step back, holding your hand over your heart. “Astarion, I…I…” You couldn’t even speak; no words came to your mind as he continued talking.

                “All you had to do… was fall for it.” He let out another sigh. “And all I had to do, was not fall for you. And that is where my nice, simple plan… falls apart.” His eyes bore into yours, and you could see no deceit. He truly meant it. “You… you’re incredible. But you deserve something real. I want us to be something real.” He stepped forward, grasping your hand in between his own.

                Your heart pounded in your ears and sparks shot through your skin beneath his. Minutes passed, and without your response, he stepped back and sighed. It snapped you out of your gaze and you reached back out to him, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his waist softly. It stunned him for a second, but he slowly lowered his arms around you in return.

                His scent was all you could smell as you nuzzled into his chest with a smile. “I want us to be something real too. More than anything.” You stepped back, moving to hold his hands in yours.

                He let out a breath. “You… you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” A smile broke out on his face, and he leaned forward. “Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing. Or what comes next.” The grip on your hands tightened. “But I know that this… this is nice.” His smile was soft, and he brought up one of your hands, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. “I- I do have one question though. I couldn’t help but overhear what you told that drow.”

                Your brow raised and you tilted your head. You hoped it didn’t show on your face, but you were worried.

                “What did you mean, when you said, ‘my mate?’” Your blood ran cold, and all you heard was the pounding on your heartbeat.

---

Masterlist

PT1 || PT2 || PT3 || PT4

Taglist: @saturns-angel || @bdudette || @simon-e-mallory || @caskyywrites || @emo-with-headphones || @ophelias-flowerss || @sarawithasword || @stonedstargazer666 ||

[skye-the-dragon]

Bloodweave x My Tav, fluffy things

I just love them so much, I can’t help making more stuff

Post-game (I say, as someone who’s barely finished act 1 cuz I can only play once a week lmao) the three of them live in Waterdeep in Gale’s tower

Astarion has his own dedicated floors with windows that are completely sealed off from the sun so he can walk around safely during the day

Zion has a hoarding habit. They own a bag of holding with all sorts of random items, rocks, plants, feathers, jewelry, especially shiny gold coins, small pieces of wood, if they find it cool or interesting they’re yoinking it. Gale, upon finding this out, dedicates a part of the tower for their stuff to be displayed. Zion talks Gale and Astarion through all their shit as they put it up. To their surprise, there’s quite a bit. Eventually, if this continues, they’re gonna have to crate demiplanes for all this stuff, Gale thinks.

On that note, Zion picks up any small thing they think the other two might like, or that reminds them of the two. They’re met with grateful, adoring smiles most times

Zion has a draconic tail. Gale and Astarion notice they sway it from side to side often, and find that incredibly endearing

Gale is chubby, and Zion and Astarion love to cuddle with him because he’s soft and warm (they’re cat coded) (also I won’t be taking criticism, constructive or otherwise)

When Astarion was figuring out his attraction, it basically went like: “Okay, Zion yes, I can see Zion. They’re highly intelligent, cunning, charismatic, if a bit peculiar… But Gale? Gale, of all people? Ugh! Why do I have to fall for such… specific beings?”

When he tells Gale and Zion about this, they point out he’s literally a vampire spawn. Astarion sulks for the rest of the day until they invite him to cuddle, at which point he decides to mercifully forgive them

Astarion and Zion get along with Tara (and yes I know about her, I spoiled myself lmao) exceptionally well. One can often find the three of them just staring at a wall pointlessly. Tara does it because cat things, Zion because they just got lost in thought, and Astarion to unnerve Gale a little bit, in which he succeeds. “Would you quit doing that?!”

Astarion is the shortest of them, at 170cm, Zion is 180, and Gale, 190. He pretends to dislike being the little spoon, but he actually loves it

Zion’s pet names for Astarion: My Star, My Love, Fangs (shamelessly stolen from Karlach), My Pale Elf

Zion’s pet names for Gale: My Wizard, My Love, My Human (affectionate), My Fool (affectionate)

Astarion’s pet names for Zion: Darling, My Sweet, Sweetheart, My Dear, Sweet Thing, My (Little) Treat, Dessert (playful), My Drake

Astarion’s pet names for Gale: Darling, My Sweet, Sweetheart, My Dear, Wizard, Gorgeous, Handsome, My Personal Pillow (affectionate, and mostly used while cuddling), Professor (playful)

Gale doesn’t really use pet names, but when he does, it’s just “My Love”, “My Dear” or “My Sweet”

Astarion mostly feeds on Zion, their blood sour-sweet in a good way, but occasionally, when he’s particularly hungry and they have no blood to spare, he’ll feed on Gale, despite his blood tasting awfully bitter

If I think of anything more, I’ll make another post lol

[jellymellydraws]

Masterlist ~ <<Previous Chapter ~ Next Chapter >>

Astarion x Dark Urge Chapter 18 - Plucking the Wrong Strings (of Rose's patience) Rating: E Tags: Angst, Fluff, hurt/comfort, slow burn, two guarded people fall in love so hard it makes them stupid

Chapter Summary:

After speaking to Minthara, the party is ready to check on the druid. But Astarion is bored out of his mind, and decides to torment Gale while Rose wraps a few questions up with Minthara. Needing to address his behavior, she pulls the elf aside to give him a piece of her mind. If only her mind didn't have OTHER plans.

Ever present was the crystalline eye that floated idly around the room. It would circle the group which surrounded Minthara's map, following a predetermined path. A vortex of dark magic flowed into its center, forming an uncanny resemblance to an iris. Though it patrolled the room, it did not set its lenses on anyone or anything.

As the orb floated around the room, questions floated in the back of Rose's mind. Who was watching them? What could Gale tell her about it? Could he make another one, just for them?

Could they control it?

Each question was penciled into her journal just as fast as they flitted through her thoughts.

Once the eye completed its third, mindless, rotation, she stopped paying it any attention. 

After getting all the information they needed from Minthara, the group was free to investigate the status of the druid. Rose dismissed her allies to go on ahead while she asked general questions surrounding the temple: the layout, security, and any other topic that could slowly build a positive rapport with the drow. 

Wyll and Alfira took the option to leave, both doing their best to mask their distress. From the looks of the periwinkle tail poking into the room, they didn’t wander too far. Gale remained in the room, but examined the scarce contents of the bookshelves he was forced to ignore when they first arrived.

What was more interesting were the ones who stayed, and what they were doing while Rose continued to play ally to The Absolute. 

Shadowheart took the extra time to refine the markings of her map to match what Minthara had laid out for them. Every so often, she’d glance at Rose as a question was being answered. Watching. Judging.

Just as much as Rose had watched the members of her camp, Shadowheart was also keeping an eye on her.

Smart woman.

Lae'zel kept her stance while everyone around her dispersed. Eyes were focused on their leader, a stern expression creasing her brow. After their impromptu tadpole telepathy, it was no wonder she was further wound up. There was a comfort knowing that the gith took her primary objective seriously. 

Well-- keeping an eye on Rose was probably her secondary objective. It was made abundantly clear that her primary was to get rid of the tadpoles in general.

Then there was Astarion, who leaned against the stone table more casually than Rose would have liked. Any pretense of politeness or decorum he offered towards Minthara had vanished. What remained was the act of looking at his nails— which were fully covered by his gloves — and sighing just loud enough to keep Rose’s attention on him.

"Can’t you pretend to be interested for a few more minutes?" she asked through the tadpole, while Minthara addressed a question from Shadowheart.

"I could, but I don’t want to." Astarion threw a glance at Rose with a half cocked smirk.

Rose lifted her journal when a soft scoff slipped out, and kept it there to hide the smirk stretching across her face. 

Her tadpole wriggled with Lae’zel’s disapproval.

"The Priestess has her own ogre guard in her suite," the drow commander explained. She paused briefly to address the scrying eye with a nod. Instead of continuing its predetermined patrol, it hovered above the map, slowly rotating its lens. 

Intentional. Purposeful.

Something's changed. 

Minthara didn't bat an eye, and continued her explanation to Shadowheart. "Other than that, our security has been limited to give strength to the northern raid."

The cleric nodded with satisfaction and departed from the table. Astarion followed after her, looking all too eager to share his opinions with someone who'd humor him.

"Understandable," Rose answered, attempting to speak evenly despite the scrying eye slowly turning towards her. She pointed down at it, "is this how I’m reporting back to you?"

When the eye settled its sights on Rose, the hairs raised on the back of her neck. Mimicking Minthara, she gave the orb a curt nod.

It wouldn't go away.

"No, that is Moonrise. The eye wanders mindlessly most of the time. Someone is watching, for it to be moving with such purpose. I suspect either the General or another Commander stationed there."

General...?

It began to circle Rose, inspecting her. She closed her journal and pressed it close to her chest, hoping to hide any secrets it was trying to find. When she looked to Minthara for guidance, the drow had turned to speak to a goblin. Even when the drow glanced over, she didn't seem phased or concerned. The smallest of smirks hinted at her amusement at the sight.

The orb stopped at eye level, staring straight into her being. The bottomless pit in the center of the eye could have swallowed her whole. As she stared back at her reflection, her tadpole wriggled: yearning to connect.

Curious...

After tucking the journal away, she grabbed the floating sphere with both her hands and pulled it closer to her face.

The tadpole wriggled more eagerly.

Practically begging to connect.

"'starion!"

Rose snapped her attention to their distressed wizard, being tormented by none other than a very bored elf. She couldn’t leave him alone with Gale for two lousy minutes without him starting shit, could she?

The eye was released from her grasp, free to go wherever the hell else it wanted to. She had more pressing matters to attend to.

As she approached, Astarion was flipping through the pages of a book, too fast to read anything of substance. "Blah blah blah," he dramatically yawned, "boring!"

The book was then flung over his shoulder, soaring straight for the chasm that Rose was crossing over. Deftly, she repositioned herself to catch the book and leap safely to the other side of the opened ground. Gale sighed with relief, dismissing the magical hand he conjured in his desperation.

"Enough," she shot a disapproving look towards the both of them, book firmly tucked under her arm, "let’s go."

Rose turned back to wave to Minthara as they departed. The drow lifted a single hand in acknowledgement and dismissal. 

Still floating where it had been left was the scrying eye.

Still staring right at her.

She swore it was watching after them as she ushered the rest of her group out of the room. That prickly feeling at the back of her neck didn't leave until it was out of sight.

A new question was added to her journal: could they destroy it?

Alfira and Wyll smiled at the approaching group as they flooded out of the room. Gale slunk towards the front, attempting to speak for Rose's attention, but had been stopped with a book getting pushed into his chest.

Instead, she stopped in front of Astarion, "I need a word with you."

Uncomfortable silence fell around the whole of their party. Quiet glances shifted between her and the elf who had nothing to say.

A rare sight from him.

"We'll meet you outside of the pits," Shadowheart decided. The rest of the party took her cue to keep walking.

"Oh darling," he purred, "if you wanted to steal away for a quickie, you could've just asked."

"This'll be quick, all right."

She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him. He hardly put up a fight, smirking as he let her pull him into an altar room at the back of the temple.

"So we're going to be rough today, hm?"

"Shut up."

She shoved him against the nearest wall. Effortlessly, he made a performance of catching his balance and giving her a small bow. He extended a hand towards her, staring at her through his lashes.

He wasn't serious.

No fucking way he was serious.

Rose smacked the hand down. The sound bounced off the tall ceiling, emphasizing just how un-fucking-amused she was finding his whole act.

Only the sounds of goblins going about their business was left to fill the space between them. When Astarion stood upright, his mouth was agape. Stuck between trying to form words and holding his tongue.

He didn't get a chance to decide.

"I don’t know if you were paying attention," Rose started through grit teeth, "but our cover was a hair away from getting blown."

"I hardly think tossing books would have been as revealing as you think."

"I'll get to that-- but let's start with that stunt you pulled while we were talking to Minthara."

He contemplated. Shifted his weight. Stared at her with a confused expression.

"You don't remember?!" She hissed. Gods damn it to all the hells. "When we were having a whole conversation in my head?"

He continued to look puzzled. Everything within her froze solid.

"Don’t tell me I imagined that," the air around her thickened. 

No, it was clear as day! Not only was she hearing his voice in her head, but Gale's! Wyll's! Shadowheart's!

Her eyes bounced around the room, seeking answers within the cracks of old stone. Heart racing.

No. No, it had to have happened! Alfira was talking to her-- worried about her! Minthara got her attention!

And what was everyone else doing? She wondered.

Standing still. Quiet. Staring.

Oh Gods... her face blanched.

"Say something," she pleaded.

"You make it too easy, sometimes," his face finally cracked a smirk.

”Damn it, Astarion!” Rose shouted. Her hand quickly covered her mouth.

From a frozen core to boiling blood, she was fuming.

She waited, listened. Glanced around. No one seemed to be listening in, no goblins approached, and nothing else seemed to notice her small fit. All she saw nearby was Lae'zel, leaning against the open doorway with that permanent scowl etched onto her face. Her ire, however, was aimed at the elf.

"We're walking around freely, aren't we? Now, why would she let us go if she saw through our facade?" His tone was light and casual, as if sharing a disagreement on whether rainy days could be found calming. Despite her ire, he wouldn't let up, changing his smirk to an easy smile and gesturing to the wide open room, "we're fine! The drow doesn't suspect a thing!"

"For our sakes, I hope you're right."

"Sure, it could have been a little less clumsy but we'll work on that for next time."

There better not be a next time.

She combed frustrated fingers through her violet hair, pulling the strands out of her face. How could he be calm? Did he realize how dangerous this was?! The fact they had to have this conversation put their very plan at risk! And he was still smirking!

The dull thudding began.

Keep your cool, Rose.

"What do you think would have happened if that went poorly?" She challenged, slowly, "go on, I want you to tell me."

He already got to you once. Don't let it happen again.

"Well, we’d kill everything here." He shrugged casually, "that was the original plan, anyway sooooo— nothing really changes."

"EVERYTHING changes!" 

The drumming intensified in her ears, and her very head was pulsing with each thump.

He was probably still smirking. Did he get off toying with her? That he could get under her skin so easily?

Gods, he needed to pay for that! It wouldn’t be enough to smack the look off his face, she’d better rip the flesh right off!

No, not now— keep it together.

Was one romp in the woods enough for him to dare step out of line? Does he think she wouldn’t lay a finger on him for his insubordination?!

She would.

She should!

That's not how I do things!

Oh, but how else was she supposed to show him his place? It used to always work on the others!

Others...?

Countless faces flashed before her. Too fast to see any clearly. Only the sound of bodies hitting the ground echoed in her mind, followed by a sickening giggle. Quick clicks of boots against stones approached her, giddy. Another shadow from her past, greeting her with a toothy maniacal grin.

Her stomach twisted with each vision. Over and over again she watched a new stranger flash in her mind, screams resonating, bodies thudding. 

Each one filled her with immense satisfaction; reminded her of something she had once lost.

Power.

Authority.

Where was that, now?

As she forced those ideas back, pain twisted in her stomach like a knife. The reverberation in her skull intensified. Bile rose in her throat.

Then suddenly, coolness washed over her face. The visions of red flushed away. 

As the icy feeling descended unto her cheek, she leaned into it with a relieved sigh.

Gods that was refreshing.

Her hand lifted to hold whatever it was that saved her. Wishing it to stay upon her feverish flesh for eternity. 

When she opened her eyes, Astarion’s ruby gaze was locked onto her. He softly tutted, turning his hand over to grace her with the cool back of it.

"Your lecture would go better if you could deliver it without hurting yourself." Astarion teased in a whisper. But the sincerity in his voice overpowered the playfulness of his words.

Immediately, she pulled her face out of his hold, glaring to the side just for the sake of avoiding eye contact. This all started because she was supposed to be scolding him.

Pathetic.

"Besides the nightmares," Astarion continued, sliding his glove back onto his hand, "I hadn’t seen your quirk act up in a while."

"Stop."

The momentary reprieve from her own thoughts was just enough to regain her composure. 

They had a job to do. Astarion could’ve put that job in danger.

She needed him to take this as seriously as the rest of their camp. She clenched her fists and turned her eyes back to him, prepared to shoot a stern warning at him. 

The softness on his face melted all of that away. He was only trying to help, even though she was in the middle of telling him off. Whatever harshness she would point at him, gone.

"I like you, Astarion," she whispered, deflated, "but I can’t let that put the whole camp in jeopardy. If your antics put us in danger, we might not be able to talk our ways out of it next time."

"Oh but the danger is the fun,” he pouted playfully. When her expression remained unchanged, he sighed softly. "Okay," he began, sincerely, but ended with a louder, more dramatic, "fiiiiiine, I’ll behave." 

"Thank you."

"Now," he draped his arm over her shoulder as they walked down the hall, "back to that other thing you said. You like me?"

"Gods," she used two fingers to pry his hand off her, waving off his teasing tone, "you get the picture."

"No no no," he ran to the front, walking backwards as she continued her path towards the pits, "paint the picture for me: how much do you like me?"

Her eyes couldn’t roll back far enough to properly exaggerate her response, "just enough not to stab you, right now."

"Mmmmh I doubt you could strike me that easily," he continued to play, "but it would be fun to see you try."

"Chk, I will see that my blade finds purchase."

"Oh, were you hoping to get a show, Lae’zel?" Astarion cooed, "of the sexually explicit kind, not the musical kind— to be clear."

"I know what you were implying."

Lae'zel peeled herself off the doorway when they got close. Her disapproval couldn't be more clearly directed at Rose as they walked down the hall.

It was fine when only Astarion was around to witness her falter. One witness, one confidant, easy to manage. 

Safe. 

She winced at the thought. How badly had she ruined the strong-and-capable-leader image that the gith had formed about her?

Rose couldn't make that same mistake with the others. They relied on her too much to witness her tear at the seams.

Keep it together.

Next Chapter >> (to be posted)

[ladytesla]

The Great Faerun Baking Show (part two)

I've decided I'm going to run with this anyway. It is a beautiful day in Faerun and I am a horrible goose fanfiction writer. There are several things I need to get done today, so obviously I'm going to not do them and write this instead.

For those of you who are just stopping by, I had a horrible idea a while ago and this is the result. I have no idea what's going to happen or who's going to win. I’m just going to roll a D20 ‘bake check’ for everyone and write out the results, including what everyone rolled so y’all know I’m not cheating just so my druid boyfriend can win.  The person with the lowest total score (out of a possible score of 60) goes home.

We've got the main 6 companions, Jaheira, Halsin, Minsc (and Boo), Minthara, Dammon, and my tav Medora (who y'all can just pretend is Alfira if you don't want someone else's tav in the story, since they're both female bards)

Week One, Cake Week: Star baker was Karlach, Minthara went home

Week Two: Biscuit Week, or "Viconia's Walking Florentine"

Signature Challenge: Sandwich Biscuits

Astarion: Bourbon biscuits. He and Shadowheart took a shot right when the bake started. He took a few more shots after that just because he could, and ended up making a bunch of vampire jokes with Noel Fielding. Despite the alcohol handicap, his biscuits turned out quite nice.

Dammon: Dulce de leche and banana biscuits. The dulce de leche overpowered the banana a bit, but the texture of the biscuits themselves were great.

Gale: Tara's coffee biscuits. He really wanted to bring back the memories of caffeine-fueled all-nighters at Blackstaff Academy. He also used a cat-shaped cookie cutter. The biscuits weren't exactly identical, and the coffee cream was a bit too runny.

Halsin: Lavender and vanilla biscuits. He used a duck-shaped cookie cutter because he likes ducks. They were all perfectly identical and the flavors were incredible. He got a Hollywood Handshake for them.

Jaheira: Malted milk biscuits. She wasn't able to get them as identical as she would have liked, and some of the biscuits were a bit underdone.

Karlach: Peanut butter and jelly sandwich biscuits. She was determined to have Paul like something with peanut butter in it. Unfortunately he still doesn't. They were also a bit messy. They were adorable in their messiness though.

Lae'zel: Pistachio custard creams. They were messy, and the dragon cookie cutter she used was a bit too delicate, resulting in some dragons missing their tails.

Medora: Raspberry and almond linzer biscuits. They had a lovely classic flavor profile, and were nearly identical.

Minsc: Coconut biscuits. He tried to use chocolate designs to make them look like tiny coconuts, but it wasn't completely successful. The flavor, however, was nice.

Shadowheart: Blackberry and earl grey biscuits. She tried to shape them like night orchids, colored with activated charcoal. However, the color made it hard to judge whether or not the biscuits were overcooked, and several of them were burned. The earl grey was so faint it was overpowered by the blackberry and the, well, burn.

Wyll: Empire biscuits. He grew up sneaking them from the kitchen as a boy, and wanted to stick to his 'classics done right' style. Unfortunately the biscuits weren't as crisp as Paul and Prue would have liked. Noel still stuck one in his pocket for later though.

Technical Challenge: Coconut Macaroons

(I think I'm going to list them from worst to best from now on)

11. Dammon

10. Shadowheart

9. Medora

8. Karlach

7. Lae'zel or Wyll (they both rolled a 9)

6. Wyll or Lae'zel

5. Halsin

4. Astarion

3. Jaheira

2. Gale

Minsc (honestly how does he keep doing so well idk man)

Showstopper: Gingerbread Showpiece

Astarion: To keep with his Brand, he decided to make a graveyard with several little gingerbread mausoleums and monuments. His, of course, was the biggest and fanciest one, with the door open and a little paper cut-out of himself coming out. Very tongue-in-cheek. Some of the monuments were sloppy, because he had so many he didn't have time to make them all super polished.

Dammon: He did his best to make an anvil, a hammer and a little piece of pulled sugar as the metal to be forged. He then discovered that despite working with molten metal on a regular basis, molten sugar still burns just as much when hitting the skin, and dropped it. He spent so much time on a backup sugar piece that the presentation on his anvil and hammer suffered a tiny bit.

Gale: His scene was an open book with a little wizard casting Fireball standing on the pages. There were huge cracks in the gingerbread book, but the wizard and his fireball were nicely detailed. He wasted a lot of time because he needed the spell piped on to the gingerbread to be ACCURATE DAMMIT.

Halsin: He created a peaceful woodland scene with trees, a family of bears, and some mushrooms. The largest bear broke, but he was able to fix it somewhat and prop it up against a tree. Bears lean against trees all the time. He hoped the judges might think it was purposeful. They saw right through him, however.

Jaheira: Years of helping her children with various projects has paid off. She somehow in the time limit created Wyrm's Crossing and just for show a poured-sugar River Chionthar. That earned her a Hollywood Handshake.

Karlach: She made an impressive replica of her tent, complete with a small army of teddy bear cookies. She even took the time to make little bears shaped like her friends and the judges. When asked if she hadn't wanted to make something more badass, she shrugged and said she could like cracking skulls and teddy bears at the same time.

Lae'zel: Her red dragon looked more like a guinea pig, unfortunately, so she changed her answer last-minute and said it was a giant space hamster. Due to its red color, though, the judges saw right through her story.

Medora: She attempted to create a lute, a mandolin and a drum. The neck of the lute broke and the piping on the drum was far from precise, but it wasn't a complete disaster.

Minsc: He made a treasure chest mimic. Originally he'd wanted the lid to open, but the hinge broke. It was still beautiful regardless, and quite big. It nearly took up the entire counter.

Shadowheart: Her little gingerbread cottage was already precariously lopsided, and when she turned to grab another piping bag it fell completely off the bench and onto the floor.

Wyll: He replicated his favorite park in Baldur's Gate out of gingerbread, even sculpting a statue with modeling chocolate. It was very impressive.

The Results

Our star baker this week with a total of 45/60 is Halsin!

And unfortunately, with a score of 9/60, Shadowheart has to leave the tent.

Feel free to play along, roll bake checks, and comment with what your Tav would make! Yeah I can't be stopped we're on to bread week next.

[wixed]

Gale x M!Tav, Wyll x M!Tav, Love Triangles, Angst, Mutual Pining, Suicide Mention/Ideation

A/N: This one is long, I'm so sorry, ~3.7k words

7 - A heated argument with a companion 

Gale awoke to a deep hunger. The pain buffeted against and cramped buffeted and cramped his core. It felt like he had neglected his meals for a tenday. It soon was accompanied by the stabbing, icy hot pain that rallied against his heart where the orb had taken residence. If the affliction was already this bad, Gale was unsure he would be able to accompany his companions today. 

He meditated for a few minutes, hoping his unmatched mental focus and acuity was all it took to banish the pain. Unfortunately, this enemy required more than a simple ‘Iacto Te’ and a flick of the wrist. 

Gale abandoned the fruitless meditations, deciding to get dressed and leave his tent. Upon his exit, his eyes immediately found Tavlin, and his heart gave an elated beat before he truly took in the scene. He felt the weight of disappointment carry his heart down into whatever depths he had forced the poor organ to waste away in. 

Tavlin knelt by a pack with Wyll, the two men preparing the day's provisions and supplies. The tiefling’s smile seemed contagious, as Wyll was also sporting a large lovesick grin. The two were close, and Wyll made constant attempts and excuses to touch Tavlin. Hands brushing, a clap on the shoulder, then when they stood, Wyll offered his hand to help Tavlin up, and the offer was accepted. Gale found a new ache in his heart as their hands stayed clasped together after the sorcerer was already standing. 

Wyll made a small, charming bow into the gesture, still holding Tavlin’s hand, to which the tiefling blushed a shade of magenta that had only belonged to Gale, up until now. The blush was accompanied by a laugh that shattered the wizard’s tender heart. 

“Your pallor could rival Astarion’s today, Gale." Shadowheart’s voice tore Gale away from the painful moment he likely wasn’t supposed to see.

“Unfortunately, I am still ailed by the orb, it seems.” His tone came across unamused and biting, but he was only trying to hide the hurt in his voice. He hoped the Sharran wouldn’t press the issue, if she could detect it. 

“Perhaps it’s best you stay at camp today? The Shadowlands will require us at our best, and no offense, but saying you look like death warmed over would be a kindness.” Shadowheart needled between his pained thoughts. Despite her prefacing the remark with ‘no offense’, he was sure the cleric enjoyed giving the jab at his expense. 

“Yes… perhaps you’re right”, was all he could provide in response. The lack of banter seemed to dull Shadowheart’s edges somewhat. 

“I'll let Tavlin know. Take care of yourself, Gale.” That sentiment at least sounded genuine. 

Gale finally let free the heavy sigh he had been holding and turned back into his tent. 

—

Tavlin’s morning had started normal enough. He saw to his usual routine with ease, and he even found enough time to play an extra game of fetch with Scratch. 

He noticed Wyll was watching from his tent, a soft smile on his face. Tavlin couldn’t help but smile back with a weak blush. He felt a nip at his hand and saw Scratch at his side, anxiously awaiting the ball Tavlin was still holding. 

“Sorry boy, here ya go”, he said with a throw of the red ball. It was punctured with tooth marks in several places, almost covering the whole of it. 

“We really need to get you a new ball, Scratch”, he said to his dog companion with a chuckle. 

“I’m sure there are plenty we can find for our furry friend in Baldur’s Gate”, Wyll added as he walked up to Tavlin. 

“We just need this one to last that long”, the tiefling laughed as Scratch brought the ball back once more, tail wagging with excitement. 

Tavlin could feel his pulse quicken with Wyll’s presence. He still couldn’t make heads or tails of his feelings. His heart felt as if it was taking the term “storm sorcerer” a bit too literally, his affections a tempest he couldn’t navigate through. 

He knew he liked Gale. He really really liked Gale. He thought about taking the wizard in his arms and kissing him until they both were breathless, more times in a day than he prayed to the gods. He was also certain Gale returned his affections, at least to some degree. But Gale would keep distance between them, especially lately. Karlach and Shadowheart told him it was likely due to the orb, and the very real possibility of a catastrophic explosion if Gale got too…excited. 

They teased Tavlin about it, but he only felt a painful disappointment at finally understanding. Gale’s condition is what kept them apart, not his lack of feelings. But then why hadn’t he said anything to Tavlin? Why had he been trying to quietly pull away instead of just being honest? Tavlin could speculate all day and still find no answers. 

In the last tenday, Wyll had started talking with Tavlin more. Sitting by him at meals, talking with him before they turned in for the night…flirting. He liked Wyll, to be sure. Wyll was handsome, kind, and brave… a good man by all accounts. Tavlin should be swooning like the maidens in the fairy tales Wyll recounted to him. Perhaps all he needed to do was give in to the storm, see where it spat him out once it thrashed him around. So he decided to indulge the flirting today. He needed to stop thinking and just start doing. 

He grabbed Wyll’s hand gently, and placed the saliva covered ball in it. Surely the most romantic gesture one could bestow upon another. 

“Here, my poor arm is getting sore”, he lied with a small laugh. Wyll’s cheeks suddenly possessed shades of pink at the touch. He chuckled and threw the ball as instructed. 

“Well, we can’t have you tired out already.” Wyll’s gaze became soft as it focused on Tavlin’s face, and his eyes traveled down to the tiefling’s lips for the quickest of moments. Tavlin shyly averted his eyes with a small smile. 

For the remainder of the morning, the two men were inseparable. After Scratch was sufficiently satisfied with his morning game of fetch, they ate breakfast together and started preparing for the day’s adventures. 

Tavlin noticed how much more Wyll was leaning into the stolen physical touches. Innocent enough to the ignorant observer, but to the pair it might as well have been a romantic dance.

With the last of the provisions packed, Tavlin was ready to gather the group for the day. He was thinking through who would be a good fit for the treacherous Shadowlands they were to venture into today. Shadowheart seemed almost excited at the prospect of being at the front of exploration into the cursed lands. Karlach or Lae’zel would probably be good additions for their ability to hit hard and take hits, but perhaps Astarion might be better for his ability to pass quietly without much trouble. Gale was always-

Tavlin’s thought process halted with the approach of Shadowheart. He waved as she closed the distance. 

“Morning, Shadowheart.”

“Good morning. Gale will be staying behind today. He’s still not feeling well.” The cleric informed the two men. 

Wyll spoke up first. “It seems our friend’s condition is not getting any better…” He sounded despondent, like he wished he could offer a solution but was coming up short. 

“Thanks for letting me know Shadowheart, is he-”

“He’s in his tent, yes.” She answered before he could finish his question. Without another word, Tavlin set a path to Gale’s tent. 

He was reminded of last night, when he made this same path that led him to the front of the blue little encampment that was Gale’s. How Gale had collapsed on the ground, trying to function through the pain. Tavlin’s heart felt heavy. He wanted so desperately to help Gale. He wished there was a way to make the orb leave Gale alone, like it was a bully that just needed to be told to leave. He wished for a way to take away the complications of their feelings for each other. He wished he could do anything. 

He arrived at his destination. He could hear shuffling and the sound of book pages being turned. He cleared his throat. 

“Gale? Shadowheart said you weren’t feeling well? So um… I … I suppose I’ll see you once we’re back? Is there anythi-” 

“I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Gale’s response didn’t sound terribly irate, but Tavlin couldn’t shake the feeling that Gale was upset. He wasn’t sure what to say. He stood in silence outside the tent for a moment too long. 

“Is there anything else you need to address with me before you venture?” Gale called from within the flimsy cloth walls. 

“Uh..n-no, sorry. Um… I hope you feel better”, was all Tavlin could think to say. He sheepishly made his way back to Shadowheart and Wyll. He tried to focus on the plan for the day, as the others would want his input on who the exploration party would be. 

“Alright everyone, I think I’ve got the team figured for today”, he voiced to the camp. Everyone’s interest was piqued at the sudden call to attention.

“I think it might be best to take things slow and steady these first few excursions into the Shadowlands. I think focusing on stealth and avoiding trouble should be our priority, at least until we feel more accustomed to the lands and its inhabitants. So… I think today I’ll have Shadowheart, Astarion, and Wyll with me.” Tavlin wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt so nervous. 

Shadowheart seemed pleased with the choices and the reasoning. “A sound strategy.” 

Astarion grinned “It has been a while since I've gotten to kill something. Let’s go.” He had a tone like a child who had been told they got to have their pick of the candy shoppe. 

Wyll simply beamed at Tavlin while picking up one of the packs they had worked on this morning. 

“Alright, everyone grab a pack, and we’ll head out.”  Tavlin gave a sigh of anticipation, and something else. He wasn’t sure what the something else was, but it was hefty and burdened his heart in a way that he’d not felt before.

—

It had been only a few minutes after the four left before Karlach was complaining to Lae’zel.

“All I’m saying is that I think our fearless leader wasn’t giving you and I enough credit. I mean…I can be stealthy!” she whined as she kicked some dirt at her feet. 

“I will not question the tactics of our leader. He has shown great promise in getting us this far. You should do the same”, Lae’zel answered back to Karlach. The fiery tiefling huffed a protest, but quieted her displeasure. 

Gale occupied his time by reading through several of the books and transcripts they had acquired along the way. His mind could not focus on the words, however. He found his thoughts drifting back to the conversation, if one could call it that, he shared with Tavlin this morning. He hadn’t intended to be so short with him, but he found his emotions battling with his desire to be ever the gentleman. 

He couldn’t get the image of Tavlin’s soft, freckled face, flush with the heat of affection for someone other than him out of his mind. The image made his insides knot and twist. Gale had no right. No right to covet such things as he did. Tavlin wasn’t his, they hadn’t even confessed feelings, let alone had any claim on the other. 'That's not entirely true... he confessed to you, but you dodged the subject yet again.' Gale scolded himself as he remembered the tiefling party after they had defeated the Goblin Camp.

He sneered at his own negative thoughts on the matter, trying to force them back into the recesses of his mind so he could focus on the bound parchment in his lap. 

Suddenly he heard Karlach shout across the camp. “You’re back fast, Shadowlands scare you off already?” 

Halsin chimed in with a hint of curiosity after Karlach’s question. “And who is that you have with you?” 

Gale tried to listen to the responses as he put all his various books and scrawlings away, attempting to keep them organized for later. Tavlin’s voice cut against the silence that came with the expectation of answers. 

“Uh… Guys, this is Elminster…the Wizard of Shadowdale?” The tiefling sounded unsure of his answer, or at least in as much disbelief as should accompany the revelation. 

“Actually it’s the Sage of Shadowdale young lad, but no matter”, Elminster hastily corrected. 

Gale’s mind reeled as he quickly abandoned his careful organizing and immediately left the tent. Sure as Lathander commands the sun to rise and set, there stood Elminster. Gale could hardly believe his eyes. The Sage stood at the small table still decorated with the morning’s breakfast, surveying the spread of food with a scrutinizing eye. The old wizard’s attention turned to Gale as he slowly approached. 

“Ah, and yonder lies the object of my pursuit”, announced his old friend.

“Elminster?” 

—

The two wizards started a back and forth, most of which was dedicated to Elminster’s knack for long winded prattling. Tavlin forgot what they were talking about halfway through whatever the Sage was saying. He would have found it more amusing if Elminster’s message wasn’t sounding more and more like a doomsday omen. 

Tavlin eyed the stranger in their camp with an unease that had been building. He didn’t like the weight Elminster carried with him. For an archwizard that had been around as long as he supposedly had, Tavlin thought there shouldn’t be much that could shake the older wizard’s resolve. But still, there was something in his tone, the way his eyes filled with guilt whenever he would look at Gale, truly look at him, that Tavlin didn’t like. 

The elder mage revealed that Mystra knew of their tadpole and Absolute problem, and she seemed to have a solution to it. Or more accurately, Gale possessed the solution. Tavlin couldn’t help from speaking up at this.

“How does Gale alone have the solution?” Everyone else must have already figured it out, because Tavlin could hear the uncomfortable shuffling of his other companions behind him. 

“The orb.” Gale’s words rang like someone had pounded on a bell right near Tavlin’s ear. He felt disoriented, panicked, in utter disbelief at the actuality of the situation. 

“Precisely.” Elminster continued to explain, “Mystra has granted me the power to stop the clock as it were, on the orb’s rush to overpower you. Instead, you will be able to unleash its lethal combustion at will.” 

Tavlin felt dizzy. He could sense the edges of his vision getting fuzzy, and he felt like he was going to revisit breakfast. When Elminster gave more detail on what exactly Gale was to do, Tavlin snapped. 

“That’s monstrous! You’re tasking him to … to kill himself!” The sorcerer’s anger was accompanied by a flourish of wind that picked slightly at his feet. 

Gale looked at Tavlin with sorrowful, understanding eyes. “He is not. But it seems that Mystra is.”

The tiefling’s fists balled at his side, trying desperately to hold in the surge of magic he felt flowing through him. 

“It brings me no pleasure saying this, my friend, but such is Mystra’s will. Yours must be the sacrifice that will undo the Absolute. And for your sacrifice, you will be redeemed. Such is Mystra’s promise.” Gale seemed to perk up with hopeful disbelief at the word ‘redeemed’. 

“He’s already taking on the Absolute. He was doing it before Mystra ever turned her eye to it, before you set on the path to find him. He deserves to be more than just a sacrifice to Her will!” Tavlin couldn’t stop the sparks that crackled at his clenched fists. Elminster’s words were enraging him in a way he’d never felt before. Not at the Guild, not at the Flaming Fist or City Watch, nothing had ever touched this rage before. 

Elminster gave a long sigh. That made Tavlin even angrier. The Sage orders Gale to do the impossible, and then has the audacity to act as if it pains him. As if he has any sympathy for the situation. 

'How dare he…'

“With that, I’ve said my sorry piece, and need only bestow unto thee the charm I was bid.” Elminster avoided looking at Tavlin despite the outburst. 

Tavlin could hear Karlach behind him speak only loud enough for his ears. “Easy, soldier…”  He could tell she was referring to the growing energy in his hands. 

Wyll joined Karlach. “We should leave them to it, come on…” Wyll made the daring move to gently touch Tavlin’s shoulder.  The warlock was shocked by a jolt of electricity. It was harmless, but enough to make him pull his hand away rapidly. 

This pulled Tavlin out of his ever growing fury at the elder mage…at Mystra. 

He turned on his heel and walked away from the two wizards. His companions parted wordlessly as he strode between the lot of them. He couldn’t be around this any longer, or he was sure to Call Lightning down on Elminster. Tavlin figured in a fight between him and the Sage of Shadowdale, the former would be the loser. But he didn’t really care about winning right now. Not unless winning could somehow convince Mystra that what she was asking of Gale was wrong and cruel. Not unless somehow defeating Elminster would change the fate he brought to Gale on Mystra’s behalf. 

He stood at the edges of their camp, trying to focus on breathing. Focus on anything besides the growing storm inside of him. As he calmed the indignation, despair took hold of his heart. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. ‘He can’t…He can’t seriously be considering her demands…’ The thought accompanied a rogue tear that trailed down his cheek. 

“Tav?” Gale’s voice was apprehensive. Tavlin turned but kept his gaze focused on the ground, not able to bring himself to meet the wizard’s face. 

“An audience with Elminster is never less than memorable.” The smallest hint of a chuckle edged its way into Gale’s words. “I had hoped to introduce you to him in less dire circumstances, but those are difficult to come by these days.” Tavlin could tell he was trying to ease the mood. The tiefling looked over at where the elder mage had been, noting his absence. He must have finished whatever he needed with Gale. Tavlin felt a twinge of regret at not getting to take his anger out on the old wizard, but he knew it was for the best. 

Gale continued in Tavlin’s silence, catching that his attention was drawn to where Elminster had been just minutes before. “For Mystra to have sent him… The severity of her bidding could not be clearer, or weigh more heavily on me.” Gale spoke with a forlorn cadence now. “Time seems so infinite when you are young… a month is an age…a year is a lifetime… it is a strange feeling, to realize how little of it one might have left.” This ripped Tavlin out of his silent brooding. 

“You’re seriously considering what he said?” Tavlin could feel the tempest inside of him begin to stir again. 

“Of course, he offered the clearest solution to our problem. All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes and let go…” The fact that Gale was saying this with such casual ease enraged Tavlin further. “Then the slate will be clean, wrongs will be righted, the Absolute will be gone… and I along with it.” 

“So that’s it, then? You’re on a suicide mission now? Why can’t Mystra just end the Absolute herself? Or Elminster, if he's so powerful? Why does it have to be you, and why like this?”  Tavlin couldn’t help the ire from coating his every word like a deadly frost.

Gale sighed at Tavlin’s questioning. “It’s not that simple, Tavlin. The gods are bound by rules, rules that Ao-”

“Screw the rules! Sorry, but that’s a load of bullshit and you know it. I know it, everyone here knows it!” The air around Tavlin thinned, and he could feel lightning calling to him from the darkened sky. He felt the roil of his impassioned bitterness course through his veins like an icy current, begging for a target. 

The sorcerer’s temper seemed to catch Gale off guard, stunning him into silence long enough for Tavlin to continue. “I thought you would have given this more thought before jumping on the first opportunity to please your ex-lover… sorry, Goddess. Which title matters more right now?” Tavlin instantly regretted the words as they left his mouth Gale’s eyes widened, then narrowed with his own rising irritation. 

“That was uncalled for.” Tavlin simply gave a huff at Gale’s words. “This problem is bigger than I think you deign to realize. If Mystra is asking this of me, I can only ascertain that the Absolute is a threat worth dying for.”

“And you just… believe her? Gale, the gods are not infallible. They lie and cheat all the time. They manipulate us to their own ends, then expect gratitude and praise. Mystra is no different. She used you and then just threw you out li-” 

“That’s enough!” Gale slashed the space between them with his hand, as if it were the somatic component to his command. “I do not need you reciting the highlights of my folly back to me. I trusted you with those details of my history because I thought you would understand…now you use them against me?” 

Shocked at the rise out of Gale and at his own choices, Tavlin stopped his tirade. He glared at Gale through tears that threatened to fall, and he silently brushed past him. He picked up the adventuring pack he’d set down earlier, and without turning, called out to his traveling party. 

“Come on, we’re wasting daylight in this gods-forsaken place.”

Oh boy. This was a doozy to write. Not just because of the length, but the argument was tough. They just need to talk about their feelings already.

More works featuring Tavlin below,

Part 1 - What was Tav doing when they were abducted? Part 2 - Voyeurism Part 3 - Body Worship NSFW 18+ Part 4 - Camp Chores Part 5 - First time seeing companions/love interest in a fight Part 6 - Teaching each other how to do something Part 7 - Heated argument with a companion (You are here) Part 8 - It will be ok as long as we're together Part 9 - Exhibitionism NSFW 18+

As always, comments and feedback welcome and greatly appreciated. 🧡

[barbwillbrb]

Finally finished my full playthrough of BG3. Here be my thoughts:

For context, I had been sitting on my first playthrough for a month, as I had 4 huge fights left that I was putting off and little else left (Orin, Ansur, House of Hope, and the last battle). I did start a second playthrough in the interim, getting that character to the Gauntlet of Shar, then decided to go back to finish my OG character. I finally finished the game a couple days ago and have been collecting my thoughts. Here are some resolutions from my playthrough and thoughts on the game/characters:

1. First, here is my first Tav— Quil, a nonbinary tiefling Bard with very high charisma. I adore the character creator, but have one gripe— why can’t we yeet the titties in the vanilla creator (I know there are mods)? I want no titties please.

2. I did not get the Volo eye during my first run; Quil knew a bad idea when they saw one (my second Tav, Rackal, not so much). Quil also didn’t fuck with the Necromancy of Thay.

3. Scratch and owlbear cub made it all the way to the end!

4. Fucked up Auntie Ethel’s quest and got Mayrina killed.

5. Minthara was killed (I only recently fully learned how non-lethal attacks work).

6. It was really hard for me to pick a romance; I spent a good hour loading/reloading the tiefling party to go through my options (everyone but Gale and Wyll were interested, as I was specifically playing a character who wasn’t openly flirting with anyone; I wanted to see what characters came to me first. That said, I had to keep pushing Lae’zel back because girl wanted me within moments of meeting). Karlach ended up stealing my heart; I adore her.

7. I also had Halsin join us. I don’t see a lot of talk about KarlachxTavxHalsin on here, and it kinda bums me out; I was sold on the polycule when KarlachxHalsin started flirting with each other.

8. As a high-charisma character, Act 2 was my favorite, especially when it came to Yurgir. I did not know you could talk your way out of that fight completely; I think I was as shocked as Astarion when it worked. I’ve never seen a game where you could just… talk people to death. It was amazing.

9. Speaking of Act 2, Ketheric Thorm’s introduction is one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. It was perfect at conveying the magnanimity of the situation.

10. I got everyone’s happy endings I think. Wyll, Karlach and I went to Avernus and are kicking ass, Gale is a professor/crown destroyed, and Astarion did not ascend/spawn were spared (the Gur letter at the epilogue is AMAZING). Shadowheart turned away from Shar, but her parents died so she could be free; she has the owlbear cub though, so I think she’ll be okay.

11. I don’t understand the whole “Wyll can’t make a decision” discourse. I get the issue with the pact scene (I can’t remember if I had the option to let him choose, but we worked with Mizora), but people make it out like he doesn’t make any decisions about his future at all in the game. I was able to leave the Blade of Avernus/Duke decision to him, and he chose the Blade. He had some cool dialog about the decision as well.

12. The goddamn Orpheus vs. Emperor choice is about the dumbest thing ever. I feel like if you maintained an overall positive relationship with the Emperor and managed to pull Lae’zel away from Vlaakith, I think there should be an opportunity to break Orpheus free and convince him to join you WITHOUT the Emperor turning tail to the Netherbrain. You should be able to free Orpheus and then have another high persuasion check to get him to stand down/join you. I feel that given the severity of the current situation, Orpheus would accept joining forces if it meant no additional mindflayers be made. Just the fact the Emperor goes by, Orpheus gets freed, and someone has to become a mindflayer is just…. Frustrating at best.

13. I think that regardless if romanced or not, a Lae’zel with high/exceptional approval who turned from Vlaakith is in love with Tav. The emotion in her goodbye at the docks is so powerful.

14. Similarly, I think the same can be said for Shadowheart (if turned away from Shar/had high approval).

15. The Dribbles quest sucked, but worth it just to make Lucretious happy/have her say nice things to me.

16. The character that grew on me the most was Astarion. I honestly didn’t like him too much, but his growth over Acts 2 and 3 really changed my mind. Plus, when I met Yenna, he actually gave approval towards any means of helping her— I was SHOOK.

17. I think the Orin kidnapping would be more impactful if your love interest was taken instead (the angst/race against the clock would be amazing). I also think that if one of the tadpole crew gets taken, the fact that Orin doesn’t have one should tell someone something’s up.

18. My favorite companion is tied between Karlach and Lae’zel. Karlach is so optimistic/stands true to herself despite the bullshit she goes through, and Lae’zel character growth is spectacular.

19. My least favorite companion is Shadowheart, although she’s beginning to grow on me. It’s just that some of her offhand comments are so off-putting in a real hypocritical way. For example, the “I didn’t expect to feel empathy towards refugees” thing is really hard to ignore.

20. My favorite NPCs are, in no particular order, Ketheric Thorm, Rolan, Yurgir, Omeluum, Blurg, Lucretious, Barcus Wroot, Auntie Ethel and Mol.

21. My least favorite NPCs are Gortash (I think he is a great villain, but he’s the kind of manipulative, opportunistic evil that makes my skin crawl), Wulburn Bongle and honestly most of the creche. Also that lady who’s mean to the dogs, but I nuked her with fireball and don’t see her as much if an NPC.

22. WHY CAN’T I ADOPT THE FUCKING CATS?

[hiddenbysuccubi]

Chapter 6 excerpt: the dance. Changed to 'you' format.

Everyone pitched in to set up and decorate camp for their gathering. A night of music, magic, drink, even debauchery. There were some who insisted on being moody, like Wyll and one of the Tieflings; Ikaron. No matter. You were going to enjoy yourself. You'd even borrowed a modest dress for the occasion from Bex, and were quickly downing a pint of ale as you watched and cheered on Rolan’s magic display. You hadn’t been to a party in… you couldn't remember how long. Damn. You'd been so young the last time, comparatively.

Refilling your mug you started on your second drink as you wandered around. Everyone was there, there were even children running around and playing games in the sand. Scratch, who you'd rescued just earlier, barked happily and wagged his tail as he jumped around the children. It was good that the Owlbear cub hadn’t joined your camp yet, the poor thing would be overwhelmed and run away. Then there was Halsin regaling Shadowheart with old stories while Lae’zel and Karlach compared battle techniques. You smiled, watching them all. Happy, too, to find that Gale was also occupied, entranced in a lyre performance given by Alfira. Volo was with them as well. And Astarion…. Astarion was on his own, getting drunk.

A little tipsy and fueled by alcohol, you decided to sidle up to the broody vampire. “So,” you drawl, “are you tired of being venerated yet?”

Astarian side-eyes you without lowering the bottle he has to his lips. “Yes.” he says as he finishes drinking. “It’s oh thank you Astarion for saving me, I’ll name my baby after you . How good and heroic you are- I can’t stand it! And you, you just keep offering to help! And I’m going along with it because!” at this he throws his hands up. “Because I don’t know why!” anymore, he laughs in a not so hinged way. Wobbling while setting down his bottle of Esmeltar Red, which immediately falls over onto the ground. Ignoring it in favor of wrapping his fingers around your wrist, Astarion leans in close, his gaze darkening. “I’ve had enough of being good, lover. Let’s get out of here~”

You can smell the wine on his breath, pulling yourself away with a cautious giggle. “Having fun?” you ask, nervous all of a sudden.

“I am, surprisingly.” Astarion answers. No deceit in his words. “It’s easy to. When I’m with you.”

“Uh." you squeaked, "huh.” fully turning the color of a ripe plum. “I’ve got to go check on… something.” you lie.

Astarion can hear the lie clear as day but he lets you go. Only stopping you to question, his tone betraying his vulnerability and hope, that “you will come to my bed.”

You nod before bolting. You figure you just need a moment to cool down by the waterfront, away from the crowd. Maybe you're not wrong that Astarion is warming up to you, but you can't afford to be fooled. This was still a man who would throw you to the wolves if it came down to it. This was still an Astarion who was sleeping with you, guarding your health, just to ensure his own skin would be protected. He used you to make you want to save him first, look out for him first. A ploy. An effective one, you could admit to yourself. Knowing that he needn't have bothered. You had just gotten too comfortable in this world, high on having successfully completed the game's first big quest. That was all.

---

You didn’t know how the lute had wound up in your hands. Finding yourself by the fire again, a small crowd amassing out of innate curiosity. Even Wyll had come closer to see what would happen. Suddenly not feeling the liquid courage which prodded you out, you swallowed hard as Alfira gave a confident nod in your direction, Karlach whooping. “Go on then, play it!”

You looked over and caught Astarion watching you. Could feel his suspicious yet amused gaze, hotter than the flames.

You stared right back, not breaking eye contact as you opened your mouth and began to strum. “Blood of my blood, dripping with love. I bring you a thing (that) you need most,” your voice gradually growing stronger, no longer wavering. Moving away from a head voice to your full bellied and more confident countertenor. You squint but can't tell if Astarion’s facial muscles are twitching at your words or if it's your imagination, so you close your eyes, focusing on the sway of the music and the anti gravity lightness fueled by the alcohol in your system. At some point, Alfira had begun to accompany your lute with a steady tapping on a nearby drum.

"You know I live to keep you safe, no better way that I can see, to, spend all the time while you're asleep." you implore Astarion to understand, with your words. "You know I live to be seen through.” Some of your audience begins to pair off, dancing slowly together. You note them and smile, before finding your way towards the elf. “I wanna be here and nowhere else. Rationing off bits of myself, so I can crumble at your side….”

“Lover, ah. Dear.” Astarion hisses awkwardly through his teeth. Keenly aware of every pair of eyes on them. “What are you doing?”

You roll your eyes at his drunken embarrassment, pushing your words mentally though the link you both share. 'They already know about us. I promise we’ll sneak away after, just dance with me?'

“Yes, yes,” he grits out, taking your elbow with one hand and twirling you with his other hand on your back, guiding you as your own hands are occupied with playing the lute. 'I’m going to fucking kill you.' he answers. At least you have a sense to look remorseful, he commiserates to himself as you continue playing and singing. As he holds your eyes, allowing you both to become lost in the moment. Far be it for him to stop a Bard from fucking Performing.

You barely hesitate before singing on, “Here is a heart, here is a heart. I made it for you so take it,” you croon, heartfelt, as you dance gracefully around each other. Your own steps obvious and unrehearsed, Astarion's effortlessly showing in his footwork that he had once been a noble. One who had danced at many balls, possessing a childhood of etiquette training. “Battered and braised, grilled and sautéed, just how you like it.” you breathe, ending the song "...like it". Bending at your waist in a small bow as the echo of the music drifted off. Unexpectedly, Astarion reciprocates. Dropping low into a sweeping bow himself, he takes your right hand from where it rests on the lute’s strings and presses a soft kiss to the back of it. Followed by turning your hand over to place another, more delicate, kiss to the inside of your wrist.

[cambion-companion]

Hi! I am fiendish-appreciation (not my main account, an therefore, cant send asks from it, which kind of sucks😒) Look, I know I said that I liked your oneshot about saving Raphael from Cania, but I need to go into detail! 😤   

first than all, it needs to be said, Korilla is underrated as hell (this beautiful sexy warlock is one of the many npcs that should be romanceable, and I will not hear otherwise😭) and is the best employee ever, maybe too good, but since I love Raphael so much, I am ok with it( but still!🤣) but what I am trying to say is, my poor baby girl really pulled through for Raphael with what she thought would be her last breaths didn’t she?😢 

“Who’s the damsel in distress?”  Astarion asked"  

I need to ask, is this a reference to what he said when Volo needed rescuing? "This damsel may be middle-aged, but let's get him out of distress." because if so, it applies perfectly here too, and I love it🤣  

"A direct confrontation with the archdevil himself was out of the question."   

a smart decision, common sense, has clearly been applied here (...having said that, ever since learning about Raphael's fate should he die, I have been dying to beat Mephistopheles into HIS final death... but I like the idea of a Tav who has gotten more powerful going as support for Raphael, so that HE can kill his dad and eat him (for the sake of poetic justice) even more!🥰)  

Tav, my dear oblivious fool, I think that when you decide to go to the hells, more specifically, breaking into an archdevil's vault, all to rescue someone, that at this point is more of a hindrance than a help...  you should not be THAT surprised that your emotion is "unexplainable relief" that they are ok🤣 (idiots to lovers)   

Raphael really thought it was the end, didn’t he? I can't imagine how surprised and confused he must have been, to see the person, that he, is totally not crushing on, coming to save him, when it would only be an "inconvenient waste of time" (by devil standards, since, what use is he to Tav now???), time that could be better spent by chasing after those who DO have the orphic hammer, plus, now that Raphael is out of the equation, tav would be getting to keep the crown for themselves, so... why would they save him???🥺😭  

"his tail moving to and fro in agitation"   

his tail is moving 🥺 (I just have a weakness for when Tieflings, Dragonborns and truly, any race who has a tail, moves it in a show of emotion🥹)   

““It’s a magical seal.”  Raphael breathed, his voice low yet sharp with anger born of desperation. “Now’s not the time to play the fool.””   

Did I misunderstood severely, or he was suggesting for Tav to leave him and save themselves???😭   

“You owe me a favor. A big one. I don’t know yet what I will ask of you, but you will deliver. Understood?”   

funnily, I think Tav did the poor thing a favor, by bringing a transaction, a language he understands, to the table, now it kinda makes more sense! 😢 

(I am also wondering what will your Tav ask Raphael IF they were even planning of asking him something in the first place 🤭 (I know what MY Tav would ask of Raphael if they were in this situation and were planning to collect, and its honestly such an hilariously easy thing for Raphael to do, since he has many underlings but it's something that would be life changing for my poor Tav XD   

Raphael: really??? This is the price of my life???😡  

Tav: no??? This is the price of mine!!!😠😤  

Long story short, she would ask Raphael to protect IN GOOD FAITH the life of her 8 intelligence chaotic stupid, bard of a brother, so that he may die peacefully of old age, and she be free of the constant stress of worrying for his safety) But other things I can imagine a Tav could ask “let's spend time together just for the sake of spending time together” “let's go on a date" “marry me” “Make me your consort” 😳🤭) 

I love how Raphael just shoos away the rest of the poor party none too gently 🤣 (how ungrateful to Astarion, the savior of middle-aged damsels in distress!😒) and brings Tav back to his house “away with you losers! I have to talk to someone who actually matters!”😤  

“Korilla asked me to.  It was her dying wish.” sure, it was her last wish before she died, true... but she is still very much alive, isn't she? I like the evasion there😏 (...although maybe Tav really does think Korilla is dead here, they may not have the knowledge that Korilla is fine from the notes of the author, if so, ouch😢)   

still! Tav really should tell Raphael that Korilla is still alive (if they are aware ofc), I am pretty sure she is the closest thing he has for a friend, and I don't believe for one moment that he is not, at the very least "annoyed" if that's what we wanna call it, that Korilla, who is his best employee, who he has a good enough rapport with to make friendly wagers, who, as this event shows, is loyal beyond the use they have for each other, used her last breaths of life to try to get help to save him, and save him she did (Korilla and Raphael are a beloved brotp for me😌)   

like, Tav is not the only one with a paltry excuse to save him, and now Raphael will have to deal with being genuinely liked by more than one person, I can't imagine what the poor bastard is thinking, he is aware of it logically, since the excuses don't hold water, but emotionally? I don't think he can quite process it (i would kill for his pov during this whole situation😩)  

"In an unexpected move, Raphael strode to you and took your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles. His breath hot on your still chilled skin. “You may even assist me, if you so desire.”  He straightened.  

That was as close to a “thank you” as you were going to get.""  

I- I think that expresses how he feels quite well, then again, it could be just me😳 

long story short: i loved this

Just. The fact you wrote essentially an analysis on that oneshot I made is...beyond my scope of current comprehension, friend.

I am so glad you like it and grateful you decided to share your thoughts with me and for sharing insight on your own Tav's backstory! I love all of it!

Oh, and I genuinely didn't know about Astarion's in-game "damsel in distress" line, haha, it just struck me as absolutely something he would say!

Also cheers to Korilla, she is a cool cat.

[lovebiteshard]

okay im posting my writing be nice… nice and kindness i havent written in a while and half of it was done at 4 am so i apologize for any bumps

was very inspired by the fact that bards can polymorph and i was also very gay

There are times when the strain of the world is more than Arcangelo wants to deal with. The average person may choose to take a walk, but vampires tend to draw wandering eyes no matter where they go. It’s much easier to be someone- or something- else. Perhaps a bat? No, he’s not too keen on echolocation. When the world becomes weary, Arcangelo most prefers to spend some time as a cat.

The freshly-feline boy sets off into the forest. It’s a quiet autumn afternoon, the only sound being the pitter-pats of his paws against the dirt- and the occasional crunch of a dried leaf left in his wake.

The place isn’t so foreign, he’s done this before, but he has to admit a different perspective can drastically alter the way one experiences things. The small stream he stepped over the other day becomes a minor hurdle for him now, and the mossy log he didn’t pay much mind to becomes his new solution. Despite all of nature’s splendor, Arcangelo can’t help but feel a little.. well, lonely. He’s grown rather accustomed to the silly chatter of his companions. He turned fluffy tail, headed back for camp. Surely there’s got to be someone there for him to pester.

He ducks under a fern, surveying his options as he gets closer to his friends. Shadowheart looks busy, and Lae’zel looks.. A little miffed. Gale looks to be rather into the book he’s reading- or maybe he’s considering taking a bite out of it- and Astarion… hm.

The vampire spawn is sitting down, leaning against a tree. To anyone else he’d look care-free and relaxed, but he’s got a look in his eyes that suggests he’s centuries deep in thought- making him the perfect person to pester- Arcangelo decides. No one needs to wallow this early in the day. He makes his way over to him, rubbing against his leg in hopes of getting his attention.

“Oh?” Astarion looks down at his companion, who chirps expectantly at him. Even as a cat, Arcangelo demands a proper hello. “Hello darling…” A pause, and then a smug smile. “Little love, did you perhaps lose some weight?” He receives a rather sore meow in reply. “...Mm. Well, I thought it was funny. Perhaps you’re just a spoilsp- Darling, be sweet. Don’t bite me.”

Arcangelo closes his mouth. Looking up at the vampire spawn with big ruby eyes, he musters the sweetest mewl he could possibly produce. If a cat could smile, he would have. “Yes, yes. You’d never do such a thing. How could I be so foolish.” Astarion nods, grinning. “Who in their right mind could ever believe that you’d ever bite a soul. A vampire biting someone. Unheard of-” His playful teasing is interrupted by slight pressure on his leg.

Arcangelo prods him with his paw, meowing as if to inquire. Another gentle prod, and Astarion nods in understanding. “Of course, dove. Absolutely.” He pats his thigh gently, and Arcangelo hops up, curling up comfortably in the other man’s lap. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing…” Astarion coos, slender fingers tracing shapes in Arcangelo’s fur. The vampire-turned-feline only purrs in response, his tail slightly curled in contentment.”...such a beautiful boy- even when you’ve got paws.”