#astarion x tav
medra-gonbites · 4 hours
What is left of what once was | Chapter 2
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Word count: 4,213
Relationships: Vampire Ascendant Astarion/ Fem!Tav; Gale/  Fem!TaV; Astarion/Gale (used to be buddies but not so much anymore)
Astarion has ascended. He has all he has ever wanted. Except you, since you chose Gale over him. Now that he is a Vampire Lord he will not let you go so easily.
“The vampire’s eyes search for your own. His other hand grabs your face and forces your head up to meet his stare. The scrutiny of his piercing gaze sends an icy wave of panic rolling in your core. Not again, please.
“What did you say to that belligerent frog?”
You hesitate. How much did you say? How much did she figure herself? What did she tell him?
“The truth…” You finally manage.”
A few days have passed and you still do not quite feel like yourself. You wonder if you ever will. Your body has become a stranger to you; Everything works. Your limbs flail automatically at your command without you giving them a second thought. Your hands grab, grasp, hold, like a grappling hook getting you what you want to touch. Your legs swing, run and jump, taking you where you need to go. The wound between your ribs has closed and left behind a long, jagged scar. 
Everything works. Yet everything feels wrong. Empty. A wooden frame without a painting. A means to a physical end. In the street of Baldur’s Gate you lay eyes on the steel watch guardians, roaming around the city, rigid, metallic, strong. You feel akin to them. Except they are better than you for they cannot bleed. Cannot feel. 
You haven't told anyone. What is there to say? Who would you tell? 
At night, when all have gone to sleep, you remain alone and incapable of closing your eyes without the wretched act manifesting in front of you again and again. You’ve been trying to hide it: hiding the tear tracks and your swollen eyes in the morning. Hiding your bitten nails and your bleeding fingertips. Hiding your fear and avoidance of one of the very members of your troops.
Because he is still there. 
After vanquishing Cazador, he had inherited his palace and he visits it from time to time. But he spends most of his time lollygagging at the elfsong headquarters instead. 
For a while the softer part of you -the one that hung desperately to the foolish delusion that your beloved friend was still to be found somewhere behind this cold-blooded facade- had suspected he wanted company. That the empty halls of the Szarr palace were too big and silent compared to the heart-warming camaraderie confined in the narrow quarters of your group’s base. 
You also had speculated that the ghost of Cazador, exuding from all the rooms of the edifice, was too much for him to face. So many torments inflicted upon him within these walls. Everything there was Cazador’s. All but reminders of the man - no, the monster.
After the attack however you have come to another woeful conclusion.
He remains by your side, not to chase remnant horrors of his old life, or to suppress a numbing sense of solitude, but rather to toy with you and ensure you would not be able to heal. 
He hovers around you and pretends nothing happened. So casual towards you. So aloof to this whole ordeal. So seemingly unbothered and untouched that you almost start to believe that maybe nothing happened indeed. And yet when he brushes past and you wince at the air shifting around, you can discern a smirk bending the corner of his lips.
He lurks to warrant that you won’t forget him and what he did to you. Commandeers a spot in the thoughts of your waking hours and in the nightmares of your disturbed slumber. He is sapping your sense of safety and self. He intends to ruin you. And he is succeeding.
Lae’zel is safe and sound. After a descent into the dark and twisted bowels of the temple of Bhaal, and a gruesome struggle with a horde of ruthless and deadly assassins, you had finally confronted Orin. 
The relief to see Lae’zel mostly unharmed, chained to an austere stone altar at the center of the room had been short lived as the unpredictable shapeshifter, blade in hand, cackling and trembling with a ravenous blood-thirst that begged to be sated, had summoned the corrupted will of her Father and transformed into the abhorrent and barbarous entity known as the Slayer. 
The fight had proved harsh and merciless, any moment threatening to be your last. No member of your party safe from harm and all at the receiving end of slashing claws, bludgeoning limbs, piercing fangs, while your own blows seemed like mere splinters against the creature's sacrosanct hide. 
You landed the finishing strike and watched as Orin’s remains melted into a pool of blood and flesh, leaving her dagger behind, the last Netherese stone encrusted in its hilt. Despite this victory, guided by your hand, you had not felt empowered nor strong. But this combat, as all the others since the beginning of your journey, had been a team effort. If this triumph did not feel earned by you, it was so certainly by the rest of your companions. All of them had gathered bravely and fought tooth and nail to save one of your own from a bleak and bloody future. Well. Safe from one.
You reach the Elfsong’s room to find Astarion, reclined on a pile of cushions, languidly dragging a long pull from the tip of the hose of one of the narghiles in the middle of the room. The smell of tobacco and molasse floats in the air and a slight fog hangs about the room. As your group enters the room, a rich and heavy white smoke blows through his mouth and nostrils and he giggles amused by your demeanor. Amused by Karlach’s side, held together by a makeshift bandage made from rags of your own clothes. By Gale’s robe, shredded, damp and red where his chest was slashed. By Shadowheart’s nose busted open, Wyll’s broken wrist, Halsin’s face beaten to a pulp.  Amused by the sight of you, drenched in blood and deflated. 
Upon seeing Lae’zel his brows jolt upwards and his smile stretches wider.
“Oh my! Lae’zel! You are alive! How surprising!” He exclaims, “I was worried for an instant seeing our friends here… But I see all went well.”
“Difficult to believe you were worried in any capacity…” Wyll answers, a judging look towards the vampire, still lounging impenitently.
You cannot bear to look at him. 
You were prepared, as vexing as it was, to endure the vampire’s presence, if it would at least benefit your cause, as he had promised many times after his ascension. But he had grown lazy and rebuffed any fights that he deemed unworthy of his trouble. You couldn’t remember the last time he had partaken in a mission with any of you, be it reckoning, rescue or otherwise. 
You turn to Lae’zel.
“Please make yourself comfortable and rest.” You say gently. “You take as long as you need.”
“What of the Brain?…The Emperor said…” She protests, still weak from her captivity.
“Fuck the Emperor!” You interrupt, “We have time” That’s a lie, “For now we need you to rest. All of us, really.”
Your eyes linger on the pale elf. 
“Well almost all of us…”
You had refused to share a tent or a bed with Gale; partly for your companions’ sake, partly for your and your partner's own convenience. You always wandered off camp to indulge in each other privately. In the Elfsong, in an attempt to compromise, you had taken the bed behind Gale’s. It allowed you to remain close, sometimes reaching for each other’s hand above the wood panel separating you and intertwining your fingers.
Now, dread has become you. You are raw, hurting and nobody can come close. You flinch at the shadows. You flinch at voices. You flinch at the approach of a hand. Worst of all, you flinch at the approach of Gale. 
And he has noticed. Of course he has noticed. How you avoid his eyes, escape his embrace, slither out of his reach. When he grips the panel above you at night, your hand freezes out of his reach, stopped mid-air incapable of breaching the last few centimeters separating you from his skin. 
He’s been saddened, worried, perplexed by your sudden change, but it is your silence that has distraught him most. You want to tell him but you cannot. And you cannot get close because of what you cannot tell. You are wary at the idea that he may see something on you, smell something on you that would give you away. 
Intimacy is tainted.  You are tainted. 
Still, if not in his touch, you try to find refuge in his sound. Hearing the gentle friction of the pages he turns, in an almost rhythmic tempo, when he reads at night. The low faint mumble of his voice while he sleeps. The musical humming he punctuates his morning routine with.
That night as you walk past him on your way to your bed, he calls your name. Hesitantly, you come closer. He sits up, covers on his lap, eagerly looking at you. He leans forward and closes his fist around the sheet as if resisting the urge to spring toward you.
You smile softly. There is nothing you want more than to curl up next to him and bury yourself in his chest. Tangle your finger in his hair  and press your lips against his.  Lose yourself in his touch, his scent, his taste. It has been so long since you last did. 
As you are about to take a step, you meet a cold and sanguine glare from the corner of your eyes. It sends a chill down your spine. 
Your smile fades ever so slightly despite your best effort to keep your composure. You wave faintly and blow a kiss toward Gale, wishing him goodnight from a distance. Your heart breaks at the sound of his longing sigh as you turn away.
You lay in bed and you shiver, curled in a ball on the cold white linen. A voice soon breaks the heavy silence. Astarion’s. It makes your skin crawl. It is an unusual occurrence to have him strike a conversation with Gale; the two men barely ever speak at all anymore these days. 
"Trouble in paradise?” He mewls and you can hear his smirk from his intonation.
“I don't know what’s happened… I…” Gale's voice is almost just a whisper.
“Flimsy creatures, these…”
“Keep your venom to yourself!” Gale warns.
“Easy, friend. I'm just trying to help.” Astarion's voice swells with pretend worry, “You seem so distressed.” 
Gale pauses, considering.
“I find your sudden altruism quite unsettling” He responds.
“I can be of excellent advice.” The vampire retorts “Try me; how long has it been this way?”
“I don't know a few days… after the Iron Throne rescue…”
“Ha. When you left her behind?…” 
“I didn’t… It wasn't… Did she say something?” Gale stutters.
Just like that, Astarion is in his head. Your heart skips a beat. 
“Not a word…”
Astarion goes on.
“Such a nice day though. We Talked. We reminisced. We… Danced.”
He chuckles. You take a silent, deep breath and repress the surge of emotions running through you. Anger, frustration, pain, twirling inside you in a chaotic whirlwind. Mangling your body, heart and mind wasn’t enough for Astarion. He was now trying to destroy the last thing you had. Trying to hurt Gale.
“You… Danced?” Gale repeats, confused and weary.
“We sure did! For old time’s sake. You should have seen us… Waltzing and twirling and just a dash of flourish to embellish the final bow. Truly magnificent. ”
You press the cover to your mouth fighting the urge to scream.
“I’m not going to bite.” Gale finally hisses.
You hear him snap his book shut and loudly drop it on the ground before turning around on his mattress. You press your hand to the frame separating your beds and give the wood a silent kiss. 
As you toss and turn, you catch Lae’zel’s eyes on the bed opposite yours. She had been away for so long, you had forgotten that’s where she rested. 
On the roof of the tavern, you can see the skyline above the city. The sunset paints the heavens shades of yellow, pink and indigo. Lae’zel sits cross legged, eyes fixed on the horizon, a stern expression on her face. She mindlessly sharpens the blade of Orin’s dagger in a stoic silence. Sitting next to her, your eyes are also fixed forward, barely blinking. 
She had dragged you here tonight, alone, after witnessing your strange reaction to Astarion and Gale’s even stranger exchange the night before. She had sat there silently, likely expecting you to open up. Tough luck; you were not going to!
“What did I miss?” She finally asks.
“A few things…” 
So many things actually. You are not sure where to begin to catch her up.
“Astarion seems changed…”
Let’s start with that then.
“The night of your abduction, vampire spawns attacked and took Astarion.” You hesitate before continuing, “We headed to his aid in Cazador Szarr palace. We defeated him but Astarion carried out the Black Mass and performed the rite of profane ascension…”
“You went to rescue him before you did me?”
“Cazador seemed like an easier foe than Orin…”
That much is true but you can’t help but feel guilty; you dart a worried eye toward Lae’zel. You hope you did not hurt her feelings. 
You had wanted to go after Orin as soon as you had come to know she had taken your friend but the temple of Bhaal was not an easy place to infiltrate and it had taken more time than you had expected to do so. After an excruciating silence, the githyanki finally concedes, a soft smile on her lips.
Her face hardens before she continues.
“So, Astarion has ascended?” 
“Yes…” You say, the word almost a whimper as your throat suddenly closes shut.
Lae’zel’s ear twitches at the sound of your voice and her head tilts slightly towards you. She scans your face. Your eyes have begun to tear up. She returns to contemplate the field of rooftops beneath you.
You both remain silent for a little while. Each stroke of the whetstone on the edge of her weapon resonates with the shrill screeching of metal.
“And Ulder Ravengard?”
Another person you rescued before her…
“Oh right, well… We… The others besieged the Iron Throne… Lost many hostages unfortunately… I was told.”
“You weren’t present?”
“After the fight with Cazador I found myself indisposed to fight. They thought best to leave me behind that day…”
“With Astarion?”
You jerk your head towards her; you clasps your lips together, clawing nervously at the cushion under you. 
“That’s what they were talking about last night isn’t it?”
You turn away. You cannot speak of this. To anyone. There is no way to voice it. No way to describe what happened. You are still unsure of what happened. 
Lae’zel puts her filer aside and flicks the pad of her thumb on the steel belly of the dagger to verify its cut. After a thorough inspection she places the blade on the floor to her side before shifting to you seeking your avoidant eyes.
“Won’t you tell me?” She asks.
You nod vehemently. 
In front of you, the celestial vault, now a navy blue canvas, grows gradually flecked with the flickering shimmer of stars. The houses and streets of Baldur’s Gate lose their details and emerge from the freshly fallen night as mere silhouettes, in a blunder of angles and lines. As torches and brazier are lit, quivering dots of light pierce the shadows, mirroring the specked tapestry in the sky.
Lae’zel carefully closes her hand on yours.
“I know what it is like to be rendered powerless. When Orin took me I felt… Ashamed, weak, inert.”
She squeezes, gently tugging to entice you to look back at her. With difficulty you oblige, turning to her. Her eyes are misty and her frown curled in a mix of sadness and anger.
“I still feel it.”
You can’t hold back anymore. An uncontrollable flood of tears pours from your eyes and cascades down your face. Deep, coarse sobs unapologetically escape your mouth, loud and desperate. 
You don’t know if it’s seeing one of your strongest, iron-willed allies in such a state of vulnerability, the hardships of this whole adventure, the stress building up for the several weeks spent on the road and fighting. Maybe it’s the pain. The fear. The betrayal. The foes, the friends. Maybe it’s just exhaustion. But you are wailing and cannot stop. Lae’zel delicately wraps her arms around you, moving with a tenderness and caution that surprises you. Your head rolls on her shoulder and you bury your face in the crook of her neck.
The next morning, back from an errand at Basilik Gate, you run into Astarion in front of the door to the communal room. He is clearly agitated. Upon seeing you, his eyes fill with rage and he storms furiously towards you. You wince and cower away, lifting an arm to your face. He snatches it and gives it a good shake. You drop your basket sending oranges rolling on the floor.
“You little whore!” He shouts.
You try to wiggle out of his grasp but his hold on you is strong. Your eyes start to water and your heart slams violently in your chest. This feels too familiar.
“Lae’zel ordered me to retreat to the palace, least I’d want a stake through my heart.” He growls. “Is this coming from you?”
You look down at your feet. Your blood throbs in your manhandled arm and your fingertips are starting to numb. 
“No…” You breathe.
The vampire’s eyes search for your own. His other hand grabs your face and forces your head up to meet his stare. The scrutiny of his piercing gaze sends an icy wave of panic rolling in your core. Not again, please.
“What did you say to that belligerent frog?”
You hesitate. How much did you say? How much did she figure herself? What did she tell him?
“The truth…” You finally manage.
With a disgruntled hiss he releases you. Your jaw and arm hurt but you feel relieved to be out of his grip. You step back, fast. He considers you for a moment, his face contorted with starehatred and disgust. Then, his expression softens into a serene smile. You don’t like that look on him and you shudder, apprehending what is to come.
“I doubt that she, or any of you really, could do much against me but fine! I relent.” He says, with a callous rictus on his face, “Far from me to stay where I am unwelcomed.”
He pushes past you, jamming his shoulder into yours as he makes his way to the staircase. Before descending he turns to you once more.
“Oh, and before I forget. You might want to talk to Gale.” 
You freeze. What did he do?
“Poor thing is devastated to know you cheated on him.” He gloats, “How could you?”
With a snicker and a dismissive wave of his hand he resumes his walk down the stairs, leaving you shocked and paralyzed.
You are planted in the entrance hall, standing still in front of the closed door, oranges disregarded all around you on the wooden floor. You don’t know how long you have been standing there. A minute? An hour? Several? You just know that opening the door is impossible. But before you can actually bring yourself to move, the door knob jiggles and Gale emerge from the other side.
His eyes briefly meet yours before your head jolts away bashfully. You think you saw sadness in them. A hint of resentment. Having lost you from his sight, his stare trails to the fruit on the ground.
“What’s happened?”
You don’t answer. You feel light headed and scattered. 
“No matter… I need to talk to you…”
You realize you stopped breathing for an instant and quietly gasp for air. 
On the roof, you sit on the same spot as you were in with Lae’zel the day before. You wonder what she has said to Astarion to chase him away so. You wonder what poison Astarion has fed Gale. What lies he has told and prepared to defend yourself. How would you do that if you can’t even speak to him?
The wizard is pacing from left to right in front of you. He fidgets and aimlessly walks back and forth, rambling as he usually does when he panics.
“In truth, I don’t know where to start…” He admits. 
He inhales deeply from his nose.
“I’ve felt a distance grow between us….”
He turns to you, gauging your reaction; Your eyes are looking away from him but  you nod, both agreeing with him and inviting him to go on.
“I saw how our fight with Cazador left you greatly hurt. Physically. Emotionally. We lost someone very dear to us in a way... And you were not healing. You did not eat and barely slept. I did notice that…”
Gale ceases his erratic back and forthing and settles in front of you, his hands still jittering in the air, animated by his uneasiness.
“I thought better than to pester you. I thought leaving you to your grief was the wise thing to do. Giving you as much space as I could until you’d eventually come back to me. But you’ve only drifted further away since. You’ve begun averting my gaze, evading my touch…”
You remain silent, fixated on the padding of the bench cushion next to you. 
“I miss you...”
He reaches for your chin, attempting to lift it up to find the comfort of your eyes; but you recoil from his touch and swat his hand away. He lets out a pained sigh.
“I’ve been feeling… I might be the cause of your silence. I didn’t want to trouble you with my qualms at first. Tried to tame my insecurities and fend them off from my heart. After all, we have been through so much and so quickly; it’d be presumptuous, let alone self-centered, to think I might be the sole cause for your absence…”
He swallows with a grimace. 
“Certain events have transpired…” 
He stops himself and gestures with his hand as if to erase something in the air. 
“I was told, have transpired...”
He pauses for a moment, looking for his words. His eyes are hazy, scurrying at nothing. You look up at him; here it is.
“That day. The rescue at the Iron Throne. What happened...?”
You twist your finger in panic and your breath quickens.  
“I didn’t tell you… I didn't want to hurt you… I don’t know what he’s told you… But it is not… Please…”
You speak fast but you’re not being clear. Not as much as you would like. But you can’t say it plainly. It hurts. 
Gale closes his eyes and scoffs in disbelief.
“You did sleep with him.”
“No!... Yes… But he !… I didn’t…” 
Your throat tightens and your voice cracks. A tearless sob shakes your shoulders. Gale frowns. Something is wrong that much is obvious. He rushes to sit next to you. His hands hover over you before slowly and carefully landing on your shoulders. You melt at his touch. You had expected it to be abrasive, cold and gnawing, as you feared all touch would be from now on. But his grasp is tender, sturdy and warm. You grab one of his hands with urgency. 
You sink your eyes into his. His eyes, that you’ve been dreading to cross, afraid to find in them the ghost of the scarlet orbs that were haunting you. But they are truly Gale’s; brown, beautiful, bright and so warm and loving. 
His brow is furrowed, quizzy, face flushed with sorrow and distress. You feel guilt wash over you. It is your silence, your evasiveness, your weakness that drove him mad with worry.  You hurt him and you were about to hurt him deeper. 
You cup his jaw and he leans into your touch, eyes shut, seeking the soothing caress of your palm. He takes a long inspiration and kisses alongside the base of your thumb to your wrist.   You’ve missed him so much. He reopens his eyes to find yours, watery, dripping with heavy and unstoppable tears.
“I didn’t want to.” You ultimately murmur.
“What are you saying?” He squints, trying to process the impossible truth that hangs in the air.
“I swear…I didn’t…” 
Gale’s face freezes in sudden devastation. His lips parted as though on the verge of forming words that refuse to come, as if the breath has been stolen from his lungs. The usual warmth and color drain from his face, leaving behind a pallor that makes him look ghostly. He clenches his jaw. He blinks repeatedly stunned before a rush of anger starts to violently stir within.
His hands rise to each side of your head and he gently but firmly guides it to his chest. He wraps his arms around you, squeezes you in and you feel shielded from the outside world. He caresses your hair as you weep, relieved and protected in the familiar temple of his embrace. You are so tired of crying, so done with the tears and the sobs and the misery. But you are oh so happy to be back in Gale’s arms, nevermind the pain that accompanies you there. For the first time in days, you feel safe and content. 
Gale on the other hand, feels an unprecedented ire boil within him. Soon will be the time for revenge; And a rough tempest he will raise.
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mattness · 12 hours
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She was the sun Shining upon The tomb of your hopes and dreams so frail
He was the moon Painting you With its glow so vulnerable and pale
Love's the funeral of hearts And an ode for cruelty When angels cry blood On flowers of evil in bloom
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Could I please get a bg3 matchup for my Tav?
Aster is a wood elf wild magic sorcerer. Bi with a slight preference for women but she's muscles then gender but not a deal breaker. She/They, super fem. About 5'5" with a slim frame that makes it surprising that she has a 13 in strength. She has curly chestnut hair and bright green eyes and is covered in freckles.
A lot of her personality is swayed by being a sorcerer, leading her to be a bit arrogant and full of herself. Despite being overly confident in her abilities, she'll run away or avoid problems she doesn't think she can handle. She's self-centered, impulsive, shortsighted, wants to be a hero to show off. She cares deeply for the people around her and would try to move the world for them. She's genuine and open. She's moved easily by people's personal stories and her morals can be pretty flexible.
Aster loved to go shopping and trying new things. Growing up pretty sheltered, she wants to try everything the world has to offer. She tends to jump hobbies. Painting one day then learned wood working the next then moving on.
thank you for your time!
A/N: For Aster, because you specified she was bisexual with a preference for women, I went ahead and picked one result of each gender. For Aster, I’m thinking… Karlach (Female) and Astarion (Male)!
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🔥 Karlach would be the best matchup for Aster! They both want to try new things and experience all the world has to offer!  
It’s a good thing Karlach is around when Aster is being arrogant and full of herself because if Aster ever bites off more than she can chew, she has her big strong Barbarian girlfriend to defend her. The two of them make a powerful duo, both of them being pretty damn strong, and with Aster’s wild magic sorcery, there are very few foes they can’t beat. 
Karlach loves Aster’s curly chestnut hair and especially her bright green eyes! Karlach thinks they look like emeralds, shining in the sunlight. She loves how Aster’s eyes look next to Karlach’s very red skin. And Karlch’s more butch appearance counters Aster’s rather fem one.
The other good thing about Karlach is that she’s very grounded and won’t allow Aster to pick fights and then just run away. If Aster’s gonna pick a fight, she better be ready to commit to it, because Karlach’s very ride or die lol. 
Both she and Karlach care so much for the ones they love, so much that it hurts sometimes. They would sacrifice anything for the other, yet because both parties reciprocate that love, they’d never ask each other to. They are so genuinely in love with each other, that it makes the other companions roll their eyes to see their sweet antics sometimes. 
Karlach was also naive when she was younger but after what happened with Gortash, she knows better now, and she’ll use her intuition to sniff out anyone who has less than honorable intentions towards Aster. 
Karlach will try any hobby Aster has to offer, be it painting, woodworking, singing, embroidery- you name it, and Karlach will try it! It’s just that Aster shouldn’t be too surprised if Karlach’s final product is… a little rougher, and um…. singed around the edges. 
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🩸 Astarion would also be a good match for Aster! He’s very attracted to power, so naturally Aster being a wild magic sorcerer appeals greatly to him. Astarion’s also very happy to have such a physically attractive partner. Aster’s thin build and feminine appearance next to his equally slim and effeminate look make them like this otherworldly beautiful couple.  
Astarion loves to kiss her freckles and watch as her face scrunches up in ticklish delight. 
Both of them are overconfident, and a little arrogant, although it manifests in different ways. For Astarion, it comes out as bravado, he’s poised and suave in conversation. For Aster, she’s feisty and impulsive. 
Astarion is not going to risk getting his ass kicked because of Aster deciding to be a show-off, but he will laugh himself silly on the sidelines as she gets what is coming to her. Of course, should Aster be in any real danger, he’ll jump in to defend her. Just don’t expect him to be happy about it and you better believe he’s waiting for his thank you after the fact.
Astarion never thought about being, well… a hero. Not before the tadpoles and before he met Aster anyway. He comes to find that with her at his side, he rather likes this lifestyle of being looked up to and adored. He’s still rather sour about the ‘no stealing’ and ‘try not to murder innocent people’ thing though. It’s a good thing Aster’s morals are rather flexible, otherwise, she’d spend all her free time scolding Astarion every chance she got. 
Astarion, darling, LOVES shopping. The man lives for the drama, for the presentation, okurrr? He loves nothing more than living it up with Aster, buying only the finest clothes and wines, and taking the best art lessons stolen reward money can buy. After two hundred years of not having a life, he’s more than ready to take charge of his future, and damn, he wants to try a bite of everything. 
Aster included. ;)
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I hope you enjoyed it! 
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If you like my work and wanna see more, maybe Buy Me A Coffee? 
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Most importantly- Like and REBLOG! (Reblogs mean so much, ok thanks, 👋 bye!)
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boundfates · 19 hours
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Salli and Astarion—courtesy of @summerwarlock ❤️❤️❤️
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destructive-poet · 22 hours
drunken tav dancing with astarion (also drunk as a result of drinking tav) very poorly one night, once the camp has gone quiet and everyone is asleep.
eventually they turn into a pile of laughter, hair messy, shins bruised, and tav falls asleep on the ground. astarion stays up and watches them sleep, resting their head in his lap, more peaceful than he’s felt in a long time.
(most of the sleep-deprived camp is not amused. karlach is.)
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thechaoticdruid · 1 day
Really tempted to drop this angsty fic I wrote up when I was having trouble writing my current ongoing fics.
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avenananana · 1 day
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full on patreon
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delta-lethonomia · 1 day
For All the Wrong Reasons - Chapter 24
In a moment of vulnerability, Tav makes a questionable promise. This concludes Act 2 ;)
AO3 Link
If you like an older Tav with a backstory and plot of her own, femdom, powerplay, questionable ethics, and some spicy, spicy smut, this may be the fic for you! Explicit with mature themes!
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flowersforagrave · 1 day
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Feeding Alligators 68 - SMDH
The crew has some Questions.
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On AO3.
Half the crew pointedly do not look at you, while the other half of them keep glancing over all unsubtle-like. Except Lae’zel, who glares steadily, but that’s just her face.
“Not a goddamn word outta none of you,” you say, picking around the semi-circle around the campfire to snag one of them griddlecakes.
Everybody eats in silence. The looks keep zinging over your head or behind your back—occasionally hit the corner of your eye. You rip off a hunk of the cake and dab up some of the jam Gale broke out for it. Strawberry, thank fuck. You can do strawberry just fine. At least you think it’s strawberry, because ain’t that another really funny form of parallel evolution? Unless strawberry seeds got carried across interdimensional space to end up cross pollinating over here.
And you wait. One of them is gonna crack. You can feel it. Your money is on Shadowheart. She wasn’t there, and her surreptitious glances are a touch too amused for your liking. Or maybe they’ll all forget because they’re a bunch of chaotic assholes and will actually keep their tongues to themselves.
“What is a ‘virgin?’” Lae’zel says.
Looking back, you shouldn’t be surprised. At least she’s direct about it.
You chew your griddle cake as she looks around camp at a bunch of people now avoiding her gaze. Is Wyll blushing? You can’t actually tell, but he’s doing that head duck thing that usually means somebody is blushing.
“Well?” Lae’zel says. “Or is this more istik foolishness?”
You sit there and take another bite like this don’t even concern you. It’s their turn to squirm.
It’s Gale that clears his throat and lifts his pointer finger (bless him).
“Typically, the word is used to describe someone who has never engaged in sex with a partner,” he says. And huh, ain’t no blush on the man or hesitation to him at all. Didn’t he say he was banging the goddess that dumped him? “But as Eleanor argued—rather successfully, I might add—the definition can be rather vague and unfitting.”
Lae’zel turns to you and says, point blank, “You have never mated?”
It occurs to you that this wouldn’t be happening if you’d just opened your coward mouth and fucking told that goblin vampire man the fucking truth to begin with. You one hundred percent made this entire goddamn bed, and now you gotta sleep in it. So you swallow, stare at your booted toes a second, and lift your head.
You ain’t some blushing maiden (technically you are, but that whole thing is a steaming pile of social construct bullshit). And brazening things out has been working pretty good so far.
“Nope,” you say, and pop the “p” at the end.
“Why? Are you deficient?”
Good old Lae’zel. It’s actually refreshing to have somebody just come out and say it. Don’t give the others a chance to go whispering their theories around.
“Didn’t like anybody enough,” you say.
Lae’zel’s eyes narrow.
“Aww,” Karlach says. “That’s cute. And kinda sad.”
“I think it’s rather noble,” Wyll says.
That one irks you, though you know he means well. People make assumptions. Sometimes painfully close ones.
“And you, Wyll,” Shadowheart says. “Have you met someone you liked well enough?”
He has to be blushing. He scratches behind one ear. “I’m an old-fashioned sort, it’s true. But there was a boy some years back…”
Fuck’s sake, seriously? You’re the only one? Goddamn everybody else and their stupid fucking libidos. It never doesn’t shock you how willing so many people are to drop their pants and grind their genitals together with a near damn stranger.
“I,” Gale starts. Stops. Actually reconsiders. You stare at him as he clears his throat. “In the interest of scholarly pursuits, I am rather curious where you got your information? Not that it was inaccurate! It’s just…in my experience, dormitory gossip tends to get things rather, er, wrong, and the kind of books that do get it right are rather harder to find.”
Wyll makes a sound. Covers his mouth. When everybody looks at him, he says, “Perhaps not so difficult.”
“The Blade of Frontiers reads erotic books?” Shadowheart says.
“It was…” Wyll sort of mumbles the rest. Both Karlach and Shadowheart lean forwards. Wyll coughs. “It was in my father’s study.”
Karlach guffaws. A real good one, too: head back, joy all but bursting out of her. “Wyll! You, skulking about your da’s office and finding dirty books? Oh mate, that’s proper gold, right there. I found my first penny papers, you know the ones, all ‘heaving bosoms’ and all that? Only this one had drawings. First proper pair of tits I ever saw! Aside from the neighborhood bathing days, anyway.”
Gale’s smiling. They’re all talking about this with each other, instead of focusing on you. He did that on purpose.
“So what’d you find?” Karlach says to you.
A whole lotta sin and sermons and hellfire.
“The internet,” you saw. And now you gotta explain that. “Gale, I think I seen a crystal ball in your tent before. Can you see stuff in it? Like, talk to each other with magic over a long distance?”
He can, and they have what he calls “sending stones.” Neat.
“Okay. So think if a lot of people, and I mean most common people, had crystal balls that were also them speaking stones, only they was flat and square and could fit in your pan—trouser pockets. And each one connects to every other one in the whole world. And you can put libraries in them. And music, and speeches, and plays and everybody else can access them. And it’s all got sound and color and sometimes it’s live—showing something as it happens.”
Gale watches you like he’s a dingo and you’re a human baby.
“So humans, being humans—”
Shadowheart rolls her eyes and mutters, “Of course.”
“—they put sex in it. Pictures, writing, performances. All of it.”
“Performances?” Wyll says. “You mean…?”
“Two—or more—people actually fucking, yeah. Like you’re there, only it’s in the crystal square and anybody with one can watch. I seen all kinds’a shit.”
“That’s,” Gale starts. Can’t even finish his sentence.
Is Karlach sweating?
“You can just…?” Wyll says and makes some vague hand motion.
“Ye-awp.” With another popped “p” cause it makes everybody uncomfortable and this is hilarious.
“So you view what you like, and then take yourself to bed?” Shadowheart says.
Cause that’s what happens when you get cocky.
“Bit personal,” you say.
She crosses her fucking legs. “Ah. You were comfortable earlier, though. With the bugbear genitalia. I only wondered.”
Jesus fuck.
You shove the last of your griddlecake into your face, chew it, and say, “I am inexperienced, not uneducated. And that’s it for me, before y’all actually embarrass me enough I gotta burn down the camp while y’all sleep. I’m going to bed.”
“All by yourself?” Shadowheart says, and she is smirking.
You give her a look. She just tilts her head, all sweet like.
“Y’all are a bunch’a dickheads.”
Y’all get caught up in your first mountain storm the next morning. Wake up and a bear is trying to rip into your tent. And then the shadow moves against the tent flap and Halsin ducks in. Has to raise his voice to be heard over the hissing and howling of the wind, and the thunder of rain pelting your tent (thank Gale for putting a water-off spell on all y’all’s tents).
The storm is too nasty for y’all to move. So you stay put.
Rain continues to dump. You don’t got nothing to do, so you scurry over to Gale’s tent for another TED talk/reading/language lesson. Which lasts a good few hours until water starts coming in through the bottom of Gale’s tent and he swears and everybody pitches in to grab his shit and evacuate. The water is up to your ankles by the time y’all are done—Astarion don’t come out once, though a candle burns in there and y’all can see his silhouette in the golden halo on the red fabric.
Wyll, turns out, probably has the best setup outta all y’all. And he’s nice enough to let Gale crash there while his shit dries out. There’s too many damn people in that tent, though, so you head back to your own and curl in for a nap.
The quiet is what wakes you. No rain. No wind roaring down from the jagged slopes above. Just the soft sounds of a mountain breeze at night—it’s dark in the tent, shit damnit you slept too long—and the snapping of a campfire.
You done went and wasted a dirt potion. You consider leaving it be, but somebody is awake out there, and you ain’t gonna be able to sleep again for a while, and y’all got yourselves a fucking stock of it. So you slam it back, and duck outside.
Gale greets you as you emerge. Sweetums looks up from where he’s nestled with Scratch in the open flap of Wyll’s tent. You’re all groggy and tired, and so are they, apparently. The wizard  is hunched by the fire, his boots set out on their sides to dry, clothing and rugs hanging over rocks and low branches.
“Is it bad?” you say.
“Oh, nothing I can’t handle,” he says.
Ain’t nobody else up. Goddamn, how long did you sleep?
“I took first watch,” Gale says. “Seemed prudent, given the chores I’ve yet to attend to. I’m afraid dinner is whatever cold rations we’ve got. Should be some bread and cheese in the pack over there.”
You nod. Dinner would be good, though your stomach ain’t woken up yet. But that’s not what pulled you outta your bedroll. That is your screaming bladder.
“Sounds good,” you say. “I’m just gonna go take care of something.”
“Piss, yes,” he says. In English.
“I’m gonna regret teaching you that, huh?”
“Oh, it’s not like wizards have a tendency to become knowledge-obsessed, power-hungry madmen or anything. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
He can only hold a straight face for a couple more seconds. Then he cracks, and so do you, and so does your bladder (nearly).
You wave and scurry off. Note that Astarion’s tent is dark—must be back on the hunt.
“He left not long ago,” Gale calls out. “Rotten mood. I don’t think he’s had any success for a while.”
Shit. Y’all are gonna have to talk, then. See if you can’t come up with a solution. Maybe get Shadowheart to help you bleed into a cup (you can’t do it yourself; your brain shies hard from that thought).
You can talk to Wyll, too; see if he can’t bring in his hunts and trappings and let y’all’s resident vampire at them first.
Y’all are set up next to a shallow valley in the woods. Trees sweep all the way over and up the flanks of the mountains on the other side. Ought to be deer or bunnies in there. For you, these woods is spooky in the dark. Yeah yeah, Cherokee princess noble savages one with nature shit. But smart people don’t go into the fucking woods alone at night. That’s how mama mountain cats feed little baby mountain cats.
You piss hard to speed it up and get back. Do a little shimmy in your crouch and wipe with the square of torn up rags you brought with (you been collecting them and boiling them when y’all make camp) (you made yourself Baby’s First Breechcloth, but it’s an unwieldy mess in your trousers cause you don’t actually know what you’re doing and the goddamn cloth bunches up sometimes).
The creepy gets worse. You shove your britches back in and button yourself up. You start to turn back when your brain finally registers what’s giving you the heeby jeebies.
It’s quiet. Not just “storm fucked off” quiet, but there should be owls. Squirrels. Mice or rats or possums rustling around. But there ain’t.
It is dead quiet.
The hairs on the back of your neck lift. You should turn. You don’t wanna. Don’t need to see some old woman with one finger a long, long talon staring at you from behind a tree.
A crow caws. You damn near jump clean outta your skin.
“Fucking asshole!” you hiss.
A branch rustles right above you. The damned bird. It’s dark out here. Proper dark. A bit of the campfire glow filters in, though. Just enough for you to make out dark wings up there as the stupid bird flaps over to land right above your head.
It caws again.
“Right, sorry for being on your turf,” you say. Only something ain’t right about that bird. Something about the wing ain’t moving correctly.
Is it broken? Is this a hurt bird nosing for scraps? But as you peer up, you realize it’s got something in its beak.
“Whatcha got…there…?”
A berry, you think. Some kinds big, pale berry with the stem still attached. A long stem, trailing down, flopping as the bird twitches. Only that ain’t a berry. That’s a motherfucking eyeball.
The crow caws three times, a sort of “a ha ha!” Only it don’t sound like a crow no more; more like an old woman.
Like a fucking swamp hag.
You’re still in screaming range. Gale’s awake, and you know he can blast a good quarter of an acre to ashes. You can back away, you start to back away—
Dark tent. He just left, not long ago. No luck hunting. He’d be tired; be slower, weaker than usual.
Your voice seems to spook the bird. It takes off in a burst of feathers, heading further into the dark.
“Wait,” you say. “Wait!”
And it does. Fucker stops, perches about ten feet further in. That little bastard is waiting for you. And now you know why White people get murdered in horror movies. Because this is a trap. One hundred percent, most definitely a trap. But you feel deep down in your bone marrow that if you (sensibly) sprint for backup, or shout out a warning to the others, that crow will disappear and something very, very bad is going to happen.
“Fuck, fuck.”
You waffle for a second. Maybe two. And then it’s like a hook grabs your insides and hauls you after that goddamn, motherfucking lure bird deeper and deeper into the woods.
You crash through bushes. Branches swat your face. Your toes skip over something and you tear open your palms catching yourself on the rough trunk of a tree. The crow stops. Lets you catch up before it laughs and heads deeper and you’re so fucked. This is so fucking stupid. This is how you get murdered by a swamp hag in the woods. This is how a monster pounces on you and crunches right through the back of your skull.
Then the glimmer of torchlight. Orange and flickering. And your brain spits out an image of Astarion lounging next to a campfire, munching down on a squirrel like it’s a boiled ear of corn. He’d lift his head all lazy to give you a judgmental look when you emerge from the woods like a madwoman with sticks in your hair.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
A clearing. A horse in that clearing, with a torch set into a harness on the saddle. The crow flaps to a branch on the edge, flutters its rotten wings, and visibly gloats.
You reach the edge.
A shape on the ground. Big, brown: a deer, very dead. And next to that something else. White hair spattered in red. White shirt and pale hands, also red. Red everywhere.
“Astarion?” you say.
He’s on his back, unmoving. There’s something wrong with his chest. A branch or a…
A stake. A stake right through the middle of his chest. And then you look at his face and his eyes are huge and his mouth moves but no sound comes out—
“That’s far enough, friend,” a voice says.
You turn. Spot the crossbow. The leather arm braces. An embroidered vest and a pointy beard.
Gandrel the monster hunter stands with a bolt aimed at your face.
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neckromantics · 2 days
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Not one drop more...
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Every time I see an NPC with that curly hair I originally went with, it absolutely solidifies my choice to change it before act 2 💀
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Headcanon is she's been stealing some fancy hair gel from a Nobel, and when they got kidnapped, she obviously couldn't keep going back to steal it. But then Astarion compliments the change & he realizes they're too busy with brain worms to worry about hair anyways.
The new look goes well with the "started evil, turned mushy" vibes they're giving.
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She & Astarion have soft campfire jammies now 🥺👉🏻👈🏻
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dracoangel · 2 days
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nemesis-the-first · 2 days
Chapter update!
Sebastian comes over for dinner 👀🩸
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ISO: Artists!
So I just finished BG3 for the first time. I’m so happy but so sad to see it over. 😭
My birthday is next Saturday and I would love to commission an artist to draw my Drow, Feyre, and spawn Astarion with their child 🥹🩷
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Anyone have any commissions open? Please contact me! Will pay! 🩷
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goromimii · 2 days
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hello there! here’s your dose of happystarion
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