#astarion. astarion i am at my fucking limit.

[seldaryne]

yeah so apparently that first encounter with astarion did Not have to take place on a pile of leaves

that is a whole ass campsite less than 10 feet away.

why is he like this.

[ghost-proofbaby]

Y'ALL IF YOU ARE GENUINELY CURIOUS ABOUT BG3 AND THE GAMEPLAY MECHANICS OF IT ALL, I WOULD HIGHLY RECOMMEND WATCHING NEIL NEWBON'S (astarion's voice actor) STREAMS OF HIM PLAYING IT!!!

they're all on youtube and then he does livestreams still. he plays with his friend tom deville, and they are up to act 2, i believe? so they stream their gameplay in real time. he says a ton of things in astarion's voice at random, is romancing astarion so you'll see the cut scenes, and also he's experiencing the game properly for the first time just as you would be!

there's also a ton of other people who post gameplays but if you can't afford the game but are super super invested or curious, watching those is a wonderful way to experience the game <3

[anarkhebringer]

In my humble opinion it's a charm point how Null Number is like "I'm too embarrassed to even laugh or be happy because I'd be vulnerable" in his official portrayal, but in his BG3 AU he swaps between these two moods like the DVD logo

[lets-go-hurt-someone]

Am I the only one who actually prefers the Araj confession from Astarion? I see so many people wax poetic about the “nice, simple plan” scene and how much better it is that I want to wax poetic a little about my favourite.

The first time I played BG3, I didn’t know anything about Astarion’s background and I thought he was a jerk. When I first ran into Araj at Moonrise, I was surprised that he wasn’t interested in biting her, but he gave his reasons and I was like, damn, okay, that sucks but I’m not gonna force him to do anything. He said no, so it’s a no. Then I moved on, and genuinely thought nothing of it.

When he hit me with the Araj confession at camp, when he explained how he felt in front of her and how easy it would have been to just grin and bear it and do as he was told, I started crying. Sometimes I struggle to even put into words the emotions it brought up — not the smallest of which was the realisation that I had had more respect for this video game character that I didn’t even like at the time than a lot of people had ever had for me, a real fucking human being.

So I love absolutely everything about that scene, from the writing to the performance to all the different ways it can play out. I know the other confession is more cute and sweet and romantic, but the Araj one held up a mirror to me and genuinely made me confront myself and change how I approach intimacy. Which is kind of an embarrassing thing to say about a video game romance scene but here I am saying it.

Because if this fucking rude ass pixel boy (affectionate) can learn to be honest about his needs and limits and have them respected, then so can I, goddamnit. And that will always be so much more profound to me than a nice, simple plan that fell apart.

[chaoticbardlady99]

I Triple Dog Dare You (Astarion x F!Reader) (Part 2 to Pinkie Promise)

CW: Angst, mentions of trauma, mentions of sexual trauma, mentions of bullying, mentions of parental death, mentions of domestic violence, mentions of voyeurism

Both titles have been inspired by the song ‘School Nights’ by Chappell Roan

Dedicated to @amica-aenigmata-naboo - thank you for demanding a part two 😂

Part 1: Pinkie Promise?

✨this has been proof read once and I have been awake and working since 3 am. It is not 10:04 pm. Please help✨

You finish your letter by folding it into thirds and then writing ‘Star’ on the back. You take a deep breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth- reminding yourself that you already know he likes you back, you are just taking that last extra little step. You also can’t attempt to write this letter again- this is your 8th draft, the others turning into flames in your hands very quickly.

You want to ask Astarion to be in a serious relationship with you. You have only been seeing each other (as far as you know) and you’ve spent almost everyday sleeping with him in his tent since you had ventured into the Underdark. Most of the time- you don’t even have sex. You stay up talking together and sharing soft kisses- no clothes, just intimacy. You adore those moments immensely.

Life around camp has also been good- everyone is finally beginning to get along. Shadowheart and Lae’zel even silently respect each other now. It feels like one big happy family and you are grateful for them when this whole journey feels far too big and scary.

Recently, you and your crew have been playing an ongoing game of “Triple Dog Dare”. The only rule is you can’t dare someone in the middle of a battle or a serious mission. Otherwise- it’s all fair game and if you decline to do it, you have to take the darers’ guard duty or help them with a chore. The chores were limited to one task and it can’t be taking down a whole tent + equipment- the one time Astarion had to take down Gale’s tent had been disastrous. The dare had been to allow Gale to take you on a date- Astarion shot back with a “I triple dog dare you to swallow my fucking knife wizard.” All parties (minus Astarion) agreed that this dare was not to be followed through on.

The game has had… less than favorable results. Watching Wyll and Karlach streak across the camp while you were piss drunk was awful. Oh and the time Gale almost died because Wyll dared him to spy on the two of you for 20 minutes. You hadn’t heard his thoughts, but Astarion had. His head had shot up from between your legs with a furious look in his eyes. Astarion had covered your naked frame up quickly with his shirt (his trousers still on) and chased after Gale until he pushed the man into the freezing Underdark water.

The group then had to make a few more rules people didn’t realize they had to make. In Gale’s defense- Wyll didn’t specify and Wyll is a real snob about which chore he gives the person. It’s also the worst chore and usually includes de-stinking his boots. You are almost positive Wyll does this on purpose as repayment for all the headaches this groups’ shenanigans has given him-oh and the horns.

Karlach triple dog dared you today to finally confess your feelings to Astarion. You had gawked at her and then dared her to do the same with Dammon. You shook on it and it was done.

Finding out that Astarion’s life is in far more danger than any of them had realized shook you to your core. You are tired of wasting time being afraid to ask him what you already know (or at least hope you know). You are silently grateful that Karlach has given you the push you needed (you doubt she would have actually made you do anything- she wouldn’t put you on blast like that).

It just never felt like the right time in the past. Having your life be in constant danger is kind of a romance killer and you aren’t sure how the hell you are supposed to do this.

Do you court him? Do you ask him to court you?

You ultimately settled on just flat out telling him your feelings- politics be damned. It’s not like you were welcome in High Society anyway.

Now you are in the safety of Last Light Inn and it feels like the right time to bring this up. You worry that waiting any longer will result in him looking for someone more serious or maybe you would always just be a person he slept with during the journey to his freedom.

You hope you are more than that and you are almost positive you are. The way he looks at you, kisses you, and talks to you is so genuine- his eyes are always so soft and so are his lips. He protects you and you protect him. You adore him and you think he adores you too.

So naturally, walking up behind him and Shadowheart talking isn’t a nerve wracking endeavor to you. This is all going to go off without a hitch!

Or so you thought.

Your ears twitch and you barely hear what they say to each other, but you do. Gods you wish you hadn’t.

“You are insufferable, Cleric.” Astarion groans, “I already told you my answer.”

“Oh please- you follow them around like a lovesick puppy. You can’t honestly tell me you have absolutely no feelings for them.”

Shadowheart takes a long sip of her pint and raises an eyebrow at him. You remain in the shadow- your heart thumping out of your chest. Maybe he’ll say a lot of wonderful things about you? Maybe your hopes will be-

“Nope, not a single feeling outside of my carnal desires,” he says nonchalantly, “that’s all it’s been and they know that.”

Oh.

You feel all the air leave your lungs as you crumple your letter and shove it in your pocket. You don’t know why you insist on listening further.

“Then I triple dog dare you to go talk to someone and take them to bed. You will have no problem bedding that Harper who keeps giving you ‘fuck me’ eyes- I’m sure.”

Oh please no.

“You offend me- that’s hardly a challenge,” he says while standing up, sauntering over to the Harper that is eyeing him.

You promptly turn around and hurry out of the building. You can’t breathe. You should have known better.

You had always been Tav the Guillable, the Plain, the Insufferable, etc, etc. You had been thrown at your aunt and uncle when your parents passed. Your aunt and uncle lived in a nice Human only city and you are a ‘filthy half-breed.’

One of the boys in your Archery class found out you had a crush on him so he asked you to meet him by the river. You showed up with wild flowers for him- something your mother told you Wood Elf’s do to show affection. He showed up with your entire class- all of them laughing at you for being stupid enough to believe he liked you and then his future partner beat the shit out of you before throwing you into the rushing water. You wished you hadn’t survived, but a nice family who was tolerant towards Half breeds saved you. Your Aunt and Uncle were pissed. Admittedly, so were you.

They treated you terribly- constantly trying to marry you off to old men who you would turn away with your boorish behavior.

You really thought you had it right this time. Everything felt so natural and right- like you had been made for each other. What did you not pick up on? What did you miss this whole time? How could you have been so blind?

You pick up your bedroll on the way out- you were all going to sleep on the floor of the inn with the rest of the Harpers and Refugees, but you couldn’t pretend you wanted to be near Astarion like he does with you. You aren’t ready to confront him- you aren’t ready for the pretty illusion to be completely shattered and swept under the rug yet. You were just getting used to being someone he loved and now the whole world is crumbling underneath you.

It was barely anything- obviously- so why does it hurt this much?

You find yourself in front of Damon’s metal shop and he’s talking to Karlach. You clear your throat and they both look at you. Karlach suddenly looks concerned when she sees the look on your face.

“Could I sleep above your shop tonight?” You say with a strained voice, “behind the hay? I just… need to be alone.”

“Sure thing- it’s all yours.”

You smile gratefully at him and begin to climb up the ladder.

“Do you want me to tell Fangs, Soldier?”

You can hear the question in her voice. She is your best friend after all.

“No- please don’t,” you smile at her sadly, “I would prefer he doesn’t know where I am.”

Karlach nods in understanding, giving you a sad smile, and you go behind the hay and lay out your bedroll. It smells like him and you don’t know if that’s helping or hurting at this point, but you are mostly too tired to care.

Your heart hurts as you try to find sleep. You throw the crumpled note across the little loft and silently begin to cry.

At least you knew what it felt to give and receive love- even if it was false and unrequited the entire time.

*****************************************

Astarion is barely present for the conversation with the Harper male who is trying to impress him into bed. Astarion is only thinking of you and how much he wants to get this over with so you can find a more secluded spot together. Every morning to every night feels like far too long to wait to have a tender moment with you.

Astarion imagines leaving lingering kisses along your collar bones and your cheeks. He thinks about how he desperately needs to rebraid your hair. It’s been frizzy and unruly from all the fog- the baby hairs sticking out all over the place. He also needs to patch up your armor again- your Meilikki Cleric Armor ripped apart from the events of yesterday.

Mostly though, he wants to spend the off day tomorrow with just you. Astarion wants to find somewhere to hide or even just rent a room so that you can just be in each other’s presence un interrupted by the world. Astarion’s heart glows at the thought of the sexless intimacy you share. He’s so happy it’s not a priority to you- it’s allowed him to do things at his own pace and as he wants to which is very freeing to him.

Astarion had finally admitted to himself that his plan had well and truly failed- he has fallen for you very hard.

He doesn’t know what possessed him to lie to Shadowheart. He mostly just didn’t want to be pressured to leap forward. Astarion isn’t sure if you want to be something real with him and he also doesn’t know if you are hell bent on being a proper noble woman who marries a proper noble man. It would break his heart if you rejected him and Astarion has no desire to feel that way. For now, Astarion will bask in his peaceful ignorance.

The Harper man eventually scowls at Astarion and tells him to fuck off if he isn’t interested. Astarion goes back to Shadowheart with an annoyed look on his face.

“Fine- you win, Cleric,” Astarion scowls, “I have feelings for them. I couldn’t even give that man a moment of my attention because I couldn’t stop thinking about them so if you will excuse me-“

Shadowheart squeals in delight and Astarion rolls his eyes. Astarion walks around the entire inn and property- you are nowhere to be found. Astarion is beginning to become more and more worried. Astarion is pacing out front when Karlach and Dammon come up to the Inn- ready to hit the sack.

“Karlach,” Astarion says, a bit more panicked than he means to, “where is Tav? I’ve been looking for them everywhere and I can’t find them!”

Karlach looks suddenly uncomfortable and like she definitely knows where you are.

“Karlach if you know where Tav is-“

“I do!” She says exasperated, “but they specifically asked that you don’t know and I don’t blame them! You gonna go fuck them and pretend to have feelings for them again for the billionth time?”

Astarion is stock still and horribly confused. What in the hells is she talking about? Karlach shoves a piece of crumpled paper into his hands and shakes her head at him.

“You know- if you are going to fuck with someone’s feelings,” Karlach tries to keep her patience, “maybe don’t pick the nicest person in the room. Honestly Fangs- fuck you. I thought you were better than that.”

Astarion is at a loss for words- which is very rare for him. He slowly unfolds the note- hoping it might put some of the pieces together.

Star,

I have really come to enjoy your company and our time together.

I am quite smitten with you and I’m too nervous to say this out loud, but I would like to be able to call you my partner (in a romantic sense)- if you return my feelings, that is.

If not, no worries. All I want is for you to be happy.

-Tav

The pieces click together like a haunting tune.

You had heard everything that was said between him and Shadowheart. Obviously you didn’t stick around for the important part, but Gods you must be heartbroken.

Astarion has to assume you were hiding somewhere in Damon’s shop if Karlach is the one who knows where you are. He had been avoiding the shop initially so that Karlach could have her privacy with Dammon. Now it’s fair game.

Astarion quickly walks towards the shop and as soon as he enters- his ears pick up your quiet sobbing. Your thoughts are loud and unguarded- his words playing in your head over and over again. You are wondering why you aren’t good enough. Astarion finally sees what you have refused to show him- your parents are long gone, despite the fact that you talk about them as if they are waiting for you to come home. Your Aunt, Uncle, cousins, and an entire society have rejected you, humiliated you, and belittled you. This just happens to be the salt in the wound. You keep looping through the thought of how stupid you are to have missed this of all damn things. How could you even begin to think he would actually want you? Plain, boring, ugly, half-breed Tav.

Oh my Darling, what have I done?

Shadowheart had been teasing him relentlessly ever since you had all arrived back to the safety of Last Light Inn. You had led them all to support Astarion in finding out more about the scars carved into his back. It had been incredibly dangerous and Shadowheart had had to heal him more than usual- he kept putting himself between you and every bomb, warrior, etc. He wanted her to stop- he likes the privacy of his little world with you.

Now he’s demolished that world and your heart in less than an hour. Astarion was actually nervous earlier- realizing how deep his feelings for you are and how much he wants something real with you. He just isn’t close enough with Shadowheart to share those feelings out loud willingly. Astarion is thrilled that you feel the same way, but now he isn’t sure he can convince you that his feelings are genuine and not a giant lie.

Astarion slowly makes his way up the ladder and he hears your sobbing stop- one single sniffle occurring before silence.

“Darling?” he asks quietly.

The air is tense and Astarion feels more nervous than a school boy with a crush. You hiccup.

“Astarion.”

Your voice is strained and cracks- he can hear the effort you put into trying to make your voice sound steady and normal.

You are definitely not happy with him. You usually address him as Star when he first arrives in your orbit.

Astarion takes it as a good sign that you are at least willing to speak with him.

“It’s come to my attention that you may have overheard a conversation without context and without staying until the end,” Astarion says slowly, “I was hoping you might let me explain myself.”

You sit up gingerly, your head bent, and look up at him with puffy, bloodshot eyes. Your bottom lip is swollen- you often worry it between your teeth when you are upset. He doesn’t like when you are upset, but he does love how incredibly delicious it makes your lips look. Your skin is under a veil of tears and your cheeks are stained pink from you rubbing away the sadness from your face. It’s unfair how beautiful a crier you are.

Astarion decides to go against his better judgement and he crawls towards you. You look at him with a guarded expression, but you don’t fight him as he pulls you into his lap- his fingers moving the hair out of your face and wiping the remaining tears from your cheeks.

“Shadowheart was teasing me for being… overly concerned with your safety today,” Astarion begins, “I just didn’t want to- her and I aren’t close enough for me to-“

Astarion huffs in frustration and looks down at the floor momentarily before making direct eye contact with you. He decides to use the tadpole- maybe showing will make more sense than explaining.

Astarion shows you his original intentions of manipulating you- his musings over your beauty, but your aggravating naivety and the annoyance at your persistent kindness. He feels you flinch a little, but your body begins to relax against his as you watch his feelings change. Astarion lets you see all of his jealousy, confusion, fear, and adoration for you. He even lets you see his turmoil during sex. Astarion enjoys himself with you- more than he’s ever enjoyed himself with anyone, but the self-loathing and disgust pose a challenge during intimate moments.

Lastly, Astarion shows you how scared he is to lose you. He lets the feeling consume him and he feels like he’s a rope ready to snap at any moment. His mind wanders to how much he doesn’t ever want to have to miss you- the beautiful moments you have shared together and how much joy you have brought to his life. You make him want to be a better person- well at least in your presence. Astarion would do just about anything for you.

You press your forehead to his and release a relieved sigh. Astarion pulls you in for a deep, tender kiss. The kiss is needy, but not in a sexual way. Astarion needs you to know that he really does adore you- his affections are absolutely not fake.

He finally has to pull back to let you breathe and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“You make me so so happy, Darling,” Astarion whispers tearfully, “I really don’t want to lose you.”

“Star, I adore you for all the sentimental reasons,” your eyes sparkle as you look at him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Astarion tries not to show how relieved he is, but the way his shoulders slump gives him away.

“We don’t have to have sex, you know,” you say quietly, “I can wait until you are ready. I want you to be happy and feel loved more than anything.”

Astarion is surprised by the choked sob that escapes his lips- pulling you in closer.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“Yeah well,” you pull back and smile at him, “I triple dog dare you to prioritize your wants and needs first!”

Astarion rolls his eyes at you and tries to hide the grateful tears threatening to spill from his eyes. You are his most favorite person across all the planes. He is so grateful for you, your patience, and how much you try to understand him so that you can support his healing from centuries of abuse.

“Cheeky pup.”

You grin widely, “the cheekiest.”

“Hmmm well,” Astarion slyly smirks, “if we are going to play this childish game…”

You pout, jutting your lower lip out. Astarion places a chaste kiss on your cheek before whispering in your ear.

“I triple dog dare you to be something real with me.”

Astarion’s nerves are going haywire- praying to every God he can think of that you still want to be serious with him.

Your smile could light up the entirety of the Shadow Cursed Lands. You give him a short sweet kiss on the cheek and A kunik*.

“Dare accepted.”

*A kunik means nose kiss in Inuit

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Monster

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1K WC NSFW 18+

Masterlist

Warnings: Astarion being a sad boy, angsty af, good ending, he really do be going through it

————————————

You stirred at the sound of glass shattering not far from your tent. You got up, grabbing a dagger before leaving your tent to investigate. You heard pieces of glass clink together the closer you edge towards the center of camp. You head to your lovers tent first to ensure his safety. “Astarion?” you whispered.

You heard glass moving and sniffles before you made your way in. “Get out…” he mumbled.

You dropped your dagger, gathering the large pieces of glass. Astarion had a few small cuts on his legs and his right knuckles were bleeding. 

“I said get out!” he growled.

You moved the glass away from him before crawling to his side. He refused to look up at you . You held his cheek gently, tilting his head up. Finally his eyes met yours. They held tears but the emotion in them was anger. You took his hand quickly, healing him before asking, “My love, what’s the matter?” 

“I am a monster.” he said with a strain in his voice. 

Your eyes widened slightly. You looked between him and the shattered mirror sat across from him. “I don’t see any monsters here. Are you sure?” 

Astarion scoffed, “Don’t mock me.” he tugged his hand out of your hold.

You shifted to sit in front of him, “I would never. Why do you think you are a monster?” you asked.

“Look at me!” He yelled, “I’m an abomination! Cazador took everything from me and made me something else… something evil.” 

“Do you know what I see?” you asked him in a whisper.

His eyes searched yours, waiting for your answer. 

“I see the most beautiful, divine creature I have ever had the privilege to behold.” You scooted onto his lap, straddling him. “These delicate white curls, these plush lips, the sharpest ruby eyes…” you went on, tracing his features in a low voice. 

Astarion shuddered at your touch. Feeling you trace his face before moving over his sensitive ears, he suppressed a moan. 

You tugged gently at the strings on the front of his shirt. You nipped his earlobe before suckling down his neck, leaving little licks and bites in your path. “This sweet, ivory skin that is so decadent… I can never get my fill.” you mumbled out as you traveled down his chest. 

You tugged his shirt off him, making eye contact to ensure this was alright. He nodded ever so slightly, his eyes hazy with lust. You kissed over his broad chest, savoring the salty tinge of sweat that was building up. He felt feverish at your soft touches, a trembling mess as you teased him. “These scars…” you say as you gently trace a few of his scars that curve around the side of his waist. “You carry them with honor, you do not let them define or limit you…” you kissed them softly before starting to unfasten his pants. 

You tore your shirt open, listening to the buttons scatter as you exposed your chest to him. You shimmied the top off before leaning forward. Astarion latched onto your nipple in his love drunk trance. He suckled at you fervently while rolling your opposite nipple between his fingers. You held the back of his head while you threw your head back. He kissed over your chest lazily. “You always know what to do to me…” you kissed his cheeks. 

You guided yourself onto his thigh, adding just the right pressure to make you shudder from the stimulation. He held your hips but his grip faltered when you grabbed his cock. You smoothed your thumb over his tip, spreading his sticky precum. “This cock that pleases me in every way possible.” you whispered as you slowly started to grind against him as you started tugging him off. 

Astarion gripped your hips as he helped guide you as you rode his thigh. Adding just a tad more pressure that made you dizzy. “These hands, they hold me tight and keep me safe.”

You moved off his thigh, sinking down on him completely. Both of you moaned deeply, Astarion’s voice coming out as a growl. “Fuck.” he repeated over and over as he felt you around him. 

“This man that loves me completely… how could he possibly be a monster.” you say as you find your rhythm. 

“I… I…” Astarion tried to fight back, tried to find a negative within himself. But he couldn’t. The pleasure mixed with the praise was driving him mad. 

You bounced on him, ignoring the fire in your knees. You were close and from what you could feel, so was he. You stilled around him, panting heavily as your climax hit you. You bit into his shoulder to avoid crying out and waking the others. 

Astarion hissed at the contact but didn’t pull away. Watching your face contort in pleasure was enough to send him. He mouthed over your chest sloppily until he came back down. 

“You are not a monster. You are Astarion Ancunin of Baldur’s Gate. You are a devilishly handsome elf rogue. But most importantly, you are mine as I am yours. I love you.” you said before hugging him tightly. 

He held you back, your sweat slicked bodies clinging to one another. “I love you… thank you, for everything…” he placed kisses to the inside of your neck before you let out a giggle, pulling away swiftly as he had tickled you. He nipped at you playfully before stealing several more kisses. 

“Now - lay down and relax. We need to sleep if we are to enter the House of Hope tomorrow.” you nestled back against him, snuggling into his side.

“Think the devil has anything good to steal?” he asked with a yawn before he cuddled himself into you, kissing the top of your head. 

“Of course! What kind of devil would he be if he didn’t?” you muttered kissing his chest before finally letting sleep overtake you once more that night. 

------------------------

Naboo's Note:

Hello all! Hope you enjoy! I work an overnight this week so I will def have one more fic out this week and possibly another this weekend if the mood takes me. I hope you are all doing well <3 Thanks for everything, talk soon! XOXOXOXOXOXOXO!!!!!!!!!

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

My Mother Plays Baldur's Gate: Part 5

Summary: My retired mom is having me play Baldur's Gate 3 on her behalf because she has trouble using controllers/keyboards but still wants to "smooch the wizard boy." She is playing a neutral chaotic good wood elf druid; this is a detailed account of her crimes. Part 1 & 2 Part 3 Part 4

Sorry for the long break! Life got super busy for a second there. We're about 30-40% of the way through Act 3, and we finished up some companion quest lines and started making some plans to kill Gortash and Orin.

Here's what happened during yesterday's game session:

Scratch gave us an iron bowl at camp. My mom assumed this was somehow plot relevant, so she had me carry it around everywhere because "we might need it." I am not allowed to sell the bowl. She is a druid and her carrying capacity is still garbage. I suffer.

She LOVES Gale’s new kiss animations. I  tasked with smooching him before we leave camp every single time. Even if I just stop by to switch out a party member, I still have to kiss him goodbye. (And pet the animals, obviously.)

We accidentally blew up Volo outside the Steel Watch foundry with a poorly-placed Ice Storm that nicked the edge of the explosive barrels. His corpse was charred and unrecognizable, and my mom was distraught. She demanded to know why I blew him up, so I reminded her that casting Ice Storm was HER idea. We saved him the second time.

Cazador accidentally won his fight several times because we kept rolling dogshit initiative and got zapped by status effects before we could move an inch. The first time Astarion got turned to paste in the ritual, my mom nearly leapt out of her seat. (“RELOAD RIGHT NOW, HONEY.”) We killed Cazador on the fifth attempt, the rotten bastard.

My mom was locked in for the Iron Throne mission. The turn limit really freaked her out, and she kept second-guessing my choices every time I made a move because she was so nervous I was wasting time. I had to gently remind her that I’ve done this mission literally dozens of times. (We got everyone out with a whole turn to spare. Pfffft.)

Got the wavemother robe. I put it on Gale because I thought my mom would love it, but she was actually horrified because he “might catch a cold.” She robe is now somewhere in the camp stash next to all the spoons, iron tongs, and rags. It will probably never be found again. 

Saved the Gondians, and Mom now rides the “fuck Wulbren Bongle” hate train. Shout-out to my boy Barcus!

After watching the conclusion of The Pale Elf quest line (Astarion did NOT ascend, thank you), my mom quietly said, “I hope that actor knows how perfect he is as Astarion. What a wonderful man.” I had the pleasure of informing her that Neil Newbon won Best Performance at the Game Awards for his role. Congrats Neil Newbon, my mom is super proud of you!

Hoping to get together with my mom again soon and make some more progress through Act III. She told me to thank you for all your kind words of support!

[astarion-approves]

astarion reacts to tav being betrayed by a loved one and tav getting injured during the betrayal?

Astarion x Gender Neutral Tav! - Fucking Randy Astarion first person POV - it's alright lol I can't even think of a summary for this...

Tags: More humor than angst, first person pov (Astarion), 500+ words, drabble, poor description of a fight, OOC Astarion

Summary: Honestly, I don't know what Tav saw in that human. A complete jackass, and one that would eventually get them killed.

Read here or on AO3

-------------------

The battle started just as any other. Tav ahead of us, usually sticking their nose where it didn’t belong, insulting strangers without a second thought, or even just punching someone at random for the hell of it. It was one of the things that made me approve of them so quickly. Their… ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude. I admired it. Loved it, really. 

Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one. 

His name was Randy. Yes, Randy, if you can believe it. A human male who was tall and lanky, but not in an unattractive way— again, unfortunately for me. Somehow he had managed to woo Tav before we’d even met. The barbarian was a complete savage, encouraging Tav to make admittedly stupid decisions, drinking past his limit, and taking advantage of Tav’s kindness without them even realizing it. 

It came as no surprise when Tav spit straight into the face of someone trying to intimidate our group. Hell, I laughed in response. Watching someone wipe spit from their face in shock is never not funny. Disgusting, obviously, but hilarious nevertheless.

Shadowheart clicked her tongue and readied her weapon, Gale doing much the same but with a heavy sigh, Randy (fucking Randy, really? Seriously? Randy? RANDY?!) revealed his sword and steadied it in his hands, and my lovely self exposed my dangers— each of us ready to destroy those who stood before us. 

Tav grinned at their lover, laughing as Randy lunged forward and buried his sword into the spit covered face of the one that stood before them. A dagger would have been a better choice, but who am I to judge? Right? I was only a fucking magistrate. 

Fucker. 

Soon other’s flooded into the area, the quick murder drawing their attention to our group. Tav and Randy worked their way through the group, the rest of us picking off the rangers that tried to hide. 

A quick fight, as it usually was with our group… 

But then… something happened. 

A shot of fire, heading directly towards Tav and Randy— Shadowheart wasn’t fast enough to shield them and the pair were vulnerable against it. I heard Tav scream as Randy grabbed their shoulders and pushed them in front of himself. I could only watch as the fire flew towards them and exploded against Tav’s chest. They fell to the ground, landing on their side, no longer breathing. 

Gale cast a spell in the direction of the killer, but I wasn’t paying attention, I was running to Tav. 

They laid on the ground, their eyes open and staring into nothing, mouth hanging open as if they were still screaming from the blow. I dropped to my knees beside them, cradling their head in my lap, my hands tapping on their cheeks, words flying from my mouth but I didn’t even know what I was saying. 

“Leave them,” Randy said. “We need to keep moving.” 

I flung my dagger into his skull. 

Shadowheart began casting spells, anything they could do to bring Tav back—

But they still laid there. 

Luckily, all we had to do was carry them back to camp and Withers was able to bring them back from the dead. 

Randy we left behind. Because fuck Randy. 

And now, tonight, I’ll be making my first move on Tav. They’re still a little hurt from the betrayal, weeks later. And… they also tell us stories of their nightmares and the cool chill of death that lingers and haunts them— 

But they blush when they look at me, and that’s good enough for me. 

[pursuitseternal]

“Cleansing:” bathing smut and surprises in “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x Named Tav (F!OC) | E | 4.6K of the calm before the storm

Summary: Securing rooms at the Elfsong was the easy part. The harder part, overcoming the wash of memories from their separation before. They both need a good cleansing, one where they will indulge each other.

CW: angst, banter, bathing handjobs, I was told to “let them fuck like rabbits” which is implied, one more memory flashback, and danger.

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 16: Cleansing…

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“Does it… have to be here?” Cordehlia turned her cute little nose up at the smell in the tavern. To the rest of her party, it just seemed like she didn’t enjoy a stay at a public inn.

To Astarion, now he knew, it was sheer loathing, disgust, and almost a century of pain this place forced her to confront.

The Elfsong.

“Gale said the keeper is giving us the rooms for free, since we…” Shadowheart whispered behind her hand, all sneaky, “know about the murder upstairs…”

“It seems cheap here,” she shrugged beneath her armor. “Seedy, disreputable.”

“Sounds like you’re describing your intended, Cordehlia,” Gale taunted with that friendly smile. Even though it didn’t meet his eyes. Still that lingering jealousy and doubt she knew.

“Please,” Astarion laughed off the slight even as he put his arm around his love’s shoulders. “I was the son of a High Lord once, Gale,” he grimaced at the name on his tongue. “Cordehlia’s right, however, a place for disreputable debauchery and plotting, the Elfsong,” he laughed with a wave of his elegant hand. “We will all fit right in, I’m sure. Besides, we can't beat the price, and I won’t be sleeping on the streets.”

“Well,” Gale grinned again, perhaps a bit forced, “Can’t argue with that. Keeper said up the stairs.”

The party moved ahead, barely noticing that Cordehlia lingered back, rigid in Astarion’s arm. “Why here…” she huffed. “Won’t the keeper recognize his regular?” she hissed with spite.

“Darling, I haven’t hunted here for decades. It’s not even the same innkeeper.” He placed a kiss on her temple, feeling how her jaw clenched. “Maybe it’s time we make some pleasant memories here… together,” he purred right into her pointed ear, tracing up its delicate point with a feathery touch of a single digit.

She giggled at the tickling touch. “Fine,” she huffed. “But don’t expect me to spread my legs so easily. You’ll need to work for it if we stay here, my love. You have many years to make up for, you know.”

“Oh I know,” he smirked, one hand sliding to pull her in for a kiss by gripping the curve of her ass. “I am well aware of that fact, and that you will never let me forget it, my darling.”

He followed her up the tavern stairs, letting her slip from his arm’s hold. Lungs burned as he held his breath, worried and plagued with his old memories of his place. He tried to force them back down in the dank dungeon where he kept all those feelings from his centuries of torment. From all the targets, victims, hazy moments of disgust he had endured. He could swear it made his undead heart rap with dread. Calmly, slowly he stilled his breath, even as it grew more rapid and ragged as he climbed those same fucking stairs as he had a thousand times before.

This time was different, instead of trailing after some miserable wretch, some target, all he could see was the sway of Cordehlia’s hips and the way her ratted, unkempt, fiery red hair matched that rhythm down her back.

That made the panic subside.

As long as he had her, he would survive this.

The hall opened to a massive suite, a grand chamber filled with a dozen beds and every amenity. It was off limits to the likes of him before; he had only ever been here once, fortunately not on Cazador’s business. That night was fuzzy in his mind, a jumble of fear and exhilaration he recalled, slipping in the shadows with his contraband before being compelled back to the palace. A few moments to himself to steal a moment of respite…

Shaking his mess of curls, he followed Cordehlia towards a corner bed, one tucked away at least a bit, a few slatted screens here and there for privacy.

He smirked as she set her pack down, her toned shoulders rolling themselves out finally relieved of its weight. So graceful and lithe, she made quick work of her armor, dropping back a step at last to see him waiting at the foot of the bed.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she gestured to the massive collection of rooms.

But he only slipped his bag from his shoulder, dropping it on the mattress beside her from a great height.

Letting it fall, his claim to her space.

“Oh, my love,” she tugged its great weight over the covers with effort, “this one is mine…”

“But darling,” he grinned, snatching the bag from her hold and letting it rest at their feet, “what’s yours is also… mine.” Growling that last word, he swept her in his arms, pushing her back into the feathered bed. She yelped and giggled as she fell to his attack, his thin elven armor flexible enough for him to cover every inch of her unbound body. He kissed her, there in front of them all, pushing her legs apart even covered in the light metal that clung to his frame. Her hands dug at the bare skin at his nape, lips dancing with his, all in time with the buck of her hips.

“Insatiable minx,” he rasped between her pumping lips. “Why do you pretend?”

“I’m not, my love,” she chuckled, “you can have the neighboring bed…”

He hissed at that, caging her into the bed all the harder. Mouth trailing quickly to her neck, he sucked on the supple flesh, the skin already scarred from his fangs, bringing her blood to pump there all the faster before he…

“Ah,” she moaned, her skin giving way to teeth, sending her right to the edge of her climax in an instant. He sucked loudly, lapping and popping his lips from her flesh just to draw attention.

“For fucks sake, get a room!” Karlach guffawed from across the space.

“We have one,” Astarion laughed, sarcastic and dark as he raised his blood-drenched face to speak. “You just happen to be in it.”

“In all reality…” Cordehlia pushed her palm against his turned cheek, shoving him up with all her might. “You stink, my love.” She laughed, managing to lift him only slightly from her frame. “You need a good cleansing bath.”

“Tch,” he huffed and frowned in indignation. “I would never say such a thing, even if it were true.”

She scowled, “How loving of you…” Teasing, with just that hint of sarcasm behind it, she doubled her effort, a smile on those rosy lips of hers before she braced against his neck and lifted.

Crimson eyes wide, Astarion smiled wickedly in return. Obeying. Relenting as he raised himself from her body, his own muscles ached to return, taught with the need to do what they always had done in this tavern, longing to fuck her until she was incoherent, this time for pleasure and not from coercion.

But instead he huffed, sliding the plates of his armor off, watching her bare feet tread across the wood floorboards. He could smell her, as he said. But it was more than pleasant. That scent of her sweat, the way her arousal’s musk instantly filled his nose the moment he bit into her neck…

But first, he gathered himself, glancing around to ensure a moment of privacy before he adjusted his growing erection at her scent still in his nose. “Fucking hells,” he groaned as he dug out of his pack to get his cleanest clothes, all the way at the bottom of his bag. Finally, he fought with all the trinkets and loot in his sack to pull out a fresh set of trousers, when something heavy landed on the floor with a thud. One delicate hand reached to gather it up next to his feet, the green, leather bound tome right in her pale palm.

Cordehlia narrowed her eyes at the title embossed on the side in gold. “The Curse of the Vampyre?” she scanned the book and then locked those silver eyes with his, questioning, mischievous and suspicious. “Some light reading while I bathe?”

“Just a little research, darling,” he slipped it from her grasp to tuck it in with his clothing.

“How to kill Cazador?” she speculated, turning to head towards the now-steaming tub in the side of the room. That look she threw him from over her shoulder sent an instant shudder of warm desire to his groin.

“I think I’ll follow my instincts on that one, my love,” he chuckled, dark and tickled with the promise of violence. “No, no,” he hummed as they stopped at the side of the tub, watching as she closed the slat-screen separator, just a bit of privacy despite the wash of voices that floated around the suite. “I’m just… preparing for what it might be, between the two of us.”

Cordehlia slipped from her trousers, that hem of her undershirt barely covering that sweet apex of her thighs. Astarion swallowed the huffing moan he could have made. “Hmm,” she tossed him a smirk before turning her back on him. That little cream shift tugged up over her head as she let her voice lilt and flirt, “and what might that be for us? An eternity in love as Mistress Cordhelia Ancunín?”

“Close, my darling,” he set his clothing in a jumbled mess at his feet. The clean ones, too. And Cordehlia rolled her eyes as she watched him. Arms crossed over her bare breasts, she gave him a rueful yet desirous smile. He made no extra show, tugging his ruffled shirt off from over his one head, juggling the book between his grip. “You see, there’s a difference for a Vampire Lord in the creation of their servants or equals, whoever they should choose to make their own… to make them powerful like them…”

“Whatever fits their fickle, half-formed plans?” she taunted, stepping herself into the water, dunking her long, gnarled hair into the water.

Suddenly, tenderly, two hands fished her long hair from the water. Cordehlia turned slightly, his smirking face grinning with total mischief as he used those skilled hands of his to work the snarls from the end of her hair. A little rose scented oil on the tips of his fingers, and he worked them each out. No noise but the rasp of his breath down the back of her neck as he leaned over the tub. Warm water barely heated his touch, the pads of his touch brushed her cheek. Her head leaned into his palm, but a gasp from her lips slipped out as she felt his other hand close around her breast. His teeth scored over the sensitive shell of her ear, a whispering laugh tickling the inside. “Who’s to say I would be fickle… or have half-formed plans, if I were a Lord?”

A fang dragged over the soft curve of her earlobe, making her sigh, half-swallowed as her back arched at the sensation. “So… if you turn… if you can ascend, that’ll make you…?” she whispered, voice thick in that milk white throat of hers as she turned, water splashing in that tub as she swiveled.

“Lord Astarion….” He sighed, an intense and dreamy look in the dark red of his eyes. “Vampire Ascendant.”

“Is that what’s in your book, my dear? Is that what you’ve been researching?”

“No,” he rasped, standing as he slowly brought his hands to the waistband of his leathers. Pale fingers slipped the small buttons barely holding it closed free one at a time. “If you can’t tell… it’s you and your wellbeing that’s on my mind, darling…” Hands tugging that flap apart, his cock sprang free, and he couldn’t help but give a low, rumbling chuckle as she bit her lip at its sight.

Cordehlia slid over a smidge, her own lithe fingers massaging through her damp hair. Silver eyes were locked on his every move, the way he slipped from those leather pants, the way he slowly sank into the waters beside her.

The way his own right fang peeked out as he chewed his lip and wrapped his arms around her body at last. “I’ve never met one before, never even heard aside from rumors of their existence among my kind. They are rarely created, the perfect match for a Vampire Lord, the perfect threat to them too. But they say there is no greater love than a trusting Lord and his loving… Bride.”

She shivered in his arms, shaking her whole body despite the swirling steam that surrounded them.

“That’s what you want… isn’t it?” he purred right into the folds of her ear again, a single hand stealing underwater to run down her belly. “To be mine… forever?”

Her mouth opened, he could hear it, feel it in her jaw, but no noise came out but breath. Not until he slunk two fingers between her thighs, finding the even warmer, wetter slick that gathered there.

Her legs bent under the water, feet braced on the side of the cloth and wood of the tub. But he slowed his hand, dragging a single fingertip, a single nail even, over that hard little clit of hers. “You have to tell me, darling, if you will be mine… no matter what…”

Her hand reached behind her, clawing into the mess of his own damp curls and slotting her body between his own clenching legs. “You know my answer. It’s the same. It’s unchanging. Constantly beating yes when it comes to you, Astarion, for two-hundred years.”

“I’m so pleased to hear it,” he hissed, gratifying the little bucks of her hips by sinking his long fingers deep inside her channel. “Best keep it quiet though, I would hate to offend the rest of our group’s sensibilities…”

“You would love to give them offense,” Cordehlia snarled back, pulling him by his hair to whisper back in his own ear. Giving him just what he gave her. “You would love to make me give little whimpers, make me moan your name just loud enough to have one of them chastise you, hmm?”

“For what?” he growled back, starting to pick up his pace as he stroked her and crooked his touch inside her. “For being the consummate lover I am? For making you, the great warrior, whine for me, my little pet and darling?”

A hand reached behind her, her fist closing firmly around his cock, making a noise not unlike a moan come from his own throat through his gritted teeth.

“So are you going to share your research…” she pumped him, hard in grip and slow in measure, as she rode his fingers. A smile on her face. “Going to tell me more about what you think might happen?”

“Three bites,” he panted, those fingers of his working inside her, determined to make her squeal and come first. “And then… I drink you almost dry…” His voice in her ear is feral, more monster than man, and Cordehlia shivered, rapture taking hold at his touch and words and… all of him.

“Go on…” she murmured, voice thick in her throat, even as he hand gripped tighter and sloshed more water as she tried to keep up with his own fingers fucking inside her.

“I give you my blood, letting it fill you and make you mine. They say it will be far more pleasurable than anything you have ever… ever… experienced.” He panted, her thumb sweeping right over that spot only she knew, beneath the dip of his head. His thighs clenched, his balls tightened. “Gods,” he groaned, too close now to back down.

“And then I would be your Bride?” she replied, trying so hard to sound perfect and calm, hiding her own approaching pleasure with a pressed and quiet tone.

He held his breath, scoring a nail over that patch inside her, the one he knew always pushed her, careening towards her climax. “Yes,” he finally ground the single word out, definitely louder than he had hoped. “You’ll be your own being, your own set of powers linked to mine. We will walk in the sun, share our minds, share every bit of pleasure and … pain.” He whimpered loudly, too loudly, as she tugged and fondled him mercilessly.

A knock sounded on the divider, Shadowheart’s lyric voice only a bit muffled from the other side. “Can you hurry it up? The longer you take, the longer the rest of us poor peasants need to wait until it’s our turn…. And we obviously need to get fresh water now…”

“Shut up,” he growled, that hand on his cock not slowing a second even as their moment was invaded.

“Shh, play nice,” Cordehlia corrected him, hand leaving his shaft for a moment to clutch those smooth, hard balls in her palm, tight and ready to burst any second now. “Two people in one tub deserve twice as long, logically. Give us five more minutes.” She called so politely.

Their cleric huffed and stamped away, but not before her fingers stroked that flushed, fleshy head in their touch. Once, twice more, she pulsed that grip and stars covered his vision. Coils of heat burst inside him, spurts of cum sullying the water, and best of all, her own cunt flared and clenched in time. Her freehand flew to her mouth, covering it tightly to not make a sound. But he had her, the extra oily slick of her arousal shot around his fingers, her thighs shaking in the water as she bucked out her climax on his touch. And just when she neared the supple pleasure after, fangs sliced into her.

Her shoulder was pierced once, twice, three times. Nips in rapid succession until the final one. That, Astarion let his teeth sink fully into the crook of her shoulder, savoring the sweet, almost floral bouquet of her blood on his tongue. Filling his belly.

Her head rested back against his chest, body limp and warm. A comforting weight against where his heart would have beat, a sad smile on his lips as he released from her neck. Tenderly, he didn’t want to disturb her, he nuzzled into her damp red hair. As he breathed in, that rose-scented oil barely masked her own floral scent.

He didn’t want to disturb her, but maybe she needed to know….

“There’s a bit more to the Dark Kiss… umm the way that a Bride is made…” He trailed off as she turned. Her face was lined with confusion as she wrapped her legs around him in the water, looking hopeful, worried, waiting on his every word.

Astarion sighed. “It’s a bit dangerous,” he continued at last. “Once you wake to feed for the first time, you… you won’t be yourself. You will be feral, ravenous,” he paused, realizing the weight of his words, “dangerous. I’ll have to subdue you to make sure we both remain safe…”

“Alive you mean,” Cordehlia nodded, sage and slow as his meaning took hold. She looked over his shoulder, eyes distant as she thought for a moment. “More than anything, Astarion, I trust you.”

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips tighter, hiding the way tears stung behind his eyelids and the way his jaw wanted to tremble.

“Besides,” she shifted closer to him, running a hand down the ridges of his belly to grip him by the balls again. “You will love the chance to subdue me for once, even if it’s in unfair circumstances.”

Astarion swallowed the grunt at the delicious pressure she put on him, turning it to a laugh. “You're no different you know, not letting me bend the rules so I can win, just like when we were children.”

“Never,” she shook her head, coy smile and flirtatious glints in her eyes. “I’ll never let you off free, not even if you are some exalted Lord.” Those lithe fingers clutched one more time harder around his manhood. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way, my love.”

“Whatever makes you happy, my darling,” he purred, still hiding that lump in his throat. That niggling guilt over what he had done before, now that he knew. Now that he remembered. “I’ll try to be worthy of all that trust you have in me.”

She leaned against his chest, arms wrapping around his neck to bring him closer. A tender smile turning one corner of her lips, she kissed him. “I know you will.”

There was so much to be done… but for this evening, for tonight, they all rested in comfort for once. Every other member in their group gave them a massively wide berth, treating them like newlyweds, letting them hide behind the dividers around their bed, ignoring the little noises that came from behind it. Only once a meal was brought out did Cordehlia leave their little hideaway, just long enough to avoid everyone’s knowing smirks and make a simple plate of cheeses and breads.

Then her bare feet hurried back, for a moment of silence before the subtle and constant rustling resumed from behind those partitions.

A few hours later, silence finally fell. Night in the city was still so loud, too loud. And Cordehlia just couldn’t trance no matter how hard she tried. Even as Astarion fell into easy rest beside her, one arm braced behind her head and the other resting on his belly as it rose and fell. He was comfortable here, his home away from her for almost two centuries. That old pang of bitterness flared in her chest, and she sat aright. All she could hear was soft breathing in the night.

She looked out the window, dawn just starting to break with light. Climbing from the bed, she slipped into her clothing, that fresh cream undershirt, sensible black leathers. She would be quick, that pain from her past pushing her to return one more time to that place where agony had taken root.

One more glance to his beautiful, pale, naked body resting in their bed, she kissed her fingers and pressed it featherlight to his forehead. She’d be right back. One last visit to his grave to close the pain of the past.

Boots on her feet, she reached for her dagger. Just the one, her most favorite, if only to make her feel completely dressed; it would just be a jaunt around the corner to the graveyard, a couple of turns in the safety of the sun before she would return. And after all the ways he’d had her last night, she was sure he’d trance his way through that time.

She stepped silently through the dim room, paying no heed to anything other than that door, than her mission to bid the past farewell for good.

Astarion turned in his trance, his sleep restless and uneasy, the memories of being in the Elfsong mostly inflicting those little cuts and wounds of torture from his past as Cazador’s spawn. Except that one time he had been in this suite of rooms….

His dream swept him back to that time, the way his feet hurried away from the other spawn sent there with him to hunt. That little piece of paper in his hand secreted beneath his arm as he hurried silently up the stairs, picking the lock quickly into this empty set of rooms. It hadn’t been hard to find a dark corner, a loose floorboard…

He didn’t know why it was so important to him, but he had known he wanted to keep it. Even if he couldn’t bring it back to the palace, even if he knew that stealing away from his siblings and coming home empty handed tonight meant a spell in the kennels and a session with Godey. His chest rose and fell with the thrill of insolence. That parchment, that news flier unfolding in his hands made him smile.

Eyes scanned the words too quickly to really take in the story, some account of a battle… some fearsome tale of this warrior goddess… All he could do was stare at the printed likeness of her face on the paper. Black and white, just ink and fading parchment, but he had wanted it. And when Petras had tried to tug it from his fingers, he had snarled and disappeared into the crowd. Now he could savor his treasure, enjoy his stolen goods.

She was alluring, that long hair drawn to tease behind her, that sculpted body covered in dark armor, her face hard and fearsome and yet… something about her lips taunted him. Coy and teasing, beckoning him to look closer.

And closer he did look. His mind had raced over the words, no memory of them now almost a century later… but he remembered clearly what he did with that image in those few stolen moments. How his cock had hardened instantly, how it had been only a few moments of rough and dry handfucking for him to come.

How he had wiped himself clean quickly, breathless from actual pleasure for once in his long, broken memory, before he stashed that flier with the pretty She-elf on it under the floorboard.

Astarion bolted awake at last. Hardly noticing he was alone, he scampered from the bed, tripping as he slipped on his trousers too quickly and scuttled across the suite to the opposite corner.

“What in the hells are you doing, Fangs?” Karlach huffed a laugh, amused and annoyed as she had to hurry out of his way.

He said nothing, fingers pulling the wood up to free that long lost, buried treasure. Flinging himself against the wall, he shook his head. If he didn’t have company, he would have, could have cried.

Victory of the Bone Picker.

Clear as the day that dawned outside the window, he finally took the time to look at the words. To look into the printed eyes of his love.

He knew, somehow all those decades ago, he knew.

“Damn, Fangs, is that Cordehlia?” Karlach peered from the other end. “You knew that was here… you saved it here after all this time, didn’t you?”

“I guess so,” was his honest reply. Those crimson eyes looked up wide and shining wet. “Where is she?”

Karlach shook her head, taken aback. “Isn’t she sleeping her climax marathon off in your bed?”

“No,” he suddenly went rigid. Standing, flying to his feet to peer around the rooms. “Has anyone see Cordehlia?” he couldn’t hide the desperation in his voice now.

Gale looked up from his book at that. “She went for a stroll early this morning, first light. I don’t think she saw me here… not that she pays me much mind at any rate…”

“Shh, shh,” Astarion hushed him right up once he sounded as if he would start another one of his diatribes. “Not now, Gale,” he snipped. “That must have been an hour ago already, so where is she?”

“You could always use our little friends,” Gale suggested, two fingers tapping on the side of his head.

“You mean reach out?” the Vampire frowned.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” the Wizard gave a terse reply. For once.

Astarion closed his eyes, feeling the waves of the tadpole’s power emanating from his mind, searching for the other end.

Something faint returned. A flash of a cemetery, a headstone with his name on it, and a pair of glowing red eyes and stringy black hair staring down at her before… darkness.

Silence.

Nothingness.

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Our Blood will update again in 3 days, so your arms don’t get too tired hanging from that cliff 💞💞

[alpaca-clouds]

Astarion on the Graveyard

Can I just talk about this scene for a moment because of one thing?

I was a bit confused by my second playthrough. Was the possibility to just say: "No sex for today" always there? Because I feel on my first playthrough it was not there.

But yeah, I loved to have the ability, because I just kinda hated the idea of fucking with our dear vampire in that scene. My Tav would have hated it too.

Personally I just feel in that scene that he is mostly just trying to cope. Because the day before must've been so traumatizing for him. Going back to the mansion, finding out his former victims are undead now, confronting Cazador, nearly getting killed in that ritual, and then killing Cazador.

And yes, I am sorry, but killing Cazador is going to be traumatic for him, too. No matter how much you hate someone, having them die (or actually killing them) after such a long time of being dependent on them is going to be traumatic. (Speaking from experience here - not in killing them, but in having abusive care givers suddenly die.)

So, when Astarion propositions the player for sex in that scene, I am like: "No, darling. You need a hot cocoa, a blanket, a hug, and then cry yourself to sleep."

Though I guess the game also runs into the issues in general of the limited scope. Especially if you play the characters' romances. Because generally speaking I think that at least half of these characters are technically too traumatized to have a healthy relationship at the end of the game for a while. Which is not me saying: "You cannot have a relationship with them." Just that it will take a while to get actually healthy. Because at the very least I think quite a few of them would end up being dependent. And I absolutely see some Tavs and especially Durges, who basically come pre-packaged with their own trauma and issues, ending up co-dependent with them. (My own Tav very much included. His relationship to Astarion is absolutely not healthy on either side, even though it does help them. It will end up at some point being healthy, but it takes them a good two years to get to that point.)

But yeah, the issue really is that... Most of the characters end in their good ending in a place where they can start to heal from their trauma. Which very much includes Astarion.

I mean, shit. These characters need so much therapy lol

[grape-eating-vampire]

PART 2 of

things that happened so far in my first bg3 playthrough ever that I found so funny that I put them in my notes (now proper spoilers below)

defeated Ketheric Thorm in no less than 4 attempts

freed Mizora from one of the mindflayer pods, regretted it immediately because I hate the woman

got annoyed at missing so much companion banter, caved and got the companion limit begone mod

am now running around with all the origin companions, left the druids at camp to not be toooo overpowered (luckily I'm so bad at the game that it doesn't make a huge difference anyway)

there is someone named Orpheus and eithin seconds I had the Wedding Song from Hadestown stuck in my head

reached Baldur's Gate! my 200€ pc is Suffering

slept with the emperor to get the 'Mind Blown' achievement only for my mum to walk in in the middle of it to ask me for a hairclip

needless to say she was concerned and I had to explain myself (she stayed concerned but also found it funny)

snuck into Cazadors home and met someone named Sebastian, bawled my eyes out at his and Astarion's conversation

killed Cazador!! (fuck that guy)

went through the entirety of the sewers to find Minsc because what Jaheira says is law and the quest markers in my game are buggy as hell

on a sidenote, I godamn LOVE Minsc and Jaheira as a duo they are the best

recruited Minsc obviously, also took me two attempts because just knocking him out while he was under a 'Hold Person' spell counted as killing to Jaheira :(

met Dammon again! Karlach was thrilled and so was I

talked to Gortash (he's meh) and he told me to kill Orin

talked to Orin (I hate her with all I have and more) and she told me to kill Gortash

OH I ALMOST FORGOT

Remember how I left the druids at camp? Orin snuck in and took Halsin, pretended to be him and had me almost crying

but rage prevailed, so I went around the city for about 19 years to figure out how to get into Baahls temple (I had only knocked out someone instead of killing them, making the amulet you need for it not spawn in their inventory)

finally figured it out, went in, and immediately found a clowns head from about 20 hours playtime ago

killed Orin (and got the achievement), it was great fun bc as mentioned before, I despise her

Halsin was so thankful I'd saved him that he immediately went "haha tysm for not leaving me, wanna fuck?"

so I left Wyll for him (with lots of pain in my heart, the things we do for the plot istg)

have not played since, but my most recent savefile is called "the wicked bitch is dead, long live the druids"

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 22: This is Our Sanctuary

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 7.8k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

A soft kiss on your forehead and the feeling of the bond reopening, unfurling like the petals of a flower in your head is what rouses you from your trance. Astarion does not typically close the bond any longer, even when you trance, but he wanted to be sure that you would not be sucked into any of his nightmares so close to your wedding day.

“Get up, lazy girl,” he taunts, brushing your hair back and tucking the wayward strands behind your ear. He lets his finger trail down the ridge, which earns him something between a groan and a moan.

Your eyes open lazily to see Astarion in all his splendour. His hair is mussed from sleep, not yet combed and coiffed to perfection, and his waves tumble about heedlessly. He yawns, the early morning sun glinting along the edges of his fangs, and his eyes are still heavily lidded.

“It’s hardly even sun-up, Astarion,” you whine, curling into his chest and hiding your face away from the ever-brightening early morning light. “The ceremony isn’t until this evening. We can sleep for a few more hours. You cannot possibly need all fucking day to get ready.”

“You deserve perfection,” he purrs, twisting his fingers into your hair and massaging your scalp. “And perfection takes time.”

“You are perfect,” you coo, placing a soft kiss on his chest with a sigh. “And it has nothing to do with your physical appearance.”

With the beating of his heart under your palm and the heat from his skin sinking into the cool of your own, your trance beckons on the borders of your consciousness.

Astarion clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m… uh… I may be a trifle too nervous to trance.”

The sleepiness recedes like a swiftly moving tide, and you sit up and take his face between your hands. “Are you having second thoughts? If it’s not what you want, we don’t have to do this, Astarion.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes, and you feel the wash of comfort he feels through the bond. The tension melts away from him, his shoulders relax, and the pinch in his brow eases. He nuzzles your palm and places a kiss on it before reopening his strikingly ruby-red eyes.

“Don’t be so foolish.” Astarion scoffs while his arms encircle your waist, and he pulls you into his lap. “Of course I am not having second thoughts. Good Gods, Illyria.”

“I just want you to know you have the option,” you assert, keeping your intonation tender.

“As much as I do appreciate the sentiment, I want this more than I have ever wanted anything in my very long life,” he insists. Astarion gently picks stray strands of hair out of your eyelashes, brushing them away. “So little in my life has actually been my own, and even less of that has ever meant anything, but this... Gods. This means everything to me. You mean everything to me.”

He looks askance, his eyes falling away from yours. “For so long, I never had anything to lose, and now I stand to lose so much.” Astarion lets out a long exhale. His brows downturn at the ends in a sombre expression. “I am... frightened.” He finally forces the word out in a rush. “I am scared that one of these times I will lose myself and I will be lost. For good.”

“Astarion,” you start, bringing your palm up to cup his cheek, but he catches your wrist and cuts you off.

“Listen to me. If that should happen, if I am truly gone, I need you to promise you will run, get as far from me as you possibly can, and never look back.”

It’s not a promise you’re willing to make, even with his eyes that plead, and you shake your head. “I can’t promise you that, Astarion. What I can promise is that I will do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen. I would not lose you to Cazador, and I will not lose you to this.”

You still haven’t told him about the deal you made. Every time you mean to bring it up, the confession will not unlatch from your tongue. The words stick in the back of your throat, like being caught in a spider’s web.

“Gods, you always were unbearably mulish.” Astarion laments with a sigh.

“I prefer to think of myself as adorably willful,” you quip, trying to lighten the mood. You rack your fingers through his hair and let the tips gently ghost down the edge of his tapered ear.

It earns you a delightful shudder, and he readjusts you on his lap with a highly arched brow. “Trying to distract me, are you? Naughty girl.”

“Is it working?”

Astarion shifts you once more, bucking his hips up and grinding his hardening desire against you. “Indeed it is, my love,” he purrs erotically. “We should get you fed, yes?”

Before you can answer, Astarion cants his head to the side, offering his neck with a smile that seems to be all heart. The offer of blood and the sight of the vein pulsing nearly make your strike like an angry viper, but you’re getting better with restraint. Instead, you curb that desire, lean forward, place a chaste kiss on his warm lips along the angular plane of his jaw, and rain them slowly down his neck.

His hands come to your hips, strong fingers firmly pressing into your skin. Your fangs pop through Astarion’s flesh with as quick of a pinch as your unskilled self is capable of. The groan that hums from Astarion is not one of pain but of need.

Blood quickly fills your mouth, breathing vitality into you with every swallow of the rich, salty sanguine poem. It is a call to prayer, the heavens chanting against your tastebuds, and good Gods, you worship on the alter of his neck in moans.

“Just like that,” he breathes. “I will tell you when to stop.”

Astarion’s guides your hips in a slow rock, back and forth, dragging your increasingly wet folds leisurely up and down his pulsing erection. He angles his hips so the head of his cock runs across the spot you need it most with every swipe. You can barely focus on both sensations at once, and blood starts to glide a trail down his chest.

He whines, a sound you do not often hear from the Ascendant, and his fingers slip between your folds to start teasing the border of your pining clit. You whimper, your eyes fluttering closed momentarily at the staggering sensation, and your hips buck, trying to persuade his finger to quicken their gentle circles and swipes.

With every shift of your hips, you feel the velvet of his length, throbbing and so very hard, nestled between your lips. His hips buck, rutting against you, seeking the friction that his cock is begging for.

You realize, perhaps a little belatedly, that he hasn’t requested you stop, but his heart rate is beginning to sound slightly irregular. You withdraw your fangs, sitting back on his legs with your brow creased in worry.

Astarion gives you a droll, half-smile, his eyes appearing slightly glassy and dazed.

“Shit,” you murmur, pressing your hand against the wound even though the skin is already beginning to knit itself back together. “You should have told me to stop. This isn’t a good day to have you laid up in bed because I drained you dry.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “What would you have me say? You’re as distracting as you are wet. You’ve made a positively delicious mess of my lap.” Astarion glances down at the trail of blood that’s made it to his mid chest. “And my chest, it seems. Messy thing,” he tuts.

Astarion’s fingers wrap behind your neck. He pulls you to his lips, shuddering excitedly when his tongue slips in and he tastes himself on you. His free arm wraps around your waist, guiding you to your back. Hooking your knee with his, he pushes your legs apart further before sitting back on his heels and taking a moment to look down at you sprawled out and panting for him.

He fists his erection, giving himself a slow stroke from root to tip, and then taps the head of his cock on your swollen bud. A sudden jolt of intense pleasure sparks through you with every strike, making you squirm. His eyes lock with yours, and he slides lower, grinding himself against your entrance but never sinking in.

“I would do it all again, you know,” he leans over you, lining up. “Those two centuries of darkness and torment, if I knew that you were on the other side of it.”

“Astarion,” you wheeze as he slides himself inside you inch by inch, rocking his hips to work you open. You gather enough presence of mind to shake your head. “No. Don’t say that.”

“Not saying it doesn’t make it any less true.” He presses your legs apart, sinking himself deeper with every stroke. His forehead presses against yours, his hips moving quicker with every pass. “I love you, and I have loved you for far longer than I cared to admit, even to myself, but I cannot love you gently.” As if to make his point, he pulls out most of the way, delighting in the way you whine at the loss of fullness, and sinks back in to the hilt with a fierce snap of his hips that makes both of you gasp. “I will love you totally and completely, and perhaps a little madly, for eternity.”

He angles himself, and once your breathy moan and a tight clench around him confirm that he’s succeeded in hitting that perfect spot inside you, his pace shifts from a slow grind to a more vigorous tempo that leaves you seeing nothing but white hot pleasure and his intensely red eyes that bleed into you.

You want to tell him you love him and that it’s okay if his love is a little mad, a little possessive, a little dark, because your love for him is not for the feint of heart. There is no limit to the lengths you would go for him, and that in itself is a frightening prospect. But your words are lost in pants and moans, the sound of skin smacking skin, and tangled limbs.

So you reach out and touch his mind, requesting him to open himself to you further, and let snaps of memories flow freely, allowing the emotions behind them to be fully felt. You give him glimpses of how his laughter infects you with feelings of warmth and how you would do anything to hear it. How his smile makes you melt into a puddle of pure affection. How his voice is your favourite sound. How your devotion is unlimited, transcending the bounds of time and space.

Astarion quietly whines as the memories embrace him, his hips stuttering and faltering in their pace. He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, along your jaw, your collarbone, and every place he possibly can, as if his lips cannot stand not to be on your skin. Your legs wind around him, tugging him close, and your hips rock to meet his every thrust.

The drag of him against your sensitive walls, the decadent fullness, and the heat of his panting breath in your mouth are too much to bear. Your pleasure builds, your core clenching around his every pump.

But your pleasure is not the only thing you can feel. You can feel his as well. The tightness and overwhelming ache of pleasure in his belly, the urge to release, building rapidly to a delicious acuteness as he tiptoes toward the precipice.

Hells below. It’s intoxicating to know just how intensely he desires you, how you fill him full of pleasure so profound that he cannot think straight, the waves of euphoria that bleed through the bond as your bodies move as one, connected as one, feel as one.

“Illyria,” he pants with urgency. “F—fuck. I’m—“

The words are lost, but you don’t need them anyway. “Come for me,” you whisper against his ear.

His lips crash against yours, his tongue sliding in, and he lets go, his cock pulsing and releasing streams of hot seed deep within you. His pleasure tips you over the edge of your own climax, and your walls spasm and massage his length, drawing every last drop out of him that he will give you.

Astarion collapses on top of you, nestling his head in the crook of your neck while you stroke his back. You’re careful touching his scars, paying close attention to both the bond and his body language, but Astarion only relaxes further into your touch.

Neither of you move for a long while after the throes of your orgasms subside, content to remain enveloped in each other’s embrace.

He nips your collarbone lightly. “There, now we are both a mess.”

You scoff, but kiss his forehead and tousle his hair. “I would not have made such a mess if you had just kept your hands to yourself.”

“Oh, darling,” he giggles with a disapproving click of his tongue. “Wherever is the fun in that?”

The mirror of the vanity gleams back at you empty — always and forevermore, empty. You glance outside at the descending sun. The ceremony is mere hours away, and you still haven’t begun to get ready. Various implements have been laid out on the shiny mahogany table before you: hairbrushes, combs, ties, and hairpins, some regular and others with small diamonds glinting on the ends. On the other side, lip sticks, eyeshadows, liners, and every other cosmetic you could ever ask for in every imaginable hue.

Your fingers grasp a comb and run it through your long hair, but you have no idea how you’re going to do anything with it. You can put it up or leave it down, but any intricate style is beyond your capabilities since you cannot even see what you’re doing.

You want to look beautiful. Of course you do. It’s your wedding day. Gods know Astarion will look perfect with not a strand of his silvery hair out of place or a wrinkle in his suit, and then there will be you, standing beside him, looking like you do not belong with someone so captivatingly handsome.

You wonder if he will be embarrassed and are suddenly extremely thankful that at least you won’t embarrass him in front of all your friends. Were you pretty? You used to be, you think, but what about now? Your skin has lost its once sun-kissed golden hue, and your eyes are no longer the bright colours they used to be.

You glance back up at the mirror once more, hoping against hope that, for at least today, you might be given the reprieve of its scorn, but you are not that fortunate. Its reflective surface continues to dismiss you.

Tears prick your eyes in frustration, and they sail to the villa’s ceiling while you wrack your fingers through your hair. How in the Hells are you going to manage this?

“Little love?” Astarion taps on the door before letting himself in. He had been adamant that he wanted to get ready in separate rooms, if only to give some normalcy to the event. “What’s wrong, Illyria? I can feel your distress. Do you… Do you not want to do this? We can still cancel.”

“No!” You bark in a cracked cry. “It’s not that.”

Astarion crouches down, turning the little vanity stool toward him with ease. Black velvet trousers hang loosely around his waist, but he is otherwise undressed. He places his elegant fingers underneath your chin, gently guiding your gaze up, and thumbs away the tears crawling down your cheeks from the corners of your eyes.

“Tell me what’s troubling you.”

You think about deflecting, lying even, but he will know if you do, so you settle on the truth. “I don’t want to embarrass you, but I don’t know how I will do my hair or makeup since...” You gesture toward the mirror. “I cannot see myself.”

Astarion glances at the mirror, and a forlorn look makes his eyes downturn as he sees his own reflection, but not yours. “Listen carefully, love. You could never embarrass me. If you walked out in a paper bag with your hair a mess, you would still be the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. But I do have a surprise for you.”

Astarion beams, his fangs on full display, and opens the door. “You’re late.”

Your brows furrow, and you try to incline your head to look around the doorframe to see who in the Hells he is talking to when you hear Shadowheart’s voice. “Could you put some clothing on, please? Gods, Astarion. This is not how you should walk around when you’re expecting guests. Where is your decorum?”

He grins roguishly and lopsided, slightly canting his head with a shrug. “My, my. Selûne has turned you into quite the little prude, hasn’t she?”

Shadowheart scoffs, pushing past Astarion while giving him a pointed look. “Get out,” she orders.

Astarion’s brows rise at the direct order, a small spike of anger raising his hackles. You can hear his thoughts. How dare she order him around. He does not take orders from anyone any longer. There is a melody in the background. It sounds like iced rain pelleting through wind-whipped trees.

You nearly jump out of your chair to calm him, but he takes a deep breath, and the twisting thoughts and song fade away into barely a hum. He collects himself almost instantly, adopting his typical easy confidence.

You reach out to him in your head. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t even glance at you, turning away as Shadowheart closes the door, but answers immediately. “I’m fine, my treasure. I will see you soon.”

“Thank you for this.”

“You are most welcome.”

Shadowheart smiles ear to ear, taking quick steps toward you, and you almost recoil. You cannot remember a time where you’ve seen her look so excited. “A certain vampire told me you might need help getting ready.”

“That certain vampire has been incredibly thoughtful lately,” you muse.

“Oddly so,” Shadowheart agrees. “Can I come close? It will be a little hard to do your hair and makeup if you cannot stand to have me near.”

You laugh. “He fed me. You should be safe unless you accidentally cut yourself.”

“Don’t cut myself, or my best friend might eat me… again.” Shadowheart nods with a wry grin. “Noted.”

Shadowheart’s hands hover over the implements, quickly glancing at the mirror that only recognizes her presence. She frowns, runs over and tears the sheets off the bed, and shrouds the traitorous mirror.

She grabs a brush and begins to gently drag it through your hair, working out the knots. “So, how do you want your hair done?”

Your forehead wrinkles as your brows pull down. “Honestly, I didn’t give it much thought. I… just never thought I would be here.”

“You never thought you would get married?” Shadowheart’s brow arches. “Truly?”

“I didn’t think about it much when I was mortal, and then there was the Netherbrain, I became a vampire, and...” You sigh, shutting your eyes against the memories that claw at your limbs and beg you to join them in a basin of despair. “Well, you know what happened then.”

Shadowheart rubs your arm and gives your shoulder a squeeze. “I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

“I trust you, Shadowheart,” you grin, and the tips of your fangs peek out of your lips just slightly. “Do your worst.”

Shadowheart sets to work, using all the brushes, combs, pins, and ties at her disposal. She twists locks of hair around her finger, pinning them into place.

“I have an odd question.” She breaks the silence. “About your vampirism.”

“Oh? Intriguing. Ask away.”

“How exactly do you feed? Is it like a bite holes and suck on them sort of thing, or are your fangs similar to straws?”

You burst out laughing, and you can hear Astarion howling from the room next to you. Clutching your aching abdomen, partly due to having her so close but mostly due to the blistering laughter that’s making your eyes water, you turn toward her. Shadowheart looks stunned and glances at the wall where Astarion’s laughter can still be heard.

“I mean,” you try to speak between breathy laughs. It’s a blessing you don’t really need air because you would surely be suffocating. “You are welcome to examine my fangs if you would like to check, but it’s a bite and suck thing.”

Shadowheart crosses her arms, a hairbrush still clutched in her hand with her nose sticking up. “It’s not that funny, you two.”

“It’s a little funny,” you tease her.

She huffs but chuckles softly, shaking her head. “That’s the last time I ask you anything about your vampirism,” she taunts with a crooked grin.

Shadowheart grabs a cloth and hands it to you so you can wipe the tears off your cheeks and dry your eyes. She gently tilts your head up and begins to swipe eyeshadow on, but having her so close in front of you, her wrist right under your nose, is starting to eat away at your restraint. You can smell her blood in her veins and hear it gush with each beat of her heart. It sounds like an orchestra to your sharp hearing, and you begin to grimace, digging your fingernails into the stool.

“What is it?” She asks.

With your vampiric speed, you swiftly move to the other end of the room and plaster yourself against the wall. Your lungs thirst for air they don’t require, but you hold your breath.

“I just need a minute,” you say tightly with a thick swallow.

Astarion’s voice drifts into your head. “I can compel you if you wish, but this will be the last time I entertain this.”

There is a keen edge to his timbre. You know it makes him uncomfortable. Even now you can feel his previously calm emotions metamorphose into a tumultuous blitz where you can hardly tell one from the other as they flicker through your mind too quickly to comprehend. You might not feel them or even know what they are, but Astarion feels them all with an intensity you can’t begin to comprehend.

You hate that you don’t possess the self-control and are once again forcing Astarion to do things he’s uncomfortable with, but what choice do you have? No amount of blood will fill the empty hole in your stomach, and you have already slipped and nearly killed Shadowheart.

“I’m sorry, Astarion. Do it. Please.”

His reply is only the command. “You will not feed on thinking creatures. You do not feel hunger.”

“What just happened?” Shadowheart asks.

“Sorry?”

“Your eyes.” She frowns. “They glowed for a moment.”

“Astarion compelled me, and before you worry, I asked him to.”

You take a deep breath of pure relief, ease away from the wall, and back to the stool. She starts doing your makeup again, but you note the lines of worry that crease her forehead and thin her lips.

Shadowheart lowers her voice. “That’s a dangerous game to play, Illyria.”

Though she is whispering, it’s not nearly quiet enough. Astarion will be able to hear her loud and clear. You point to your ear and then to the wall to indicate that he can, in fact, still hear her. Her eyes round, but she nods her understanding. Shadowheart isn’t wrong. You’re playing a dangerous game, but that’s what your life has become, hasn’t it?

Just one dangerous game after another.

“I trust him,” you conclude with conviction.

Shadowheart gives you a quick side look that you know means she’s not quite done talking to you about this, but she will let it go until you find yourselves in a more private setting.

“Look up,” she instructs, and your eyes sail to the ceiling.

You barely feel Shadowheart run the liner along your waterline or use her pinky to smudge it slightly. She holds lipstick after lipstick up to your face before deciding on a colour and handing it to you. At least this, you don’t really need much help with. The colour is a reddish coral that you’re not entirely sure about, but you put it on anyway.

Shadowheart peeks outside, closing the blinds quickly when the sun hits you. She looks horrified for a moment. 

“I’m safe, Shadowheart. Astarion is near. The sun won’t hurt me,” you remind her.

“Sorry. I guess I got used to you.” She halts her speech immediately.

“Being allergic to the sun?” You finish her train of thought for her with a reassuring smile.

“Yes.” Shadowheart quickly goes to the wardrobe where your dress is hanging. “We better get you into this. I think it’s nearly time.”

Pulling the curtains back, you glance outside. The sun is low, spitting fiery reds, burnt oranges, and halcyon pinks into the sky like watercolours across a painters canvas. It is indeed almost time.

You will be married to Astarion within the hour.

You slip out the satin robe, and Shadowheart helps you into your gown. Her breath hitches when she sees the scars on your back, as it does every time, and you have to clench your jaw and shut your eyes against the sensation of her hands rubbing over them while she does up the various buttons and laces.

“Do you know what they mean yet?” She asks softly.

“No.” You shake your head. “Astarion has scoured every book he owns, making several trips to the palace, but he’s not found anything that resembles them yet.”

“They must have some sort of meaning.”

“Yes, but they are unfinished. We can only hope that makes whatever they were meant to do useless.” You shrug. “We can’t know for sure.”

Shadowheart turns you around, steps back, and gives you a once-over. “You look beautiful, Illyria. Truly. You clean up rather well.”

You half laugh, half snort at her comment, but smirk at her jeering. “Really?”

“Really,” she confirms. “Astarion is a lucky man.”

You glance down and look at the dress. The bodice hugs your curves flawlessly; each diamond is pristinely polished and catches the sunlight, filtering it into prismatic hues. For some reason, the seamstress added moonstones to border the swirling pattern of the lace, and the silvery light they emanate gives the appearance of silver-spun stars.

“I should probably get going,” Shadowheart says, picking up her bag.

“No,” you object, reaching out and grabbing her forearm before you have time to think. “I think you should stay if you want to.”

She looks around a little unsure. “Will Astarion be okay with that?”

You don’t doubt he heard your offer, but you ask him anyway. “Can Shadowheart stay?”

“Of course, my love. She’s most welcome to join us.”

“He doesn’t mind.” You assure her and offer an easy smile.

Shadowheart beams, putting down her bag, but then she looks at her clothes with a ruffled brow. “I have nothing to wear. I didn’t bring anything else.”

“You can wear what you’re wearing, but if you would rather wear something else.” You walk over to another wardrobe and open it. It’s filled with various fine silk dresses and opulent gowns to modest trousers and shirts, and even some robes. “You can take your pick.”

She shifts through the dresses until she pulls out a light blue silk dress and looks to you for permission.

“It will look beautiful on you.”

You watch Shadowheart hurry around, slipping into the dress, running a brush through her hair, fixing her makeup, and you cannot help but find entertainment in the hurried scattering. You’ve hardly ever seen Shadowheart act like this. She’s usually composed, calm, and a little bit stolid.

You’ve never felt closer to her than in this moment, and your heart swells with affection but also guilt, because even though you’ve been compelled, there is a small part of your brain that continues to see her as prey.

Did Astarion ever watch you running through the battlefield and be tempted to give chase just like you are now? Is this a vampire thing or something more sinister? You would like to believe that it’s a vampiric instinct. After all, the living are technically the typical fare for your kind.

The other possibility is much more sinister.

“I’ll see you out there?” Shadowheart suddenly asks from the doorway, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Yes. I’ll be right out.”

The quartet has started playing the soft music, signalling that it’s just about time. You shake out your arms, take several deep breaths, and pace for good measure to expel some of your nervous energy.

You hear a groan, the slight moan of hinges on the door, and then a light rapping on yours before Astarion walks in.

“Apologies.” His eyes are downcast, and his fingers curl and uncurl. “I know I said we should not see each other until you walk down the aisle, but...”

“Astarion.” You approach and slip your fingers under his chin. When he will not allow you to guide his eyes upward, you instead lean down and catch his eyes anyway. “It’s fine. Look at me. Tell me what’s wrong. Are you…? Do you need to go?”

“No,” he’s quick to spit out, his eyes finally coming up. “I just… Bloody Hells.”

He fidgets with the cuff of his suit, huffs exasperatedly, and you see the problem. You take his hand carefully, pop the buttons he was struggling with through, and then take the teardrop ruby cufflink from his trembling fingers and secure it.

“Thank you.” He takes a deep breath. “I missed you.”

Your brows pinch. “You were in the next room.”

“I hardly see why that matters.” Astarion leans in, buries his nose in your hair, and inhales deeply, pulling you close. “Every second away from you is agonizing.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I may embellish a little here and there, but I am no liar.” Astarion leans away slightly to look deeply into your eyes. “I really did miss you.”

You kiss his cheek and cup his face with your palm. His hand comes up to cover yours, and he leans into your touch. “You look positively exquisite.”

He takes your hand, forcing you into a small twirl, and you giggle. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“I have an idea,” he taps his temple. “I believe you can see through my eyes using the bond we share.”

The sensation of Astarion removing barriers he’s erected feels much like a dam when it opens its doors to allow water through, and you are hit with everything all at once. It’s overwhelming at first, painful even, but the pain fades as you adjust. He’s not let you into his mind quite like this before. It’s almost unfettered access to every thought, every feeling, and even memories, if you were so inclined.

But this is a sign of trust, and you will not betray it by rifling through his most intimate thoughts, so you focus on seeing through his eyes. If it’s like anything else that has to do with the kinship, your intent should simply translate into being.

You blink, and all of a sudden you’re looking down at yourself. You’re taken aback for a moment. Your body jerks slightly away, and you have to reorient yourself. It’s the first time you’ve been able to actually see yourself since you were turned.

By the Gods. I am terribly pale!

Taking your time, you scour every detail of your face and commit it to memory. How long will it take me to forget again? You look at your cracked scarlet eyes and the colours they were before peeking through in splotches and slivers. You take in your dress, your hair, and your makeup, and tears threaten to spill, but you swallow them back down.

You release his sight back to him, blink, and you’re once again staring at your husband.

“Well?” He asks expectantly.

You lean into his chest, your palms flat against him. “Thank you.”

His arms encircle you once more. “You’re welcome. I suppose I should get out there. I will see you soon, yes?”

You nod, releasing him. “I’ll be right behind you.”

You stand in the inner foyer, waiting for your music to start. There are roses everywhere, of every shade, and they fill the air with a sweet scent. You’d peeked earlier and seen the arch being set up. Well, it’s less of an arch and more of a circle, which you decided was more appropriate — circles are never-ending, eternal.

Shadowheart scampers in to see you pacing around in a circle, and she grabs your arms. “Deep breaths, Illyria.”

You snort. “I am dead. I don’t need to breathe.”

She snorts in reply. “Don’t be sassy. Deep breathes, and stand still! You’ve made a mess of your train.”

She crouches down, quickly spreading the delicate lace back out so that it flows as it should instead of being all twisted up. You take the deep breaths, though they do little to calm your nerves.

Shadowheart clasps her hands around your arms. “Don’t pace, or you’ll wreck it. Your music is about to start.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to make sure, but you ask anyway. “Is he?”

Shadowheart nods. “He’s out there waiting for you.”

You can only muster enough presence of mind to nod, and Shadowheart dashes back out to take her place wherever that is. The music starts to pick up, and you stand there for a few nerve-wracking minutes until it shifts into your song.

It’s time.

Steeling your nerves, you take one last deep, useless breath and walk toward the open doorway.

The sun strikes your eyes first and leaves you blinded until your eyes adjust. As your vision clears, the aisle comes into view. Rose petals are scattered across the terrace, the circular archway has been hung with sheer drapery that sways in the slight breeze, and the quartet plays beautifully off to the side as well as an artist sketching away that you were not expecting.

Astarion stands with his hands clasped together behind his back, his face warmly neutral until he sees you, and it transforms into a tender, nervous smile. Your eyes link with familiar, vividly crimson pools that invite you to get lost in them. Time seems to halt its perpetual march forward, the gears grinding to a stop just for you.

All your uncertainty, worries, and problems seem to just slip away from you. None of them matter. Not that the Hells await. Not that you still have yet to tell Astarion about the deal you made. Not that time is running out. It’s like all of that ceases to exist, and you are left with the only thing that does matter.

Him.

Your mind barely registered the drag of your dress, or the breeze in your hair, or the way the sun warms your skin. You take one step, and then another, and then another, carefully so as not to trip. Walking in heels isn’t exactly something you’re accustomed to, and it’s been brought to your attention that you’re a “clumsy thing,” as Astarion so lovingly puts it.

With each step, Astarion’s smile widens, and you’re brought closer to him. His eyes are wide and shiny, unshed tears catching the dying light of the sun. Memories play out in your mind’s eye — strong arms around you and a shoulder to lean on when you were so tired after battle you could barely walk back to camp. Nights spent laughing in the shelter of your tent. Cuddling by a roaring campfire. The soft press of lips to your forehead as you faded into your trance. The aroma of bergamot, rosemary, and brandy — the scent of home. You can hear the gravelly sound of his voice when you sought him out, always first to hear his thoughts, quips, witty remarks, and even those godsdamned roguish insults.

You blink, and the tears begin to fall, gliding down your cheeks. A few more steps and you’re in front of him — your fate, your destiny, your thiramin.

The only thing that has ever truly mattered to you and likely the only thing that ever will.

Yours. Once lost, but brought back together by the threads of fate.

His smile fades, replaced by a gaze that is equal parts affection and limitless devotion. Astarion takes a step closer, swallowing hard, and holds his hands out to you. You place your hands in his.

You stand side by side as the priest of one god or another recites the rites. The words are mostly lost on you, just a garbled sound in the background of the drumming beat of Astarion’s heart.

You try to keep your eyes ahead, but you cannot help but sneak little glances his way. His silver hair, perfectly styled with not a strand out of place, is cast in a golden glow that makes him look otherworldly. His raven-black ensemble with dragons up the breast is perfectly smoothed—not a crease or crimp to be seen.

Perfection. Exactly like you had envisioned.

Keeping your eyes ahead, you reach out, and Astarion responds, slipping his trembling hand into yours. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. His lips quirk up slightly, crinkling the corners of his eyes, but he keeps his gaze trained ahead.

“Lord Astarion Ancunín, do you take this woman to be your wedded wife?”

He turns toward you. His eyes are round, wet, and painfully striking in their vivid warmth. He grins, his eyes falling to your clasped hands, and then back to you. “I do.”

Shadowheart approaches with a velvet-wrapped box, opening the lid and offering it to Astarion. He thanks her, to your great surprise, and takes the ring out. The band is delicately twisted silver and black. You faintly see an inscription running around the underside of the band, but your eyes are too misty to read it.

“I didn’t prepare a fancy speech or elaborate vows. I thought it better to speak from the heart. I am admittedly not good at this, feelings, or public declarations of love.” He fidgets with the ring. “I had long had any faith in people, in Gods, in life purposefully carved out of me when you came along. Truthfully, I wasn’t very fond of you at first. I’d lost the ability to care for anyone, and I certainly never expected anyone could care for me. You met my ice with your fire at every turn. When I tried to push you away, you were still there waiting for me to come to my senses.

“You treated me like a person right from the very start, trusted me, which honestly was an objectively stupid thing to do, darling. I grew to love you frighteningly quickly. You melted the ice in my heart and taught me how to love again. I cherished every second we spent together, even when it was curling up and sleeping in the dirt.

You see me. Really, truly see me even through my darkness. I am safe with you. Whatever the future holds for us, I do not intend to lose that. I vow to love you with a depth that not even the stars can fathom. When it gets cold, I will be your warmth. When life is too loud, you can bury yourself in my silence. When you are hungry, I will be your sustenance.” You exhale a small laugh, and he smirks and winks. “I will love you long after the last stars have faded from the sky and the world is bathed in darkness once more. I will always love you.”

Astarion takes your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger easily. His voice cracks with emotion. “Ai armiel telere maenen hir.”

He clears his throat and straightens up, discreetly wiping a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand.

The same question is levelled at you next, and Astarion seems to be tense as he awaits your response.

“I do.”

As soon as he hears you utter the words, he exhales in a lengthy, drawn-out release like he’d been holding his breath the entire time, and his shoulders relax.

Shadowheart seems to pop up at your side, nearly enough to make you jump, bringing your focus back. You take the ring, and your fingers glide over the smooth metal, feeling the etching inside of it. Astarion’s eyes jump down to the ring, and he looks at it hungrily.

“I never had a family. There was never anyone to tuck me in or kiss me goodnight. I was alone for most of my life, and at some point, I guess I started to believe that’s how it would always be. I accepted it. I wasn’t supposed to be in Baldur's Gate the day the nautiloid took us. I had only stopped there to get supplies and had planned to leave the same day, but then something made me stay. I cannot even recall what it was anymore. It scares me to think that if I had left like I planned to, I would never have found you. Despite the threat of turning into a tentacled monster, I’m glad we were taken that day, as strange as it sounds. It brought us together.”

Your brows pinch. “I’ve never been one who put much faith or thought into Gods and fates. I never gave any credence to destiny. To be perfectly honest, I thought it was all bullshit. But now I stand here with you, and I can’t help but feel this was meant to be — that our meeting wasn’t mere chance. When I met you on that beach, before our shared plight connected us, it felt like my soul recognized yours. I saw a home that I had been homesick for all my life in your eyes, even with your dagger pressed against my throat.”

Astarion chuckles lightly, and you look up at him. He gives you an encouraging nod. “There are no words that adequately express how much I love you. I could say the cliche things like I love you more than life itself, which I think is rather obvious at this point. The truth is, my love for you is unfathomable, unquantifiable. There are no lengths I would not go for you. I vow to love you eternally. Know you are cherished, cared for, safe, and seen, always. I will be your sanctuary. Allow me to be the place your heart finds shelter and peace. I vow to be your light in the darkness, and I will always bring you home. For as long as we exist, I am yours.”

You grab Astarion’s hand, and he holds it up for you, trying to keep his quivering fingers still enough so you can slip the ring on. He smiles, though it looks a little odd, warring between nervousness and excitement, with neither side winning. Tears sway on his lashes, and wet trails glisten down his cheeks.

The ring slides on his finger with no resistance, sitting perfectly as if it were always meant to be there.

Astarion doesn’t wait for the priest to acknowledge it. You vaguely hear being pronounced husband and wife, but the rest is lost when Astarion instantly wraps you in his arms, tugging you close and catching your lips. You lean into the kiss, into him, desperately trying to press your bodies closer together. His tongue teases your bottom lip, and you open for him. The approving groan rumbles deep in his chest, and you visibly shiver as electricity seems to run down your spine.

You very nearly whine out loud when he pulls away, but catch yourself quickly. He keeps his arms wrapped safely around you while he thanks the priest for his services and dismisses him.

Shadowheart runs up. Her makeup is smudged down her face. “I never thought I would say this, but Gods, I am so happy for the both of you.”

Astarion shoots her a pointed look with an arched brow.

“Yes, even you, Astarion,” Shadowheart half teases, half reassures him. “Thank you for letting me stay. It was beautiful.”

He still does not know exactly how to take Shadowheart’s genuine gratitude. “You’re, uh, welcome?” It sounds like a question. “We are planning to stay here for the night. If my wife has no objections, you’re welcome to stay and join us for some wine—”

The thought is abruptly cut off when you and Astarion hear a commotion, a clattering of boots running up stairs. Both of your heads swivel towards the sound.

Shadowheart cannot hear it and arches a brow, but follows your gaze. “What is it?”

“We’re not sure,” you answer, and go to move forward, but Astarion pulls you back.

“It’s the wizard,” he snarls, teeth bared.

There is no time to react to what he’s said before the villa door bursts open, and Gale comes running in red-faced and huffing. He’s wearing his robe, with his quarterstaff slung across his back, and you instantly tense.

How in the hells did he find you?

“Illyria!” Gale shouts, sprinting onto the terrace. “Don’t do this! You can’t marry him!”

“Gods, Gale,” you growl, but your panic is increasing. If something is going to set Astarion off, it will be this. “Give it a rest. There will never be anything between us. I love him. I want to marry him. I did marry him. It’s done.”

You know it’s harsh, but it needs to be said. Whatever ideas Gale has gotten into his head need to be ceased.

“You don’t understand!” Gale points accusingly at Astarion. “He’s compelled you. He’s poisoned your loyalty. None of this has been your choice.”

“You did this!” Astarion grabs Shadowheart’s dress, heaving her forward roughly. “You led him here!”

“No!” Shadowheart tugs at Astarion’s wrist, but you know she has no hope against his strength. “I would not do this, Astarion. I swear on Selûne. This is not my doing!”

“Astarion.” You grab his wrist, squeezing with enough force that if he were mortal, you could have broken it. “Shadowheart wouldn’t do this. Let her go. Please.”

He shakes violently as his grasp on Shadowheart loosens and tightens until he finally manages to pry his hand away. His eyes flash so quickly you cannot make out which is which from one second to the next. Astarion notices the rising panic in your expression.

“I’m trying,” he grits out with a pained desperation in his voice.

You turn toward Gale with your brows pinched, magic swelling. “He has not compelled me, Gale! I’m here because I want to be here. I am with him because I love him. Why can’t you accept that?”

Gale straightens. “I can prove it.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

This is the longest chapter yet in this series! You can consider it my apology for the last chapter, which was short 🤣

Oh, Gale.... But, could he really be speaking the truth? Has everything been a lie?

[hamartia-grander]

can you elaborate on gale being manipulative? i dont have him in my party very often so i havent really talked to him much

Yeah absolutely.

So to be fair, I didn't notice it until my second or third playthrough because I never played with him in my party either until I got the mod for no party limit. But once I had him in my party - and would choose different dialogue routes/attempted to romance him (but couldn't go through w it because I don't like him) - that's when it became super noticeable. Astarion's manipulations are overdramatised and overexaggerated because he's a caricature of real manipulation that larian obviously never took seriously. Gale however is real manipulation that is at times so effective it seems whoever was writing the dialogue tree fell for it themselves, given the lack of range in responses.

Gale is very straightforward when he wants something. This is usually an admirable quality. He doesn't hide when he needs something and he isn't afraid to ask for help. But that turns into manipulation when, if he doesn't get his way, he begins putting words into the player character's mouth and assuming their intentions behind denying him what he wants. For the romance path, I noticed this when I began romancing him, but quickly switched to Wyll once I realised I couldn't go an entire playthrough pretending to be attracted to Gale. And when you choose Wyll, Gale has this dialogue:

This. Shocked me, to say the least. Gale immediately equates the player's affections to being a signifier of what makes a man "good", and shifts a simple preference of the heart to be the player saying "you're not as good of a man as Wyll, and you're also unworthy of my love", things that the player never said nor is even a logical thing to conclude from anything I would have said previously. He's putting words in my mouth, he's assuming the worst of my decision. Now this can be interpreted in two ways: either he has no idea he's being super manipulative right now, and is simply lashing out in hurt, or he knows full well what he's doing and is doing it on purpose in an attempt to convince the player to choose him over Wyll in his hurt. Regardless of the intention, the result is that he is twisting the player's intentions and feelings into something that satisfies his own insecurities, either as a reflex or to try to warp the player to giving him what he wants. It's manipulation.

Another instance I noticed this was when I was discouraging him from pursuing the Crown of Karsus after reading The Annals of Karsus. I chose the extreme dialogue choices for this one - outright discouraging him, telling him I don't want him pursuing the crown/godhood - because my first playthrough despite passing the roll to convince him not to take the crown, he still did, because of a bug, but I didn't know it was a bug and just thought I'd done it wrong. So the next time, I tried it this way.

First, I reminded him that the Karsite weave - and the crown itself - is what caused Karsus' downfall and led to an absence of magic. Gale brings up how Mystra wanted him to sacrifice himself to save the realm, and says:

This isn't directed at the player, but it is still a manipulation tactic nonetheless. The player does not know Mystra. We do not interact with her, ever, and we do not ever hear her side of it outside of a brief conversation she has with Gale in the tabernacle. Now, I am not commenting on the act of Mystra wanting Gale to kill himself - obviously that's fucked up. But Gale is, again, completely assuming her intentions behind her request, and twisting the image of her into something purposefully cruel and power-hungry (the goddess of ALL magic… fears not having power? sure, Gale. But there's also limitless power in magic? Which one is it Gale?). He's angry with her, he's angry with the player for trying to discourage him from his hubris, and so he lashes out by warping Mystra's image to the player. He also assumes that Mystra knows for a fact the crown of Karsus can be used to overthrow her, when it literally failed to do so in the past. He is going back to his old habits, he's completely forgetting that the existence of the orb is entirely his fault in his arrogance and in actively ignoring Mystra's boundaries, and he goes on to blame her for it:

by saying she 'took' something from him. (Also, he brings up being cured, as a way to say 'hey you care about me and want be to be cured, so you should be okay with me pursuing godhood, because it means I'll be cured :) Mystra doesn't want Gale to have the crown, and so when the player suggests not wanting Gale to have the crown either, he tries to get us to let him have his way by pinning Mystra as the bad guy. Even though before, he was perfectly willing to acknowledge he was in the wrong:

(this was back in the Tabernacle, after speaking to Mystra). There's also more dialogue in Act 1 where he openly admits to actively ignoring Mystra's boundaries, to being blinded by his hubris, leading him to pursue the pocket of magic only to have that pocket be consumed by him, giving him the orb. Something Mystra took no part in, and actively discouraged him from doing.

When the player says they don't want him to pursue godhood, Gale says:

Just. Wow. Okay. So suddenly, the player disagreeing with him wanting to pursue Godhood means they have no faith in him as a person - something that was never said - and that they think he is automatically inferior to anyone else who would try - again, something that is never said. He lashes out, he twists the player's words and intentions, he assumes everything in bad faith, all to shield his hurt over not getting what he wants and to try to get the player to give him what he wants. (He also, again, reduces his own mistakes as "youthful enthusiasm" despite knowing the risks and taking them anyway. And he intends to do the exact same thing again, here).

He appeals to our empathy by suggesting we mean to say he's worthless, he's not a good man, we have no faith in him, he's inferior, etc., as a way to get us to be on his side. He doesn't see our hesitance to be the understanding that it is - that we know Gale is blinded by his hubris once more, and his seeking godhood will end badly no matter what - and instead twists it into something purposefully cruel and ill-intended. He can be mad all he wants with my decisions - that's normal, that's human, and it's understandable given I'm discouraging him from pursuing something he wants. That's not being argued here. But it is how he acts when being denied something he wants, it's how he twists people's words negatively against them to fit his lack of self-worth that makes it manipulation. He's not taking the player at face value, he's not having faith in the player as his friend and companion, he is shoving us into the 'adversary' box by assigning harmful intentions to our disagreement so that he can feel better about himself.

[kuzcosources]

Astarionisms!

Gods, how are we not there yet? My feet are killing me.

What in the sweet hells were you thinking!?

I was right there!

Gods. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?

Well, apparently there's a limit. Somewhere between a nice summer's day, and the FULL CONCENTRATED POWER OF THE SUN!!

That was the least you could do after dropping a building on me!

I admit I like this one's approach. A little genocidal, but effective.

You just want to team up with some blood stained killer? Because I'm fine with that.

So much for the cavalry riding to our rescue.

Well, that's a little dramatic, don't you think?

Why, she sounds positively demented. I love it. Let's tell her everything.

Now, I can't help but notice that one of us is positively drenched in blood, so...

Of course, what fun! I'm going to fucking kill you.

You have a manner of irresistible desperation about you... I like it.

Oh. Oh dear.

Rawr.

If the opportunity arises for me to become a more magnificent bastard than I already am, why turn it down?

If you're trying to encourage me, you're failing miserably.

Please, don't mind me. I'll just watch.

My only complaint is that you didn't want to share.

Nothing like a little camp drama to spice up the evening.

Wait, don't interrupt them. Let me do it.

I don't need a reflection to know this looks fabulous/

And to think people say size doesn't matter.

_____ wouldn't put up with this shit.

[spacebarbarianweird]

The Dhampirs of the Sword Coast - Chapter 2

Part 2 of Astarion's daughter adventures and consequences of releasing 7000 vampires into the Underdark.

Alethaine and Theris are rescuing Tara and returning her to Gale. Both dhampirs aren't that smart as they think they are.

Read on AO3

Link for Part 1

Thanks @queenofthespacesquids for beta-reading!

The List of Chapters

Masterlist

Headcanons

Alethaine Ancunin looks around the corner and sees the gang of smugglers playing cards. The whole room reeks of vomit, dirt, and cheap rum. The scent makes the young dhampir nauseous - cursed be her sharpened elven-vampiric senses!

“Aren’t you afraid someone will steal our possessions?” Theris whispers.

As they decided to look for the kidnapped cat, the dhampirs had to hide their traveling bags in a safe place. The tiefling didn’t have much stuff, meanwhile Alethaine felt almost naked, leaving her prized things behind.

“My sack is conjured with necrotic magic. If anyone dares touch my stuff, their pathetic hands will fall off!”

Theris gives Alethaine an accusing glance. “You could have warned me!”

Alethaine grabs their right horn.

“Did you touch anything, Theris? My books? My scrolls? The cleric’s ring I stole from the self-righteous bastard?!”

“You told me you hadn’t stolen from him! That you just insulted the poor man and were convicted for four months!”

“Yes! And after I’d been released, I got inside his place and stole the ring as compensation for my sufferings!” Alethaine lets Theris go. “Did you touch my things, devil?”

“Hey! Is someone there?” a bearded smuggler stands up from the table, spilling his bottle of rum.

“Fuck”, Theris drags Alethaine into the corner. “There are too many of them!”

“Eight. I counted.”

“Eight? It’s four times more than us!”

“Congratulations, Theris, you know the basics of math!”

Alethaines sits down behind the huge wooden crates and then checks if Theris’ horns aren’t visible to the smugglers. The room is lit with dim light but thanks to their darkvision, both the elf and the tiefling can see perfectly well.

“It’s a bad idea, Alethaine,” Theris grows serious. “The cat doesn’t cost that much! Well, unless it is a misfortunate friend who was permanently polymorphed. Or this cat owes this Gale guy money. Anyway, no one is paying a fortune for a pet! Besides, I don’t trust wizards.”

“Theris, my parents knew him in the past… He is an honest man!” Alethaine trails off. “Well, at least I was told so!”

“I am sorry, Alethaine, but WHEN did your parents know him?”

Alethaine counts the years, doing mental math. When was the Year of Three Ships Sailing? She has heard about that adventure numerous times. When her mother and father were kidnapped by mind flayers, got parasites in their brains, had to fight against the cultists, monsters, illithids and even a powerful vampire lord, her father’s master. Mother, Tiriel the Barbarian, could talk about those months for hours - recalling every small detail, every person she met back then, including her companions. As for Alethaine’s father, Astarion barely could tell anything coherent as if his mind hadn’t regained the ability to hold memories. The older Alethaine grew, the more often she noticed the dreamy look in her father's eyes when he talked about his first weeks of freedom.

Later she realized Astarion, probably, barely remembers the exact events happening to him because he was too busy falling for Tiriel. And even all those decades later her parents behave like love-struck adolescents. Alethaine used to take it for granted when she was younger but now she thinks her parents are very lucky to have each other. Be it a destiny or just a weird turn of events - doesn’t matter.

Tiriel the Barbarian and Astarion Ancunin are a perfect couple.

“Forty-five years ago”, Alethaine finally replies.

Theris curses.

“Uvuaz”

“For your information, I can speak Infernal.”

“Oh, really? Then I shouldn’t limit myself anymore. Alethaine, fourty-five years may be nothing for a fairy but it’s a hell of an amount of life for a human! I am sure the archwizard doesn’t remember knowing your parents! This cat isn’t worth the effort. I am out!”

A loud thump attracts the dhampirs’ attention.

“I swear! There is someone behind the crates!

“Shit”, Theris curses again.

A drunk bard wobbles to them, hugging his viola as if it was his dearest friend.

It probably is.

“Oh look!” Before the drunk manages to say anything else Alethaine raises her hand and whispers.

“Sleep”

The bard falls down, snoring loudly. The other smugglers pay little to no attention, too busy with drinking and playing cards.

“What are you doing?!”

Theris kneels in front of the smuggler and starts loosing the straps around his body.

“Theris, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“A-ha!” Theris releases the viola. “What a beauty, hope this awful drunk man treated you well” He caresses the instrument, then looks at Alethaine. “And what did you think I was doing?”

Alethaine spares Theris the details of her thinking process.

“Forget it.”

“Oh, so you do have a dirty mind, after all!”

“Who said I didn’t? Can you play it?”

Instead of answering, Theris kisses the viola. “Oh, we are going to sing the lewdest and the most scandalous songs together.”

Alethaine takes his response for the yes and looks at the smugglers. Three women, two men, three people who could be both or something else.

And then Alethaine sees the cat.

The brown pet has been locked in a parrot cage in the opposite corner of the room. The cat is fast asleep on her back and for a moment Alethaine thinks the animal is dead but then she hears its heartbeat.

Alethaine doesn’t have any desire to fight the smugglers. She just needs to take the cat - and then run  from this wretched hole of a place.

“Theris, I need you to be the bard.”

“Oh, my cousin, I thought you would never ask.”

“Just … distract them! Do your worst! I'll take the cat and we’ll flee back to the city.”

“Alethaine, let’s be clear. You want me to play something merry or, you know, be the bard?” Theris takes out the viola bow and brushes along their inner thigh.

Alethaine suppresses the urge to shove the bow up to their ass.

“Just distract them! Women, men, I don’t care! Whoever you prefer.”

Theris raises the bow as if it were a sword and settles the viola on his shoulder.

“Aletaine, I am pansexual. Everyone is in danger!” With these words, Theris jumps over the crates and leaps onto the smugglers’ table, making a little dance.

The smugglers stare at him in shock, like being splashed by a bucket of water. They reach out for their weapons but before they manage to attack Theris starts playing.

It’s something cheerful like a pirate song - a strong melody that attracts the attention of all the smugglers. Theris plays the viola with their eyes closed, completely taken away by the act.

Alethaine is struck with the realization that  Theris is truly talented.

Theris’ lips are moving in time with the music. The tiefling taps his feet and his tail violently wags.

And then the dhampir sings.

Their voice is deep and strong, and he masterfully combines couplets in Common with Iluskani rhymes, weaving the song like a spell. He sings of peasants fighting with guardians, of fair maidens casting spells on men. Of the Trackless Sea and its cruel wonders, of blazing Hells and devils, of Feys and Feywild.

Alethaine has to concentrate to distract herself from the music. She is sneaking in the dim light, carefully measuring her every step, approaching the cat locked in the cage.

And the creature is anything but a cat. It opens its eyes feeling Alethaine’s presence, unfolds its bird wings and yawns demonstrating sharp fangs.

“You are a Tressym!” Alethaine gasps.

“I am very well aware of what I am,” the Tressym says. “My name is Tara. And who might you be, etriel?”

“A-Alethaine”

“Hm… An unusual name for Tel’Quessira but I can see that you are an elf to the same measure I am a cat. An understatement, am I right, etriel?”

“Your owner… sent us… sort of”

“Owner? Etriel, Gale is not my owner. Tressyms know no masters,” the Tara turns her head. “And I suppose the performer is a companion of yours? He has a talent, I must admit, etriel. But I’d suggest we don’t lose any more time. Do you have something to pick the lock?”

Alethaine takes out her Burglar's Pack from the hidden pocket of her jacket. The first lockpick breaks immediately.

And the second. And the third.

“Hurry up, etriel, I think the power of art is sobering them up.”

“Why do you keep calling me like that? I am not an elven nobility.”

“I am not aware of your social status and preferences,” Tara says.”But I assumed it would be correct to call a woman of your kind etriel.”

“Fuck, I am out of lockpicks!” Alethaine curses. “Damn”

“What is that girl doing there!” a smuggler bellows.

“I am sorry, Tara” Alethaine uses all her dhampir strength to pull the parrot cage. Both the chain and the hook break immediately. The dhampir grabs the small door and breaks it down.

Tara crawls out and settles herself in Alethaine’s arms. The Tressym is so fluffy the dhampir wants to squeeze her.

“We need to go!” Theris yells, snatching a dagger. “Thank you for listening,  my dear audience! I take cash, thank you!”

“Did you fucking see it? She broke the cell like it was made of paper!”

“She probably used some potions”

“Etriel”, Tara asks. “Any chance you know the FLY spell?:”

“Nope”

“Pity. I am afraid I won’t be able to enjoy freedom for very long.”

Alethaine looks up. The wooden ceiling is pretty high, probably ten feet above the ground. Unless there is a troll or a giant on their side…

“Theris, climb up!” Alethaine yells on top of her lungs and steps on the wall, quickly rising up to the ceiling.

The world turns upside down. Her hair brushes along her body as if having its own gravity.

“It’s a vampire! Fuck!” the smugglers scream. Theris pushes one of them aside, jumps up and Alethaine grabs his right hand, pulling the tiefling to her.

“Oh, etriel, you are a dhampir. That’s very convenient.”

The smugglers snatch their daggers and swords.

“Catch her!”

“Bring the fire!”

Alethaine sprints. She hears loud voices and steps behind her but she doesn’t pay much attention to them.

“Oh, that’s the cat!” Theris points at Tara.

“It’s a Tressym!”

An arrow switches right in front of Alethaine’s face. Then another one scratches Theris’ tail.

The elf jumps on the floor and pushes the crates to block the passage. Theris almost bumps into them, failing to predict Alethaine’s action.

The narrow hallway leads outside - Theris breaks out of the old shabby door with his leg, landing on an unfortunate sentry who has been standing right there.

“We need to part!” Alethaine yells, pushing the tiefling sideway.

“Yes, children, I shall meet you in the tower! Worry not, you are very welcome there”, Tara unfolds her bird wings and soars up.

It’s much more difficult to run along the street - the paving stones hurt their feet, she keeps bumping into the crowd, almost steps on a gnome, and has a bruise after an encounter with a half-ork’s elbow.

Cursed be her short height.

As Alethaine gets closer to the center of the city people in the crowd get more civilized and fewer in number. The elf slows down, hoping to play “a maiden in distress” in case the smuggler hasn’t lost her track.

But no one is following.

Alethaine leans on a wall. Her strength quickly recovers and she feels capable enough to run another sprint through the city, but her legs hurt and her head is dizzy.

She needs to find the archwizard. Instead of any coherent address, it simply says “The wizard’s tower” as if that was enough.

Well, the wizard towers must reek with magic.

“Detect magic” is a simple skill, even non-mages can do it. But it requires concentration which has never been Alethaine’s strong side.

And besides, Waterdeep has many magical places.

Alethaine wanders around a bit, trying to sense the presence of magic. Once or twice she catches the trail like a cat looking for food but she quickly loses it.

A strong tap on a shoulder startles her so much she snatches the dagger out of her boot, ready to gouge out an eye of whoever is behind her.

“Fuck!” Theris takes Alethaine by her wrist. “I have only two eyes, you know? And I value them both!”

“Nine hells! Theris, I have weak nerves, but I'm good with daggers! Next time, you'll be left with either no tail or no eye.Or both!”

“And what about asking ‘who is there’? What if it’s your favorite cousin!”

“It’s much safer to slice a throat than ask what they want.”

“You are a dangerous woman.”

“I am!”

Theris contemplates a bit and then asks. “So… What are you waiting for?”

“What do you mean?”

“I am flattered you waited for me but I was sure you would go get your reward”

“I haven’t found the tower”

Theris looks at her dead serious and then bursts out laughing.

“What? I’ve never been to Waterdeep before!”

“Which part of the freaking-highest-wizard-tower-in-the-whole-city part you didn’t understand?” Theris finally blurts out.

Alethaine turns her head where Theris points.

The wizard’s tower is on the other side of the street.

“You are going to die without me, Alethaine,” Theris says.

“I’ve been doing fine. Relatively.”

They cross the road. The wizard’s tower doesn’t look particularly intimidating - just a tower. It could belong to a local guild or a lower nobility.

The Tressym is nowhere to be seen.

“Is it dumb to get there empty-handed? Of course, it is,” Theris contemplates the closed door. He knocks a few times but even their dhampiric hearing doesn’t catch any sound. “I suppose no one is home. We needed to tie that cat up. Now we won’t be able to prove we’ve saved her in the first place!”

Alethaine looks around, hoping no one sees her and steps on the wall using her Spider Climb.

“What are you doing? There are so many protective runes that we could be turned into dust! Feydust, I hope, but still.”

“Come on! I see the open window!”

“Alethaine! I am not feeling comfortable breaking into the wizard’s tower!”

“Good! More money left for me!” Alethaine sits down at the windowsill.

She looks inside and see a huge hall with the floor somewhere far beneath

A library.

She can see thousands of colorful volumes. They stand in neat rows begging to be taken and read.

And there is so much magic in them Alethaine doesn’t need to concentrate to feel it.

The young dhampir has never seen so many books in one place. Moreover, she has never seen so many enchanted folios.

Something inside her stirs. Knowledge. Wisdom.

Alethaine has never truly learned using skills. She was born like this with skills for necromancy and just a bit of fey magic thanks to her ancestry. It all comes to her naturally without needing much thought.

But as with any magic, her potential craves to develop, to grow.

It’s a literal hunger.

Alethaine steps on the walls and goes up to the ceiling. The library is empty but she senses a few protective spells mostly on shelves. Pity. Whatever a person Gale Dekarios is, he will hardly allow her to touch any of his priceless books.

With loud panting, Theris gets inside the library.

“Oh great. The magic library. Every book must be cursed. If this blasted cat doesn’t show up, I am out!”

"It's a Tressym."

"I don't fucking care! I don't want to be turned into a sheep!"

A soft cough from beneath attracts their attention.

An old man in a violet robe goes inside the library with the sleeping tresuum in his hands. The wizard has a short white beard and shoulder length hair. He has neither a wizard hat nor a staff to turn the intruders into sheep.

"Young people, I would terribly appreciate it if you climbed down from my ceiling so we could talk like civilized people. My name is Gale Dekarios” he waves. “And whom do I have the honor of meeting?"

--

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 @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen

[dgoldman05]

Out of the Darkness

Author's note:

I know Tumblr isn't new, but I'm new to it. I had this Halsin fanfic story in my head for a while and wanted to put it somewhere, but I rarely get on social media, so I decided here (mostly because AO3 has a time limit on when you get approved to post) . I just wanted to have this to look back on whenever I slip into bouts of depression. I just want a Halsin hug sometimes.. All the time.. Every day.. You know.

Backstory: this is a Tav that was suicidal due to events in her life before the Nautiloid and keeps it hidden until she has a break down one day around Act 3 Timeline and Halsin is there as a comfort and reminder that she is cared and loved.

Be kind, I'm not a writer, so it's a bit rough around the edges.

Bg3 Halsin x F!Tav

Angst, Mentions of Suicide, No Smut-Just love (maybe smut later, idk)

Made Astarion extra sassy because why not.

Word count: who fucking knows

---

Tav woke up and immediately felt a surge of dread - she simply did not want to get up and face the day. The city had proven to be much more difficult than she could handle, and her companions had their own troubles to work through on top of all things.

That feeling of dread turned sour. Anger, frustration, and above all, a sorrow that she could not begin to describe. She was just a civilian before the Nautiloid, and she didn't intend to be alive at this moment. She was supposed to be dead - she desperately wished she was still.

Still stewing in her thoughts and whirlwind of emotions, she still lays in her bedroll before Astarion saunters up, just finishing donning his armor before he speaks, "Now I know we need to kill Gortash, but I really would like to put our focus on Cazador today--"

Without hesitation, she bluntly replies, "Not today, Astarion," getting up and pushing off her blanket, "I need to rest today." She starts walking towards the box of camp supplies that held most of their wine, but Astarion cuts her off, "Excuse me?! Did I hear you right? Of all the shit piled on top of us, you want a day off?! You promised me--"

She interrupts him as she pushes him aside and going for the box again, "I know what I promised, and we will. I just can't do it today. Please leave me be." She kneels to rummage through the box as he leans down behind her, still adamant in his quest, "Well, I couldn't do it yesterday, or the day before, but here I am! Still doing what we came here to do and you've no right to push aside my feelings when you've helped everyone else in this bloody camp."

By this moment, several people in camp have sauntered over, all dressed in armor and looking in on the ensuing drama. Karlach wanders over, brow furrowed and voice bellowing to Tav and the vampire, "Oi, what's the trouble? You OK, soldier?"

Astarion responds, exaggerating, "Our little leader has decided to take the day off after she promised to help me kill Cazador." He stands, hands to hips and glaring down at Tav but she pays him no mind.

Numb and undetermined, she quickly finds a half filled wine bottle, and turns to leave. She doesn't care enough to fight back today. She's been doing that every day.

Wyll and Shadowheart share a look, and decide not to interfere, but both simply shrug and retreat to their tents. A day off seemed agreeable to them as well, but Astarion just huffs and stews in his anger before stomping back to his tent as well. Karlach looked around, and shrugged sauntering back to her spot. She hated the arguing, and didn't want to further add to the problem.

Tav trudges down the steps to make a break for the woods, head down and solemn. As she made a turn, Halsin moves to intercept, holding his hands in the air, "Tav, I overhead Astarion. Is something wrong?"

She looks up at him, to those forest green eyes, furrowed and concerned. Of all the friends she's made on this journey, he had been the most kind and caring. The thought of his affection and attention sent a lump in her throat and tears threatened to fall as she spoke softly, "It's fine, I'll be back. Look for me if I don't return by morning."

Before tears fell, she began walking past him. He called out to her, "Wait! Don't go by yourself, not with the danger that's out there. Let me come--"

She cuts him off, a habit she's seemed to develop today, and responds without turning around, "Don't," she continues walking and mumbled to herself, hoping he doesn't hear, "Might be better off dead anyway."

--

It was late in the morning by the time she found the cliffside overlooking the Chionthar surrounded by the shade of the trees. The spot was perfect to spend the day in. Maybe she'll come back after everything is over.

If she'll make it that far...

Her mind swims with emotions as she finds a tree to lean against for the day, wine bottle tilted back and down the gullet.

The moment she hits the grass, her tears spill forth. All of the pain, the stress, the death broke through like an old dam that's been waiting for years to fall. Dropping the bottle, she holds her face in her hands and pulls her knees to her chest as her body is wracked with sobs. The loneliness and sorrow she feels in this moment is too much to bear. Cursed to continue forward, she wished she was still dead. If only the Nautiloid had taken somebody else, anyone else, other than her, she would be at peace.

For what seemed a few hours passed by, she cried until the tears stopped and the bottle dried up. She stared at the ships passing by, trying to focus on anything but her emotions for she feels if she gives in to them now, she would not return by morning like she said. If she could keep them at bay for a little longer, maybe she can leave the world better than she found it, and give her companions the life they deserve.

Perhaps an hour before sunset, Tav hears a twig snap behind her. The sound is startling, but she is too numb to even check behind her. She simply waits to see if something has come to kill her, but it doesn't. A voice finds her ears, low and soft, "I couldn't leave you alone. Forgive me for disturbing you."

Halsin emerges from the treeline and sits down next to Tav, looking to her, but she doesn't look to him. She can't seem to tear her eyes away from the view, and if she looks at him at all, the tears will come pouring back out again. He speaks again, softer than before, "I understand how you feel, but we will prevail. I promise."

The moment the words leave his lips, the tears are coming back and fall hot and fast down her cheeks. Staring ahead, she speaks barely above a whisper, "I'm not supposed to be here, Halsin. I was never supposed to be here."

His eyes never leaving her face, he responds, "None of us should be here. The curse, the Absolute, the Chosen Three, all shouldn't be here. The unbalance they bring to the natural order of things leaves nothing but destruction in their wake."

"That's not what I was referring to." She reaches up and wipes the tears away, sniffling as she does. Tav finally looks at him, and sees the concern in his eyes, the kindness and love he's shown her all this time - it does something to her.

The truth in her finally breaks through. She's kept it in for so long, perhaps her own mind is tired of the secrecy and is grasping at a chance to be released from its cage. She continues, the words coming blunt and quick, "I was a civilian, before all this. I had a home, and a husband. No children, no other family; just us. He was my world and I was his."

Halsin listens intently, waiting for her next words, "One day, he didn't come home from work. I received word that evening that he'd been killed in an accident." Her voice cracks as the words leave her mouth, and Halsin's frown deepens. The words kept coming through the sobs, "He wasn't just a lover, but my best friend. I had nobody but him. When he was gone, I couldn't take it. My grief killed me."

She turns and pulls back her sleeve to reveal long scars on her arm, "I went home after the funeral, and sat in our bathtub, then..." Those words couldn't leave her and she retreats slightly, "Well, you get the idea." He looks at the scars, his frown unchanging.

She covers her arm again and faces to look at the ships, but speaks further, "I didn't want to wake up. I just wanted to leave this world and be at peace. I don't belong in it anymore. But I woke up on that fucking Nautiloid.."

"And here I am in the middle of all this, and I still feel so alone. I shouldn't be here, Hal, I should be --"

"Stop," He cuts her off, but so softly. No anger in his tone, he grabs her hand and squeezes lightly, "In all my centuries, I've never known another quite like you. Your bravery, your determination and care that you've shown not only to me but to our companions tells wonders of your character. I would not be here, but rotting in a dungeon if it weren't for you. The curse would not be lifted if not for you. Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale, Karlach, Wyll, everyone would be in dire straits or dead if not for you. No matter the pain you feel now, you were meant to be here. You belong here. And... "

He pauses, and Tav looks at him blurry eyed, but the look on his face shows nothing but love. He caresses her cheek, and says, "I cannot fathom the grief you feel at the loss of your husband, but I can tell you that you are no less loved now that he is gone."

He takes a deep breath, "No matter the trials we face, I will face them with you. I only ask that you let me in and let me care for you. I will do whatever it takes to keep you away from the darkness that holds you."

Tav closes her eyes as tears fall, but the tears are not so sad now, but the lump in her throat remains. She feels his breath on her as his forehead lightly touches hers, "I can never replace him, but I know he doesn't want this for you. Please, stay here; if not for me, then for him."

The lump in Tav's throat retreats slightly, and a smile begins to lift across her face. She pulls Halsin closer and buries her nose in his neck, wrapping her arms around him. She's always felt something for him ever since she found him in that dungeon, but refused to act on it for the memory of her husband.

But this felt so nice, and she missed it so dearly. Her loneliness and depression consumed her so much that she believed she didn't deserve love and wouldn't have it again. She accepted that, but now knows that it's a lie. He cared for her so much, all this time, and this is proof.

The proof she needed to keep going.

He holds her there tightly, as if she were to disappear in his arms. His thumb rubbing lazy circles on her shoulder, and his chin resting on her head. He will hold her for as long as she needed or until the end of time, whichever came first.

They stayed like that for a short while before Tav's legs turned numb and were desperate for movement. She pulled away sniffling, trying to hide the amount of phlegm that's built up. He sees it, and pulls out a handkerchief, "Here." She graciously accepts.

For the first time since the Nautiloid, her emotions have stopped swirling, as if the storm had finally passed. The air felt clear as the breeze carried away her sorrows and fears.

She looked up at Halsin, staring intently at her, waiting. She finally finds her words and speaks, "Thank you, Hal. For everything. I know, rationally, it's not what he would've wanted. That's just what grief does to us all. Keeps us in the dark and refuses to believe there's a light somewhere to bring us out."

She takes his hand in both of hers and brings them to her lips, "Thank you for being that light that I so desperately needed. I will stay here, and I'll be here with you."

Halsin's frown breaks into a beaming smile, "There she is. My fearless leader," He brings his lips to her forehead and whispers, "and my heart." He kisses her again. Tav feels her heart swell for the first time in a long time lifting her out of the darkness.

For the first time since their adventure began, she's glad she's still alive.