#named tav

[sharksssm]

I Want You (As A Bear)

On AO3 Warnings: Halsin is a bear, smut in wild shape, smut, blood, biting, injuries, no beta we die like men.

It wasn’t often you found yourself in a situation where you were so exposed, cold wind nipping at your body in places usually covered with armour, daggers usually stashed at the places on your thighs now covered with goose bumps. However, what you hoped would happen tonight wasn’t something that could be explained with the word ‘often’, and the wind was the only thing that convinced you that this could be a situation at all. Earlier, wondering through Wyrm’s Crossing, Halsin had mentioned in passing to Jaheira that he was struggling to contain his inner bear, that smells were carrying in the wind and lingering so much longer than usual. So, thinking back to that night you shared, how you had been so hesitant to embrace him as a bear, and how understanding he had been… well, you decided he should be able to have you the way he desired, as you had him. You’d been preparing for at least a tenday, trying to figure out how you would have to manoeuvre to fit him as a bear, how he’d even want you to be positioned. Eventually you’d pushed your pride down far enough to ask Astarion, who despite initially laughing at you to the point you were terrified the rest of the camp would come and ask what was going on, was taking every opportunity he could over the last few days to brainstorm (and test) as many positions he could think of, including a significant amount that you didn’t think were possible for a bear to do.

That led you to now, shivering in the forest, standing in the wind that you knew was blowing toward camp, already rubbing your thighs together, both for warmth and because the log nearby had been used by yourself and Astarion just that morning to do unspeakable things under the guise of getting berries for breakfast. You paced briefly, pushing Astarion from your mind. You were here for Halsin after all, thinking of Astarion right now, as difficult as it was, wouldn’t be fair on your lover. A twig cracked behind you, and you raised your arms to hug yourself, not afraid at all. Even without your daggers, without your armour, you had faith in the weave that ran hot and crackling through your bloodstream. Besides, not much out here could harm you, and the speak with animals spell would remain until you rested. A hand, large and calloused, wrapped itself around your waist, and you immediately relaxed into the broad chest behind you.

“My heart, what a surprise.” You inhaled through your nose, the smell of leaves, the campfire and something altogether foreign to you that you could only assume was bear invaded your senses. “And just for you, Halsin. I overheard you and Jaheira earlier… I had hoped you would find me.” There was a beautiful fondness in his eyes as you turned around, the look he always gave you. You swore you could feel your goosebumps disappear as he drank you up with his gaze. His hands enveloped your waist completely, his thumbs rubbing circles on your lower ribs, what sounded like a growl sounding low in his throat. “I did more than find you, I smelled you. Not just you, but your arousal.” He all but purred. His hand travelled down your bare stomach, fingertips just reaching the delicate hair above your sex. Your knees felt weak as he buried his face in your hair and inhaled. You can’t help but wonder what he smelled, what you smelled like when you’re ready for him like this. A stab of nervousness bursts through you - are you ready? One thing you couldn’t prepare for was the size of him. His hand faltered, could he smell that too?

“My heart, what are you thinking?” He turned you to face him, your heart in your throat at the way your neck had to strain to look up at him, and his bare chest. Gods, his chest. “I’m thinking...” you trailed off, running your hands down his chest to play with the opening of his pants, working on their undoing “… that I would like you, as a bear.” It was his turn for his breath to catch, your smaller hands finally undoing his pants and working its way into his underclothes. Your brilliant eyes caught his, seeing something different in his eyes, a primal want that you’ve only seen once, although last time he withdrew from you to fight it off. You clasped your hand around him, or as best you could anyway, and put your other hand on his face, pulling him in for a kiss finally. His mouth met yours passionately, his hands pulling you close to him as your tongues wrestled for dominance, not that it took long for you to give in to him. You would always submit to him, to your bear, your Halsin. You pushed the thoughts of possessiveness from your mind as you disconnected from him, dropping to your knees on the ground, suppressing a wince as a stray pebble made its presence known to your kneecap. Your hands gripped his waistband and pulled his pants and undergarments down, as he stepped out of them to aid you. You leaned forward, holding your eye contact, as you licked a line from his base to his tip, gathering his pre-cum on your tongue. You’d never done this to anyone before Astarion, and once Gale, not that he’d be willing to admit it to anyone but you and learned quickly that the two of them enjoyed vastly different things, so you only hoped Halsin would enjoy some of the things you learned from the two of them. You swirled your tongue around the tip, positioning your hand around the base of his cock, the gap your hand couldn’t quite cover impossibly big from this angle. Gods, he really was a huge elf. Your eyes fluttered shut as you took as much of him into your mouth as you could, a groan erupting from the naked man above you, and your sex twitched in response, a signal you were ready to be filled, though you’ve known that for a while, even if your body hadn’t caught up. You pushed him ever further into your mouth, your hands on the backs of his thighs for leverage, and set yourself a pace that you desperately hoped you could maintain with the feeling of your jaw stretching to its limit to accommodate as much of him as you could.

His hand rested in your hair as his breathing picked up, and you held his thighs as hard as you could pulling him into you. You could feel his muscles tense, as though holding back, and he twitched in his mouth. You recalled Astarion’s voice in your mind, when you were with Gale. “Squeeze him right at the base, don’t let him let go yet. You’re in charge here.” You pulled off Halsin’s cock, a wet pop and a string of saliva leading to his cock making your hole clench as your grip tightened around the base of his cock. He gasped, his hips twitching towards you and his eyes opening and immediately looking at you, surprise all over his expression. “I want you to let go inside of me, my love.” Halsin dropped to his knees before you, pulling you onto his lap, your legs falling either side of his hips. His cock nestled between your lips, pressing against your hole, his lips sought yours again and took your breath away just as you took his away only moments before. He ground himself against you, slowly and teasingly, allowing the had of his cock to catch against your hole, but never letting it inside. He pulled back, relishing in your flushed face, the way your redness spread down onto your chest. “Are you sure you want me as a bear? I know it is not most people’s preference, especially since you are so small my love.” You whimpered against him, rolling your hips for any sort of friction against your body, nodding fiercely. “I want you Halsin, all of you, all for me.” The growl erupting from his throat sent tingles through your body as he moved you off his lap, leaving you on you back in the soft dirt and grass. His body moved back, light enveloping him as hair burst from his body, his limbs and face changing in almost the blink of an eye until stood before you was a beautiful bear, all soft fur and claws. The bear stalked forward (you didn’t know bears could stalk) until it stood before you, between your legs. You quivered in anticipation, waiting for Halsin to take the lead. His forelegs bent, almost as if bowing, and before you knew it his large tongue was lapping at your hole. You gasped, trying to squirm away from him, but his large paws pressed your hips to the ground, his claws drawing the smallest pinpricks of blood from along your hip bones. You moaned as he dipped inside of you with his tongue, as though testing if you're even capable of taking him like this. You could feel yourself approaching orgasm, rapidly, as his nose nudged your clit over and over as he drank you up, his tongue alternating between thrusting inside you and teasing round your fluttering hole. You could see his cock when you looked down, animal and foreign looking, and imagining it inside you tipped you over the edge. You ground yourself into the Halsin-Bear's face as you came, the vibrations from his deep growl overstimulating your already very stimulated clit. As you came down you could hear Halsin's voice in your mind.  I want you over that log, the one with you and Astarion's scent on it. I want to drown his scent out, I want your thoughts to be of only me when you look at that log. I will have you all night until I am all you can think of, all you feel when you touch yourself, until I am the reason you cannot walk back to camp.  How could you refuse?

******* Your hips bucked against the felled log you were bent over, hands scrabbling for purchase against the cold hard ground. There was nothing to hold on to except the last remaining shreds of your sanity, and at this very moment you were thanking any god you could think of (and potentially some devils) that you had a single moment of clarity to throw your undershirt over the log to avoid splinters. You had assumed Halsin would take you the second you scrambled over the log, resting your hips on it to keep your ass in the air for him, but instead he had buried his snout back into your folds, seemingly determined to draw you to orgasm over and over. You panted and writhed as his tongue pushed against your entrance, dripping onto the forest floor as he pushed you violently towards your 4th (5th?) orgasm of the night. The coil in your stomach felt ever tight like it would never go away, and you were sure this orgasm would tear you apart, split your muscles and your entire body right down the middle. Halsin’s wet nose and fur pressed against you as he somehow harshly sucked your clit, curling your toes and eliciting desperate sounds you didn’t even know could come from your mouth. Still no orgasm came, the sweet pain pleasure of overstimulation battling against your own body to avoid the bud of nerve endings from ripping more pleasure where you had none to give. Nonetheless, Halsin placed a paw on your ass, pushing your hips down into the log and continuing his beautiful ministrations, edging you closer and closer to your breaking point, filthy things spilling from your lips in infernal every time Halsin rolled his tongue around your over-sensitive bud.

One more my beloved, and I’ll give you what you want Your entire body tensed, toes curling and legs shaking as he growled into you, slick claws running up your folds, and you could feel yourself start to break, the edges of your vision blurring. Your mind wasn’t capable of coherent thought, the only thing running through it was Halsin’s name, like a chant or a prayer, blasphemy of the highest order. He was everything, the forest, the sun, you felt the knot in your stomach tighten ever further. Your legs ached from how tight the muscles were, you felt your pussy clench and suddenly, your mind snapped. You felt so disconnected from the world as your legs shook uncontrollably, liquid gushed out of you onto Halsin’s tongue as he relentlessly fucked you with it. Raspy moans and whimpers escaped from your lips as your body went limp, your hips twitching, knocking painfully against the log in front of them lamenting how goddamn empty you were. You begged for him, no clue what language you were spilling from your lips only that it was begging for his cock, begging for him to fill you and breed you over and over until he couldn’t anymore. His tongue licked up your bare back as you brainlessly murmured your desires, your prayers to him lost in translation between his native elvish and your native infernal. His cock caught at your entrance, thick and weeping, as his paws became visible either side of your shoulder, caught in your peripheral vision as he nuzzled into the back of your neck.

Beg. You whimpered, your throat dry in anticipation and exhaustion. “Pdyiwy” you sobbed, only infernal making sense to you right now. He rocked against you, huffing into your hair and almost purring at your strangled sobs when the head rubbed against your overstimulated clit. I said beg. You squeezed your eyes shut, head dropping so your chin almost touched your chest, arms struggling to hold you up off the floor. “P-Please! I need you Halsin, fuck me.”

Halsin growled, and pushed against you, his body too animal to aim himself as he rutted against you, his cock head catching on your hole and slipping out a few times. You were too fucked out to help, as you ground yourself back into him, desperate for the stretch of him, and with a purr you connected with him finally, moving perfectly for him to slip into you. The stretch strung, his cock which was significantly above average as an elf only enhanced as a bear, but you ground down on him despite his holding back. He pulled back, and thrust back into you, your voice cracking as you groaned and tried to push yourself back onto him. “Please, don’t hold yourself back, I don’t care if it hurts.”

His breath, hot and animal on your neck, seemed to halt for a moment, before a deep, rumbling growl slipped from him and he ground his hips forward in a quick, harsh motion.  The stretch was delicious, a pricking sharp pain inside you mixed with stabs of pleasure at the blistering pace Halsin was fucking you at, never pulling out more than a few inches before slamming himself back inside you, as if he couldn’t bear to take himself from your heat for more than a few seconds. He ground against you, muzzle pressed to the back of your neck. You didn’t remember much of what you researched on bear mating to prepare for this, but you were sure that if you were another bear, he would be biting you to keep you in place. That thought rocketed straight to your sex, making you squeeze down around his cock and you could swear you felt large, terrifying teeth against your neck. The pain had all but subsided now, you subconsciously knew you’d have scrapes from the wood all over you, bruises from stones on the ground, but how could you feel any of that when all you could feel was this. Halsin’s rutting stuttered every now and then, his breath coming out in wild puffs, teeth bared now, pressing to the back of your neck. Your breathing was laboured, moans and whimpers your only sounds, words and sense long since fucked out of you. You could feel that familiar knot on your stomach, but alien this time, feeling more like Gale’s ball of weave than an impending orgasm. You were sure that this orgasm would destroy you, you’d die happy and clenching around your lover’s cock, unable to even comprehend your own demise because of how fucked out you were.

Your breath hitched as Halsin’s hips stuttered, grinding into you once, twice, and then a warmth filled you, his hips still moving to fuck his seed as deeply as he could, suddenly feeling him abruptly dismiss his wild shape while still inside you. A large calloused hand suddenly wrapped around one of your horns, pulling you off the log and onto your knees, back against his chest. Cock still inside you, his other hand found it’s way to your clit, rubbing harsh circles around it. “One more my heart, you’re so close for me.” His gruff voice whispered in your ear, your whimpers drowned out by a high-pitched noise in your ears as you catapulted before what you were sure was your blissful death. The hum in your ears drowned out Halsin’s sweet nothings, the sounds of nature around you, you felt the painful pleasure of your overstimulated sex rocket through your body. The sounds coming from you were foreign and animal, and emphasized even more as you felt the last thread of your sanity snap. Your vision blurred completely as you gushed over Halsin’s hand, your body almost convulsing as you came, his hand on your horn and you leaning on his chest the only reason you were even upright. You vaguely noticed the night sky, and someone moving your body to the water’s edge.

When you came to, Halsin was cleaning your body with a cool wet rag, smiling down at you as your eyes finally focused. “Welcome back, Art.” You looked around – it appeared you were in the same place, at the same time of day. Alive. “Halsin I-“ He shushed you, putting the rag down and running his hands through your now undone hair. The collection of delicate gold chains which usually hung from your horns were in another clean rag next to it. “You are fine my love, it was overwhelming for me too. We probably should have discussed my affinity for overstimulation beforehand.” You ran your hand down Halsin’s face, drawing him in for a kiss. “I enjoyed it very very much. I wouldn’t change a thing.” Halsin aided you in redonning your camp clothes, sneaking kisses every step of the way, checking in with you, casting a healing spell that fortunately couldn’t do anything about the ache between your legs. With what was before you, the challenges, you had no idea when you’d be able to do this again, and you wanted to remember and feel it for as long as possible. He did end up carrying you back to camp, setting you in your tent with a deep kiss goodnight, stressing your need for sleep if you were to continue your journey tomorrow. As you drifted to sleep, you felt the emptiness between your legs, rubbing your things together elicited an electric shock through your body that warned you against doing that again. You were 100% sure you wouldn’t be able to deal with someone touching your clit again for at least a tenday, if not two. Now to break that news to Astarion.

Bonus: Astarion had been waiting for Art to return all night, he was nothing if not a gossip and gods, he wanted to hear everything. But when he watched Halsin carry Art back, and Art's knees all but wobble the few steps into their tent? He needed more than gossip, he needed to tadpole that information out of Art. He started the dash across the few tents between his and Art's, confident everyone was asleep before a deep voice rang out across camp with his name. Astarion's eyes flew up to meet Halsin's, where he stood half in and half out of his tent with a smile on his face. "I may not have a tadpole, but I can show you exactly what happened anytime you want." Astarion, for once lost for words, nodded enthusiastically and silently slipped into Art's tent to the sound of Halsin's rich laughter.

[scampdoodle]

Sweet and gentle

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hello Darling

Summary: Tiriel desperately searches for Astarion as he loses his immunity to sunlight.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, post-game, named Tav, established relationship, f!tav, patch 6 update

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

The burn left from the fight and dulled by the tadpole pierces  Tiriel’s stomach and she falls to her knees, paralyzed by the pain.

 It's over.

The tadpole is gone. She is free. She will never become a mind flayer, she will never have to face  that blasted dream visitor. 

Then, she hears the scream. It's a cry of pain, of despair, familiar and shocking.

Astarion is burning in the sunlight.

His beautiful face is gray like ash, his eyes white as if he were blind. Astarion reaches out his hand for Tiriel as if she could save him from  this peril. She has saved him so many times, she can do it again!

But her own pain pierces her body. Tiriel presses her arms to her stomach. She is going to die, she thinks. They both are.

"Astarion, hide!" someone cries out, and Tiriel loses consciousness.

The blissful darkness takes her.

No nightmares, no horrors, no dream visitors. Nothing. Just beautiful nothingness.

She wakes up in a dimly lit room. Her head hurts as if her skull had been crushed by a hammer. She is half naked, her belly heavily bandaged. The throat is sore and her legs are numb.

Tiriel is so exhausted she could sleep for a few weeks.

Four months of non stop traveling. Of fear, anxiety, and never ending stress. Tiriel had never had to make so many decisions in her life. Excusing orders, negotiating, and planning. She is just a lonely traveler, for fuck sake, not a warlady!

And now she can just rest.

The memories slowly crawl into her head and she remembers Astarion’s desperate cry.

A wave of panic  crushes her.

Where is he?!

Tiriel’s only known him for four months, but she is sure they were meant to meet each other. She had never loved anyone before him. His cold body, his pale skin, his sharp mind, his… radiant hope. 

What if he died?

Tiriel makes herself sit up. The idea that her love turned into ashes horrifies her. He was in such pain, he was so afraid. What if he is gone?

Life is truly unfair, isn’t it?

It couldn’t end well. No happily “ever after” for the undead.

Tiriel makes an effort to calm herself down. There are many places to hide. Basements, houses, debris… The whole city is in ruins, he has enough shadow to hide in…

The other realization makes her sick.

Sunlight isn’t his only enemy anymore. He also can’t go inside without an invitation.

He could have burned down in front of the open door to the darkest room in Baldur’s Gate because no one invited him in!

Still dizzy, Tiriel puts on her camp clothes (no need to attract unnecessary attention with her shiny Drow armor) and rushes outside the inn.

The city has been truly destroyed by the Netherbrain, and whatever future lies ahead Baldur’s Gate will never be the same. 

Tiriel wanders the street for hours—she visits the graveyard, the ruins of the vampire lord’s mansion, dozens of places but  Astarion is nowhere to be seen.

He’s known the city for centuries. Tiriel, whose first impression of the city was ruined by the mind flayers, stands no chance of finding the vampire.

By the end of the night, she feels like a lost child. Tiriel hasn’t felt so miserable since the day she woke up in the mountains all alone and cold. She was fifteen, and her rage blurred her mind making her run away from an abusive household. She wanted to go back, to the warmth of the house, to sit by the fireplace even if her stepfather would have beaten her again. To just be somewhere she belongs, not in the middle of nowhere with no weapons or armor.

The sun is slowly rising above the sea and the skies slowly turn blue. Tiriel sniffs. She's gotten too used to NOT being alone, a very unfamiliar concept to be honest. 

Well, if Astarion isn’t back, if she fails to find him, she will have to go. This city makes her sick, it’s too big, too dirty, too crowded. She will walk the roads of Faerun just like she has ever since she was fifteen. The memories will fade and she will probably question why she fell for Astarion in the first place. He is a difficult person, traumatized, angry, his bruises and wounds are invisible to anyone, and the facade of lies is inseparable from his personality.

Tiriel’s heart sinks at the very thought she might not ever see him again.

A tear flows down her cheek and she immediately wipes it away. She is a warrior. A barbarian. No one must see her cry or in pain. Women like her are alive as long as people perceive them as emotionless marble statues. Weakness turns people like her into victims.

But it felt so nice to be weak in Astarion’s arms. To let him tend her wounds, to cry in his arms… He would never admit it, but she knew he loved protecting her.

The night search exhausts Tiriel and she returns to her room in the inn. The warrior locks the door — she doesn’t want to deal with intruders —and falls on the bed, pressing her face against the pillow.

Astarion is gone. If he is alive, she will never find him. If he is dead, she will never bury him. In any case, Tiriel the Barbarian is on her own again.

She  makes herself a promise not to fall for anyone ever again.

When she wakes up hours later, her head doesn’t ache anymore and her whole body feels rested. 

“Hello darling”

She startles at the familiar voice.

Astarion lies beside her, with the palm of his hand under his cheek. His eyes are soft and tender and he has the stupidest smile shining on his face.

“You…” she gasps. “You are back!”

“Of course I am”, Astarion leans to her and kisses her forehead, and then rests his head on the pillow. “You are so adorable when you sleep.”

“I thought you died,” she whispers. “Where were you?”

Astarion touches her cheek. “I was hiding.”

“But you could have returned to the inn once the night fell! I was looking for you!”

His face darkens. “It’s because of hunger. It…blurred my mind. The sun damaged me and once I got to the shadow I was starving and just forgot everything. Who I was, who you were. I fed on… something… I don’t remember what and my mind returned to me. And I was so embarrassed by what I truly am and was afraid to come back”

“But you did.”

“I did.”

They lay in silence contemplating each other’s faces. Tiriel's heart melts at how adorable he looks. He doesn’t pretend, doesn't play, doesn’t act. That’s him, that’s the real him. Hidden and concealed for two hundred years.

“How did you get inside?” she asks. “This isn’t the room we lived in. I thought you needed an invitation?”

Astarion shrugs. “I do need to be invited if I don't want to bump into an invisible wall I can’t go through. When I picked the lock I was sure I would just stand there unable to enter. But apparently… I was invited anyway.”

Tiriel nuzzles his collarbone and wraps her arms around him.

“Tiriel?”

“Hm?”

“You aren’t going to… break up with me, right?”

His voice sounds so helpless and vulnerable that it makes Tiriel hug him tighter. 

“Of course not.”

He cups her cheeks and kisses her. Tiriel leans to him pressing their bodies against each other.

Then Astarion starts talking.

He speaks about freedom, the future, the places they may visit, and things they can do.

“Tiriel”

“What is it, my love?”

“I need to… rest. Can you stay by my side until I wake up?”

Tiriel kisses the tip of his nose. “Sure. I will be right there.”

Astarion buries his nose in her chest, and Tiriel lulls him to his trance.

As she promised, she doesn’t go anywhere. Time to time she moves a bit not to let her limbs stiff.

Then, she notices Astarion slowly waking up. His eyelids are half-open, his mouth cracks a smile. Tiriel draws an invisible line along his nose.

“Hello, darling,” she whispers to him.

--

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

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 10: Eclipsing Shadows

Summary: Astarion remained a spawn after ending the reign of Cazador with your help. After defeating the Netherbrain, you and Astarion stay together, moving forward with your lives. You reside in a small house in the city. One night, after an awkward and concerning interaction with him, he disappears without a trace.

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.6K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

64.media.tumblr.com

Please note:

There are mentions of Astarion's trauma in this chapter.

Mr. Blackwell’s green eyes look like murky poison puddles that drip with corrosive contempt. His burgundy garb is wrinkled, creased and stained, clearly unchanged for some time. Whatever remains of his sparse, dingy-grey hair is slick with grease, dishevelled, and unkempt. He’s in a plight of disrepair not often seen in the noble class, eliciting wide-eyed stares and snickers from the crowd in the ballroom.

Guards are warily observing the onset of the altercation with avid attention. Their hands instinctively drift and sit precariously on the hilts of their weapons. You can hear the clinking of metal amour as they inch closer, ready to spring into action. From what you know of Mr. Blackwell, he is well-connected and an influential figure in Waterdeep. If you allow the quarrel to escalate, the guards will likely take heed of his requests and pay little attention to yours. You must tread carefully, a daunting prospect as your palms heat and your temper bubbles under your skin like an overboiling cauldron.

Your eyes scan the mob roving through the ballroom, subtly looking for Astarion. Aldous spoke to his father about the pale Elf with red eyes. You cannot allow Mr. Blackwell to gleam a view of Astarion. Quick and practiced, you take inventory of all possible exits and escapes while you count the guards.

Your neglect to answer him only irritates Mr. Blackwell further, and he crams himself into your line of sight. He is not a small man and towers over you. “Did you hear me, girl?” He squalls, gruff and strident. His hands slam into the wall beside your head with an ear-splitting boom as he barricades you in. “What have you done with my son, you fucking miscreant!”

Girl? Miscreant?! Why did I tell Astarion that murder was off the table?

His fetid breath feathers over your face. An inhuman, snake-like grin splits your lips as your adrenaline spikes. You’ve rivalled devils in the Hells, eradicated a vampire lord, euthanized countless fiends, and rained death down on hordes of shadow-cursed creatures. You will not be intimidated by the likes of this cretin.

“Mr. Blackwell,” you purr unenthusiastically, straightening your back, squaring your shoulders, and bedecking your face with a saintly visage. “Welcome home. It’s good to see you. What’s this about your son? Is Aldous missing?”

“Don’t play stupid, sorceress.” Mr. Blackwell roars. His face reddens further as he descends deeper into his fit of rage. Blue-hued veins pop from his forehead and neck as he snarls in your face with bared teeth. Your palms heat until blisteringly hot, and you resist the urge to shove him. “I know it was you. Where is he? Where is my boy?!”

Dead, and rightfully so.

The guards are getting antsy, shuffling from foot to foot, and the other patrons gape at the dispute before them. A crowd of onlookers is starting to form behind Mr. Blackwell. They stare and laugh with gleeful tittering as the show plays out. Your heart crashes against your sternum, playing your ribs like a drum. Your blood is broiling in your veins, and your fingers twitch with the urge to incinerate the threat.

Where in the Hells is Astarion? He would have heard this as soon as it started. You’re surprised and infinitely relieved that a dagger has not skewered Mr. Blackwell yet, but his absence is starting to make you uneasy. Have the guards already apprehended him? Did Mr. Blackwell recognize and have him arrested? Astarion would not go quietly, and you haven’t heard or seen any evidence of a struggle elsewhere. Astarion is far from stupid. He may know that his presence will only magnify the issue, but it’s unlikely to stop him from stepping in. You grumble under your breath at the thought. No matter what he’s seen you do or how powerful you are, Astarion protects you as if you’re a fragile wildflower, but you are not fragile like a flower; you’re fragile like an unstable explosive.

I protect him with the same ferocity, and I will never stop. Perhaps we are even.

You lean close to Mr. Blackwell, almost nose to nose, and growl under your breath, “You would do well to get out of my face lest I introduce you to the fire of my ancestors.”

Mr. Blackwell gnashes his teeth, narrowing his eyes as his forehead pinches, “You dare to threaten me?!”

Oh, yes. I dare.

Your temper is getting away with you. A hand clasps Mr. Blackwell’s shoulder, and you almost lurch forward, preparing for the fight that is sure to ensue, until you see Gale, wearing an elegant and regal mauve suit with one arm behind his back. You’ve never been so damn relieved not to see Astarion.

Gale’s face is composed with a cordial smile, and he laughs kindly as if nothing is amiss. You see the pink current of the Weave wash over Mr. Blackwell and recognize Charm Person as Gale casts imperceptibly with naught but a murmur.

“Of course not, Mr. Blackwell,” Gale assures in a charitable tenor. “Such a thing would be crass. Isn’t that right, my friend?” Gale prompts you. Gale is skilled, but his charisma is not nearly as honed as yours, and you recognize the petition for assistance charming the man.

Cloaking your voice in an alluring baritone, you put your silver tongue to work, “Quite right, Gale. I would never dare utter such ill-portent to our very good friend here.”

Mr. Blackwell’s eyes glass over as the spell and your charm ensnare him, dousing his rage like water to flame. Mr. Blackwell leans back, tottering on his legs, and mumbles through numb lips, “Of course not. I must have been mistaken. Please, forgive the outburst.”

“All is forgiven,” you shrug while revelling in the influence you have over feeble minds and continue your coercion. “Mr. Blackwell was just telling me he was on his way home. He is ever so weary from his travels. We should not retain him, Gale.”

“Yes.” Mr. Blackwell stammers, blinking hard as your suggestion plants and grows roots. “Yes, I was just about to retire for the night.”

Gale nods curtly to Mr. Blackwell while offering you his arm, “Get some rest. We should be going as well. It’s getting quite late. Dawn is almost upon us, after all.”

Taking Gale’s offered arm, he leads you away from the onlookers ogling you. The guards have relaxed as tensions decrease, but they still watch you with a keen eye. Gale’s warning starts to sink in.

Dawn? Fuck! Where is Astarion? He must get home.

Your grip slips from Gale, but he catches it and pats your arm, “Keep calm. Your panic will only further alarm the guards, and I fear they will not be as easily swayed as Mr. Blackwell. We are quite a team, but we cannot charm them all without someone taking notice. Astarion is waiting for us outside, just beyond the grounds.”

“Astarion is outside?” You query with an arched brow.

Gale nods, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with people who take notice of him. Once he’s managed to excuse himself from the tedious small talk, he leans close. “I sought him out as soon as I arrived. He is ever so antagonistic and easily provoked when it comes to you. The man would brave the sun if he thought you were in danger. It was considerably difficult to convince him it was best to leave it to me. I apologize I did not come to your aid first. I know you have more sense than he and would a keep cool-head. When I found him, the idiot had already drawn his damn weapons. Always violence first with him, isn’t it?”

You swallow hard and keep your mouth firmly shut. Gale knows you, but perhaps not as well as he thinks. You would have incinerated that man as soon as he stuck his face in yours, guards and onlookers be damned. You do not take life unnecessarily, but you take it without guilt when there is a threat to your friends. Mr. Blackwell is a danger to Astarion, and you can be impetuous when it comes to him.

“Thank you, Gale.” You breathe a long sigh as relief sates your nerves. “How did you know?”

“Mr. Blackwell came to the manor looking for you. I tried to appease him, but I am neither as intimidating nor convincing as you are, and he stormed off before I could get more than a word or two in. I knew he would go scouring the parties for Aldous and more than likely come across you.” Gale chuckles, “I’ve been through several of these celebrations tonight. I should have known to go to the most extravagant one first.”

“Mr. Blackwell will be back.” You point out, mouth twisting into a grimace as your mind tries to piece together some semblance of a plan. “We have not heard the last of this.”

“No,” Gale murmurs. “We most definitely have not. It is my hope that he doesn’t realize I charmed him tonight. If he does, it will only compound his fervour. We will have to tread these waters carefully. If this reaches the Masked Lords of Waterdeep…” Gale trails off with a sullen shake of his head, “May the dice roll in our favour.”

Your eyes bulge. You don’t know much about the government of Waterdeep, but everyone has heard of the masked lords. A ruling council whose identities were well hidden and carefully guarded.

“Could he really do that? Take it to that height?” You wheeze breathlessly as an invisible hand grips your lungs and clenches, “The Lords of Waterdeep surely wouldn’t concern themselves with such a trivial matter of a missing boy. Would they?”

Gale shrugs, “I wish I could say. Mr. Blackwell is exceptionally renowned. It’s plausible that he will go to great lengths, and I’m unsure how far his reach extends. I will do what I can to protect you and Astarion, but even my influence has limits.”

The brisk air bristles against your skin, giving you goosebumps or perhaps that’s due to Gale’s mention of the lords, as you and Gale continue your hastened retreat. Gale takes long strides, making you trot beside him to keep pace since you are considerably shorter than he. What is with men and walking as fast as they can? You would ask Gale to slow down, but you’re in a hurry to get away. The rapid click, click, click of your heels on the stone makes you uneasy, as it sounds like a clock counting down your final moments.

There’s an eerie reticence in the courtyard this evening, as silent as the sheeted dead, as if the city beyond these stone walls has ceased to exist. A ghostly wind causes your modest steel-silver dress to flutter around your knees. The scent of incoming rain hangs thick in the air while drab clouds swarm the sky as a storm coming off the ocean makes landfall, and the weather fronts interact.

Magic glows in your eyes and fingertips as you practice the various spells in your repertoire. Your fingers are a spectacular florid ballet, the Weave tiptoeing over the pads as you rehearse the movements for Sunbeam, Chain Lightning, Cloudkill, and Blight and recite the incantations in your mind like a sermon without ultimately casting as you drill yourself. Weaving the intricate web of the Weave is ingrained in your soul, and this is not an exercise you need to practice, but the recent events and Gale’s mention of the Masked Lords have caused anxiety to breed in your muscles. You need to make sure you’re ready for war. You’re an incredibly gifted sorceress with the ferocity of your draconic ancestors dwelling in your blood. You can be death incarnate, and you will be if it comes to it. You will raze this damn city to the ground if it means to harm Astarion. No one will hurt him again if your lungs still draw breath.

You’re glowing so brightly, the Weave shimmering around you like an aurora, that you don’t notice that day has fallen victim to night when Astarion breezes into the courtyard. He looks at you, brandishes his dagger with a finesse that never fails to impress and descends into a defensive stance. He observes the surroundings with an acute eye and gives you a questioning look after he’s assessed there’s no danger.

With a quick step you learned from him, you pivot and toss a very weak Fire Bolt straight toward him. Astarion whirls, his propensity for dexterity evident in his movement, avoiding the spell.

“Impressive agility. I’m glad I taught you something at least, but what in the Hells was that for?” He smirks with a tsk and clicks his tongue. “At least, I ask before I bite. I am civil - unlike you.”

“Just making sure you’re not getting sloppy,” you giggle with a virtuous shrug.

“If that would have hit me, I would have deserved it,” he chuckles and glowers at you with an amused grin. “That was far too slow and weak. I did not even feel the heat from it. You can do infinitely better than that. Even I can cast that cantrip. Come on, darling. If you’re going to spar with me, you could at least give me the decency of a challenge.”

“A challenge, hm?” You smirk wickedly. Sparring with him isn’t a new activity. When you lived with him, you two would often spar long into the night until you were both sweating and tired. He craves thrill and danger as much as you, and you keep each other on your toes. “As you wish.”

Astarion’s rapscallion smile and the way he bends lightly at the knees indicate that he welcomes this exchange. The Weave brightens around you, and you cast Fire Bolt repeatedly in quick succession with a little more power and speed behind it with lithe steps. Astarion swings his body, nimbly ducking, dodging and avoiding everything you throw at him as he advances toward your position until he’s in front of you and takes you into his arms while he laughs.

“You caught me once. It tickled.” He glances toward a small burn mark on his shirt, “If anyone has gotten sloppy, it’s you.”

“What you call sloppy, I call careful casting,” you giggle.

“Sloppy,” he corrects, narrowing those scarlet eyes glinting vibrantly with excitement and adrenaline. “You’re already a veritable sovereign when it comes to magic. How about we work on expanding your skillset?” He twirls a dagger at his side without so much as looking at it, catches the blade between his fingers, and settles the hilt in your hand with a devious grin. Astarion takes a few steps backward and motions you forward, “Come on. Attack me.”

You stare at the dagger, your fingers sliding over the metal hilt, “You want me to come at you with a knife? Have you gone completely mad? There are training dummies right there.”

“Oh yes, those will surely help you.” Astarion rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue with audible disapproval of your reluctance. “I am positive your attacker will stand stationary for you so you can stab them - if you ask nicely enough. You will learn nothing from those.”

It’s unlikely that you’ll hurt him. Hells, if you did somehow manage to so much as nick him, Astarion would probably be proud of you, but you stare at the shiny steel with trepidation, “What if I cut you?”

Astarion’s head tilts back, and he laughs loudly, “Oh, you are adorable. Thank you for your concern, but I assure you, I will be fine. You’re more likely to hurt yourself, and if you somehow do cut me, what does it matter? It’s not like you can kill me further.” He giggles, “Now, remember your footwork and keep the sharp pointy end directed toward me and not yourself, love.”

Well, multiclassing never hurts.

Slipping off your sandals, you recall everything he’s ever taught you or tried to, at least. Bending your knees and rolling your weight into your heels for balance, you lunge toward him. You and he spar while he deflects your attacks with an ease that vexes you, and he barks various instructions - straighten your back, keep your weight centred, don’t lean forward, and use your momentum until your heart beats hard, a prisoner in a cage constructed of bone. Exhausted, you sit on the ground, gulping down ragged breaths.

Astarion crosses his arms with a chuckle, “Done, are you? Well, I’ve certainly seen worse - from a babe. Do not go getting into any knife fights without me. You will surely get yourself run through.”

“Astarion,” you throw your head backward exaggeratedly with the back of your hand against your forehead, “you wound me. I think I could rival you with one or two more lessons.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “One or two centuries of lessons, perhaps. You stick to magic. I will happily do any required stabbing.”

The man doesn’t need to breathe, and you know it, but he’s not even sweating. You frown at him while wiping your brow, “Could you please pretend to be winded at least?”

“Apologies. Where are my manners?” Astarion drops to his knees and gives you a gentle shove, sending you sprawling to your back. Crawling over you, he mimics your heavy breathing with a smug smirk, “Better?”

Rolling your eyes, you stick your tongue out at him frivolously, “Kiss me, you fool.”

“Blood running a little hot, sweetheart?” He purrs sensuously, pressing his body into you, grabbing your thigh and guiding it around his waist, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Astarion’s lips mould to yours, cool silk against your heated pout and as delightful to the senses as plunging into cool water on an arid day. His tongue traces your lower lip, enticing your mouth to part. His taste is rich and hypnotic, a firewater of desire and good Gods, it’s intoxicating. His fingers trail up the delicate skin of your upper thigh with firm pressure, leaving blazing trails of icy fire, coalescing between your legs and making you throb. Bolts of electricity amble up your spine in a slow progression, making your body shiver awkwardly as bumps rise over your skin.

Astarion wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you to your feet, tugging your dress back into place, and you give him a quizzical look.

“Gale has returned,” Astarion says, smoothing your hair down. “That man has the worst timing. Also, a bath. You smell.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you groan at his candidness. With a gentle shove, you grumble under your breath and stalk away from him to your room.

There’s a chill in the air that sinks its teeth into even his already frosty skin. Winter is drawing near. The trees have shed their leaves, preparing for dormancy, and the ground is stiff beneath his boots. He’s tired and filthy, spending much of his days lately in caves or held up in shabby barns or abandoned shacks during the day as he continues to run from the only love he has ever known. He has been lucky so far. He can often make it to the next godforsaken hovel to find shelter if he travels fast enough through the night, but as he progresses, the little towns are growing further apart. One of these days, he may not be able to find shelter before dawn, and the sun will consume him - a rather painful demise for a vampire.

Before Astarion enters the ramshackle tavern in this puny rural town in the middle of nowhere, he casts his eyes skyward and looks at the silvery moon as he does every night. If nothing else, he can take comfort in the fact that she is somewhere, under the same stars, and maybe, just maybe, she is looking at the moon, too.

The tavern is as destitute as the rest of this town, with low ceilings and lit by only a few oil lamps, giving it a gloomy atmosphere. It’s quiet. No minstrel or bard plays music here, and the only sounds that can be heard are the dragging of flagons across the rough tabletops and the grotesque gulps and burps of the few downtrodden labourers and drunks. It smells of mildew, fetid spirits and vomit. He crinkles his nose. He usually mimics breathing out of habit in public, but for this place, he will make an exception.

The floor is absurdly tacky, and even he can’t help the sound his boots make as they peel off it. He orders a pint and sits in a rickety chair that wobbles underneath him. Calling the ale rotten would be an understatement. He’s never tasted anything quite so vile in all his two centuries, and his diet once consisted of dead, putrid rats. It’s hard to say which is worse.

A pair of ne’er-do-wells attempted to extort some coin out of him by betting they could juggle more daggers than he. Fools. Even if blind drunk, his dexterity would be vastly superior to theirs. They could scarcely juggle two - child’s play for him. They left quickly with superficial lacerations to their fingers and hands. He wishes she had been here to witness this. They would have had a good laugh. She always loved watching him.

Even though the ale is terrible, the little table is starting to fill with emptied flagons. Tonight, every iota of him aches loudly in the silence of her absence. He does not need to trance, not since the tadpole no longer wriggles in his skull, but he will, if only so he can fall into a memory where they are sure to meet.

His vision is blurred, and his mind thinks of nothing but her. What would she be doing right now? Reading by the fire and sipping wine? Trying to mend her clothes and doing a terrible job now that he is no longer there to do it for her? Sleeping in their bed? Would she be alone, or would Halsin or Gale have come to console her? With him out of the picture, perhaps she could find happiness with one of them. The thought makes his very bones throb, and his fingers wrack through his hair, unsettled by the notion of any but him with her in their bed.

Astarion empties the next flagon and frowns while he grinds it across the table, clinking it against its fallen brethren.

Gale would be the most likely. Gale was a powerful wizard, but he had always been fascinated by her innate authority over the Weave. Where Gale had to read books, scrolls, practice and study spells, she could simply cast them reflexively with little effort. Early in their adventure, Gale had tried to beguile her, boasting his control of the Weave with a demonstration. Astarion watched with curiosity to see if she would reciprocate the obvious flirtation. She kept a straight face, smiling politely and copying as instructed until the foray was completed. She walked away with her arms crossed and a hard roll of her eyes in exasperation while Gale watched her all dew-eyed. It made him snicker at the time.

Despite his prowess, wealth and renown, Gale would probably bore her into an early grave. She craved excitement, risk, Hells, even danger. She needed someone not afraid to get into a little, or a lot, of trouble. She would not be satisfied sitting idle in a library for the rest of her days. She loves fiercely and deserves to be loved fiercely in return with untamed, unbridled passion.

Hot baths. Animals. Fresh fruit. Red roses. Long walks through moonlight forests at night. All the things she loves flit through his mind.

Her face appears in his blurry vision, laughing as she runs through the forest with him hot on her heels. Her modest pastel green dress waves in the wind. She casts Misty Step and disappears from his view. She is not quiet in the forest and knows it, but she pops out from behind the large trunk of a tree and yells, “Boo!” He pretends to be startled, but she doesn’t believe his facade and dissolves into adorable giggles.

She strolls up to him, smiling brightly, still laughing, and the stars themselves descend from the heavens and twinkle in her eyes. Her voice, majestic like a siren’s song, fills his ears as she says, “You’re an adorable idiot. I love you, Astarion.”

He smiles, blinks, and the memory dissipates. He tries to hold onto it, but it withdraws despite his efforts to keep her with him.

A woman’s voice catches his attention, “Stop, please. I said no.”

In Astarion’s drunken daze, he almost hears her voice, but it’s a hint too breathy and modulated. He narrows his eyes and tries to peer past the film of inebriation, mucking up his vision and making him see double. A young woman sits at the bar, and a man much older and ragged-looking pets her hair with clumsy fingers, muttering slurred, vulgar innuendos. She tries to push him away from her, but it’s futile. The man stumbles and chortles, taking another noisy sip of his ale, missing his mouth and washing his beard with it.

He cringes with a roll of his eyes. This is not his business. He does not fancy himself a hero, and he is not foolish enough to get caught up in such a quandary. He peers into his empty flagon. A deep, dark well of sorrow gazes back at him from the bottom. He should leave and return to the inn, where he can slip into his trance and be with her until the sun dips below the horizon.

“I said stop!” The woman’s voice rings out higher, making his ears twitch and grating on his nerves. It’s so close to hers that he has trouble reminding himself it’s not. It can’t possibly be because he... he left her.

He looks around the tavern, hoping someone else will step in, but no one even lifts their sagged heads to assess the situation. He leans back in his unsteady chair, and his fingers rap against the table with hard, rhythmic thumps portraying his increasing frustration.

He is no hero.

“No! I said no!” 

Is no one going to do anything? Really? He growls, clenching his jaw and grating his teeth. The woman’s voice is just too close to hers. It’s making his fingers twitch over the hilt of his dagger, and his muscles tense.

“No! Please, stop. Help!”

The woman’s shoes drag across the floor, and he’s already out of his chair, stalking toward the commotion with a haunting scowl. He ignores the itch to draw his blade. If she taught him anything, it’s that talking is often all that is necessary, but if all else fails, he has no issue with killing.

He is a little peckish.

He stands beside the woman with his practiced liar’s smile, “My friend, how lovely to see you again. Funny we should meet here of all places.”

The man glowers at him through droopy, glassy eyes, releasing the woman’s arm. The woman simply stares at him, her cheeks tear-streaked and ruddy, unsure of what to do.

Gods, these people are dull. All she must do is play along. He attempts to make his intentions plain, “Allow me to walk you home. We can catch up on the way.”

“That lady is coming home with me.” The man snarls, poking his shoulder with a finger that he can’t even keep straight.

This man would be easy pickings indeed if it came to it.

“No.” Astarion stands tall, squaring his shoulders and layering on his most intimidating intonation, “I will be taking her home. If you try to stop me, I know a thousand ways to gut you before you can so much as blink. Do not tempt me.”

“Ah Hells,” the man snickers after sizing him up and stumbles back, “She’s not worth the trouble. She’s all yours.”

He hoped the man would force his hand, but this is probably for the best. He is looking forward to resting indoors today. It has been many days since he was able to wait out the day in a room with a bed that did not smell like some form of livestock.

The woman turns to him with big, round eyes full of adoration and grabs his arm, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Astarion doesn’t quite know how to react, and he does not like the way she is eyeing him. He pulls his arm out of her grasp, “I’ll walk you home. Let’s go.”

The night feels too silent and still around him as he walks the dim streets. The woman follows on his heels, blabbering and stuttering her praises and gratitude. He doesn’t speak another word to her as he fights his mind. Emotions are stirring in his head. He's unsettled, angry even, and he doesn’t understand why. At least the walk isn’t long in a small place like this.

As soon as the woman opens her door, he turns to walk away.

“Won’t you come in?” Her eyes slink over him, and he feels revulsion. No one but her should be looking at him like that, and it only increases his discomfort further, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t give it,” he snaps back gruffly.

He keeps walking until he feels the woman’s hand clutch the back of his shirt, her fingernails grazing over his scars. Those old emotions flood him - fear, loathing, disgust, and he whirls with a fanged snarl.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh! I-I’m sorry, Astarion.” Her hand recoils from his back, and she jumps away, pressing herself to the headboard with eyes rounded in confusion. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Do you want me to go?”

Shit.

He let his mind wander off with him, and the memory bled into reality. Blinking hard, he reorients himself. He’s safe in Gale’s manor. He is with her. It was her touching his back - at his request, of course.

He jumps off the bed, flexing his hands as he paces the room. He needs time to get his head straight, but the raw anguish in her eyes is gnawing at him. This is why he left in the first place. He keeps hurting her when the storm sweeps him away in a flash flood, and he’s lost in it.

“I’ll go and give you some time.” She slips into her housecoat, cinching it at her waist and opens the door. Before she closes it, she turns to him, “I’m so sorry, Astarion. If you need space for the night, I understand. I will rest in my room tonight.”

He can’t get his godsdamned mouth to move or his tongue to form words. He stands idly as she closes the door behind her. He listens to her bare feet pad down the hallway at a quick trot and then the click of her door closing. His hands wrack through his hair, fingers curling into it. He knows better than to let his mind drift aimlessly, although the fact that it did roam is an interesting development. He’s used to being able to think of nothing but withstanding the sensation of her hands on his back. He’s improving, albeit slowly.

He laces his hands behind his head, arches his back and stretches his tight chest, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Astarion closes his eyes and shakes out his arms.  He feels panicked and tense. His skin squirms as if snakes are writhing below the surface. Patrolling his bedroom, he tries to mollify his unease, taking deep breaths of air he doesn’t need. The memory has agitated him for some reason that he can’t quite put his finger on.

His ears twitch as they catch suppressed weeping from her room. Fuck, he’s upset her. This was not her fault. It’s been a while since he went and fucked things up like he always does. He leans on the wall and closes his eyes. Did he make a mistake returning? For months, his singular goal was to find her, but now he wonders if this was selfish. He could not stand living without her, but she may have been better without him.

Astarion is sliding down an icy hill made of doubt, and he can’t stop his descent. Has he doomed her to a life sharing his pain? What does he have to offer her other than his unconditional love? The shadows have claimed him once more.

No.

He can’t let himself fall back into old patterns. She can handle his darkness.

The silence of this room without her heartbeat is dark and heavy. She should be here with him. A chill like an electric bolt runs down his spine at the sight of the empty room when he opens his eyes. It reminds him of when he left, a year as nightmarish as the one he spent in that tome, alone and hungry. He aches to hold her.

He takes long strides and taps on her door lightly.

“Are you okay, Astarion?” She sniffles, trying hard to confine the tears, making her eyes shine.

“I’m fine. Come here.” He wraps his arms around her, kissing her forehead and pressing his cheek against her. She hugs him awkwardly, more awkwardly than he hugged her the first time they did this. She keeps her hands off him, arms stiff at her sides. “It’s okay. You can touch me.”

She hesitates before placing her hands on his waist. He kisses her temple, gently grabs her arms and guides them around him, “A proper hug, yes? You can touch my back, love. It’s alright.”

He can feel the warmth of her hands hovering over his back, unsure, but slowly press into him, and she hugs him tightly. He’s surprised to find that it soothes the agitation. The spring coiled around his chest, constricting it, dissipates in her arms. He takes a deep breath to test how good the looseness feels.

“Come back to our room, hm? I will explain what happened.”

“You don’t have to explain,” she murmurs against him.

“I know,” he rubs her back, “but I want to - if you’re willing to hear it, of course.”

“Always.”

They sit on the bed as he describes the memory in as much detail as possible. She stays quiet as she always did, waiting patiently when he must take a moment to collect himself, offering him her hand. When something he recalls upsets him further, she squeezes his fingers, grounding him and encouraging him to take a break - when and if he needs to.

“I don’t know why it agitated me so much. It made me afraid,” he rasps faintly with a shaky breath as his brows pinch together, perplexed. It’s still troubling him. “Her touching my back was not the only reason, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

She nods with a contemplative gaze. Her beautiful doe-eyes blink as she ponders, and the candlelight scintillates in them. She grabs a blanket and pats her lap, “Do you want to put your head in my lap?”

He smiles. She always knows exactly what he needs. Astarion rests his head on her legs, and she covers him with the blanket, making sure his back and scars are entirely cloaked. Tucking it around him, like he tucks her in at night to ensure it doesn’t slip.

Rubbing his arm, she keeps her voice to a solacing whisper, “Do you want to know what I think, or would you rather I just listen?”

She has always been keenly observant and deeply perceptive. Often able to gleam the tiniest subtleties in inflection, tone or body language. It is what makes her a master at persuasion and intimidation. Her insight is as boundless as the cosmos. If anyone can help him shed light on this, it’s her. If he is to heal, he needs to know what provokes these feelings.

“I have gone over it in my mind time and time again,” he sighs. “I cannot figure it out myself. Tell me what you think.”

“Stop me at any point if you no longer wish to hear it,” she urges. “May I hug you closer?”

With the blanket covering his back and scars, he feels protected and secure. He nods, “Yes.”

She curls around him. Her warmth seeps into him, forcing back the gloom. “You said you did not like the way she looked at you. You mentioned it twice. What look did she give you, and what did it remind you of?”

Flashes of the woman’s greedy eyes play out in his mind. She stared at him as if she wanted to devour and lose herself in him. She stared at him like he was her saviour. She stared at him like they used to stare at him before he brought them to Cazador.

Hells.

Will he ever stop being astounded with how clever she is? She’s not telling him what she thinks. She’s bringing his attention to details he skimmed over so he can work it out himself.

“It… it reminded me of the way my victims used to look at me,” his voice quivers and cracks, tears spring to his eyes, rivulets rolling out the corners. Good Gods, his body is trembling as he fights to keep his emotions from giving way. “The bloody dingy tavern, the way she simply trusted me to walk her home, the quiet, dark streets and the ardent lust in her eyes… It all felt like I was back to doing his bidding as if I was the fucking rake again.”

She rescinds her pressure on him slightly. He used to hate being touched when he felt like this, but not anymore, as long as it’s her touching him. He pulls her back around him. His body shakes more violently now as he continues to fight the overwhelming emotions.

“You don’t have to fight, Astarion. Don’t be afraid to break. We all fall.” She soothes him with an almost ethereal voice like an angel whispering, “I’ve got you. For as long as you need. I’ve always got you.”

Sobs wrack his body, tears streaming down his face, and he falls to pieces in her arms. She’s not close enough like this. His body is painfully bare without her skin on his. She is the light that drives the shadows back. She is sunshine. She is his. He shrugs off the blanket with haste. She gasps at his quick movement, and his fingers find the hem of her nightdress.

She stops him with a confused look, “Astarion, what-”

“I don’t need it,” he chokes out, hoarse and urgent. “Not with you. Not anymore. I want to feel you. Will you let me?”

She removes her nightdress and opens her arms with a smile, tears streaming down her face. She wraps her arms around him, limbs cocooning his body, and pulls him securely to her, his bare back against her warm chest, choking away the fear.

With her, he is seen. He is understood. He is safe.

“I love you, Kamena. Ai armiel telere maenen hir.” He speaks to her through sobs in Elven, their mother tongue, meaning “You hold my heart forever.”

“I love you too, Astarion. Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” she chimes with a featherlight kiss to his shoulder.

Safe in her arms, he shatters and breaks.  

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I've loved writing since I was a child but have never been confident enough to post anything for others to read. The encouragement I've received has been positively incredible, and it's been helping me through some hard times in my life - sincerely thank you so much! :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

We did name Tav in this chapter. I apologize if it's not well received but I think it will make senes going forward. I did try to do it in a natural-ish way.

[mahiiimahiiii]

have a little preview as a treat...

wow i am cranking out shit this week, turns out stress is a good motivator to write.

this comes from the office hours wip i posted a few weeks ago, feedback would be greatly appreciated as i never know if gale is written decently lol.

tdlr: rizzard recives, to be loved is to be changed, mentions of having kids, i think gale has a title or authority kink, my vision is blessed with gale with thick thighs and garter bands.

hopefully the full will be posted this weekend!!

nsfw below the cut! minors dni!!!!

You glanced up catching his eyes, he nodded. You unlaced his boxers which crackled at your touch, tugging them off his legs and tossing them somewhere. You exhaled, tail thumping against the cushions in slight excitement. Gale pursed his lips and averted his eyes, pink warming his already rosy cheeks. You kissed down the happy trail that lined his soft stomach, inhaling the scent of him contained by his skin. Rose water, oak, pine and musk, he smelt wonderfully fresh.

He was slightly self-conscious of this newer version of him, a body softened by age like a ripe peach. You thought it fitting- the softness of course- he aged well. You cupped his sides, squeezing them gently. “Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?” you ask softly.

“Many times-why do you ask?” he quirked a brow.

You shrug, lifting his thighs around your hips, giving them a firm squeeze again. “Thought I’d remind you.” You mold to his body, thighs rubbing together adding pressure to his already neglected member. Your lips mark their place down his neck, staining his skin a soft pink from your lip balm.  You made your way down again, making sure your lips marked every surface of his skin. His hips strained for movement but found none to meet it.

You marred his inner thigh with bite patterns, his skin breaking into patterns of pink and red. Your tongue ran its way up his perineum sending flames to his stomach, a squeeze to his heavy sack had him tensing beneath you.

Your nose buried in his happy trail once more- you let out a contented sigh.

His hips bucked slightly his cock tapping your chin. “my dear- be kind please- “

You grinned “gale, I don’t intend to be kind- perhaps I’m trying to enable your behavior for later.”

He let out a strained moan, his lids scrunching shut. “God id like that so much- please- “

“Like what now gale?” you teased pinching the head of his pink cock, rolling the skin up and down.

His hips strained again, a low hiss through his teeth. “Gods, you know- I don’t want to spell it out, hells.”

You stopped your slow steady strokes to kitten lick the head of his member, his fists began to clench and unclench. “I’d like to hear what you’d like, professor Dekarios. Lecture me- if you will.”

He swore under his breath one open, “you-!” his chest heaved, trying to buck his hips up from under your heavy hand. “Fuck- fine- I want to be in you- I want you to bloat with my seed. Gods-! Want everyone to know your mine- so help me- going to fuck you over my desk-.” His breathing was labored, his thighs clenching under you. His eyes went wide as he covered his mouth, poor gale was surprised by even his own vulgarity.

“you’d like to try for another child Mr. Dekarios?” you squeezed his balls sucking gently on his inner thigh.

“By the weave-! Yes-!” he sounded exasperated, his lip quivering.

“Very well, you’ve been good. I suppose you’ve earned your treat” you lowered your mouth onto him, a groan rolling through his throat. You dragged your tongue against his skin, the salt refreshing to your taste. You found the small spot on his head and rolled your tongue against it. His hands shoved down your head, burying your head into the patch of curls framing his cock. He shuffled his hands moving to your horns squeezing and fondling the base ridges. Your moan reverberated around him, he lifted his hips, the garters that held his socks squeezing the meat of his thighs.

[beangal-does-something]

Honestly, this is what I imagine the poor shopkeepers see when the squad rocks up to a shop.

Astarion: Will Bite and Stab You (on purpose)

Karlack: Can Crush and Burn You (on accident)

Shadowheart: Will Use Mental and Physical Torture (on purpose)

Avaleigh: *holding a sign* They're Nice

[thechaoticdruid]

Seriously, now!?

Astarion x Named!Tav

Plot: (Set in late act 1 early act 2) After causing a scene, embarrassing and being shouted at by their own resident wizard, Winnie storms off alone to sulk. Her monthly bleeding is upon her and is making everything seem so much worse! But perhaps her vampiric lover can make it all better?

Warnings/content: Period comfort fic (because I needed it), emotional MC, soft Astarion, Galeshaming (I'm sorry for constantly bullying Gale), Winnie is honestly being a bit petty, but Astarion doesn't care really, he's on her side anyway, angst, fluff, comfort, a wee bit of smut at the end, oral (female receiving), MDNI, possibly ooc moments, possible grammar/ spelling mistakes.

After finding only disappointment and danger from their failure at the githyanki creché, Winnie and her merry band of weirdos were now turning towards the mountain path that would lead them onward to Moonrise. They'd run into a little confrontation on the way, had to fight some undead baddies and then met face to face with the famed 'Elminster.' Winnie had no idea who he was, nor did she really care. All she was concerned with was that this guy came into her camp ate all HER cheese and then told her friend his ex wanted him to go kill himself. Needless to say the young druid was not that impressed. Despite dreaming of being a wizard as a child, Winnie had never heard of this man before. The village she was born in had been pretty cut off from the rest of the world so all the stories of heroes from all over were never told to the children living there.

"I can't believe you! Picking a fight with an old man." Gale exclaimed looking over at Winnie with disapproval.

"Last I thought you said the old man was the strongest wizard in the world." Winnie tilted her head in confusion.

"That's no excuse to get into a fist fight with him! Didn't your parents teach you to respect your elders?!" Gale shouted.

"My Gran taught me to kick ass if someone takes what is mine. Especially my food." Winnie huffed and crossed her arms. Granted Archdruid Winnifred the first was known for being a crazy old crone with a fiery temper and some outdated views. She also seemed much too calm when her husband apparently died in an owlbear attack.

Ah, but Winnie still missed her.

"Oh come on wizard, Winnie's little show was absolutely hilarious! Ahaha!" Astarion giggled. The elven vampire had been watching the chaotic scene unfold with a shit eating grin the entire time. The fact that the druid used none of her powers or weapons just made it all the better. Hells she even bit the old man.

"Hilarious!? She attacked one of the greatest wizards this world has ever known over cheese!!! A child has more restraint for gods' sake!"

"Oh, suck my dick!" Winnie snarled, quite literally making a wolfish growl at the bearded man before stomping off. Gale rubbed his temples before slumping off to his own tent.

"Winnie is rather eccentric at the best of times, but usually not this vicious." Shadowheart piped up, stepping over to join the vampire spawn.

"She has a temper, but I agree she's been acting more irritable than usual. You wouldn't know anything about this would you fangs?" Karlach asked looking over at Astarion.

"Must you assume whenever something goes wrong it's my fault?" Astarion crossed his arms.

"No one is accusing you of anything yet, but you have practically been glued to Winnie's backside as of late." Shadowheart raised an eyebrow.

"Just wanted to know if you knew if there was something going on." The tiefling female added. Astarion rolled his eyes before looking over in the direction of where Winnie had wandered off.

"Oh there is something going on, not that I'm the type to gossip about a woman's personal matters." Astarion ran a hand through his ivory curls.

"Fangs, we all know that's complete bullshit." Karlach looked at him with an unamused expression.

"Well, not about this! It's different. Even I have limits you know." Astarion murmured. He was well aware of Winnie's predicament, and if he had been completely honest he definitely would have gossiped about this sort of thing if it had been anyone else. "But perhaps I can go and calm our feisty little wolf down." The high elf suggested, hoping to keep the others from asking any more questions.

"Alright I'll go try to console Gale I think he's screaming into his pillow again...." Karlach mentioned before her and Shadowheart walked off.

Astarion looked over to where Winnie had wandered up, finding her curled up on her bed-roll under some trees. Winnie whimpered and groaned, clutching her lower stomach in pain.

"In a spot of bother are we?" Astarion looked down at her.

"Leave me alone Astarion!" Winnie snapped before covering herself in her blankets.

"Oh come on, don't be like that. I'm only here to help." Astarion sat down on the bed-roll next to her. "I know you're still mad that the mean wizard yelled at you, but if you want I can go and break his legs? Would that make you happy, dear?" Astarion practically cooed, a small smile formed on his lips as he ran a hand over her back.

"Maybe...." Winnie mumbled and glanced up at him. Astarion smirked, "I thought so." He gently caressed her head.

"I'm.....Sorry....I...I haven't been myself lately...." Winnie confessed before wincing again in pain.

"I know. I can smell the blood..." Astarion said calmly. Winnie turned bright red before hiding her face in her pillow.

"This is so embarrassing!" Winnie whimpered into her pillow. Astarion sighed before laying beside her.

"Well if it's any consolation...You smell absolutely delicious." He grinned looking over her before receiving a light smack on the chest.

"Don't be gross!" Winnie huffed, and then looked up at Astarion who was just staring at her. "I don't want to think about anything.... going on down there....right now... It's too uncomfortable..." She mumbled, before burying her head back into her pillow. Astarion frowned. Comfort was really not his thing. Whenever Winnie was feeling down, usually due to insecurities about her appearance he'd just bed her, compliment her and she'd be happy, but this was different. If she didn't want to be touched he was a little bit at a loss of what to do. Still, these gods damned feelings urged him to try something. Despite his best efforts to avoid it, he was growing attached to her.

"Come back to my tent darling." Astarion whispered as he pushed some of the druid's messy hair behind her ear.

"Astarion I just told you-"

"Not for that. I promise, just let me take care of you." Astarion sat up, looking down at the human female with a softening gaze. Winnie turned towards him and sighed.

"Fine..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winnie followed Astarion back to his tent with her things, she waited a moment for him to go inside and to take care of a few things before entering and setting her stuff down. She placed her bedroll and blankets down before noticing him placing pillows down around her stuff. She stared at him, curiously. Was this all some kind of plot? She wasn't so sure why he seemed to care this much. Astarion would usually mock someone else's pain. Sure the two of them had been sleeping together, but Astarion was quick to return to his usual apathetic self once out of the bedroom so to speak. Mocking any acts of heroism she did.

"Wait here I'll be back." Astarion ruffled her hair with a soft smile. Winnie laid there on the bedding, nuzzled her face into one of the cushy pillows Astarion had set out for her.

He'll probably just want to feed on me later.... That's it.

Winnie reached into her pack and took out a small worn out green dragon plush holding it to her chest for comfort as she curled up.

The others probably made him go after me because I was acting like a lunatic.....They all probably hate me now....

Tears began form in the corners of her eyes as she slid there. Winnie laid her head on one of the pillows before taking in the nice earthy scent of bergamot and rosemary. Her heart ached as she thought about the elf. The druid knew in her heart that it was meaningless, that he was just using her for his own gain, but she just smiled and went along with it, wanting to stay lost in him for as long as she could. With Astarion she felt something no one had ever given her before. She felt wanted. Even if it was all just a beautiful lie.

Winnie huffed, squeezing her eyes shut as tears forced their way out and began to drip down her cheeks.

She could see it happening almost vividly how he'd approach her eventually after everything at Moonrise was settled and done with.

"What were you expecting, some fairytale prince?" He'd laugh at her naivety and shake his head when began to tear up. "This is what I do. I give you a moment of escape with a world endingly beautiful vampire and you satisfy my needs. Cheer up. There's really no one better you could have spent your first time with. Especially with how homely you are."

Winnie sobbed quietly into the pillow. Her mind running wild with self loathing thoughts, imagining several different ways Astarion would break it off with her. Eventually after a while the tent flap opened and she felt a breeze brush over her cheek though she refused to look over. Astarion slipped in, carrying a well stuffed sack over his shoulder. His crimson eyes gazed over Winnie's plump curvaceous form as he sat down beside her on the bed-roll. Astarion set down the sack near the entrance of the tent before looking over Winnie further.

"Darling, I'm back." He said softly before noticing the little stuffed dragon in her arms. "What's this? Really dear a stuffed animal? You're twenty three years-" Astarion stopped his snarky comment as he noticed Winnie's red puffy eyes, her nose sniffling.

"Winnie....Did Gale come by while I was gone? Did he say something to you?" Astarion clenched his fist, about ready to go and shove the wizard inside his own bag of holding.

"No.... Nothing happened..." Winnie muttered. Astarion sighed in relief before looking back at the sack he brought with him. He opened it, taking out some wine and setting it down near the bedding.

"Then why have you been crying, my sweet?" Astarion asked, a worried frown formed over his face. "Was it something I said?"

Winnie huffed and looked back at him.

"No...I'm.......I'm just overwhelmed... Everyone depends on me and now I've gone and made myself look like a fool." Winnie said, half lying and half telling the truth. "And my bleeding isn't making it any better."

Astarion then proceeded to hand the bottle of wine to her. "Perhaps this will help your mood." Winnie looked over the bottle before drinking some. The flavor was sweet with a faint hint of bitterness masked by blackberries. She set it down before noticing Astarion fiddling with the sack again.

"I may have found a rather generous merchant nearby." The pale elf added as he took out a wooden plate with a wedge of cheese and a chicken leg on it. Winnie practically drooled at the sight before shaking her head and thinking.

"Generous? Astarion, what did you do to him?" The druid crossed her arms.

"Nothing! I assure you, he is still very much alive. I didn't hurt him....Much..." Astarion said muttering out the last part with a smirk as he thought back to how he left the merchant tied to a tree after robbing him. Winnie sighed before suddenly grabbing hold of the cheese and taking a bite. Her face almost instantly relaxed into a smile as she savored the taste biting into the chicken next. Astarion watched her contently as he made himself comfortable on the bed-roll beside her. She finished the food before setting the plate to the side and relaxing.

"Thank you. I think I feel a bit better now." Winnie murmured before looking back at Astarion.

"Happy to help, although I do expect to be paid back in full for my trouble." Astarion smiled, lips forming an awkward looking grinch like grin.

"Oh....Um... Would this work?" She pulled down her shirt, exposing her neck and shoulder to him.

"A kiss will do for now." He said, moving her hand away from her neck. Winnie blushed darkly before nodding. The brunette haired female leaned in with her lips puckered before pressing them to his sweetly. Her kiss was chaste and innocent as in lingered upon his lips. He cupped her face, returning it before pulling back and pecking her forehead.

"Ahh!" Winnie grunted in pain as Astarion pulled away, hand moving down clutch her abdomen.

"Fucking hells, why does my body hate me!" She cursed.

"Probably getting back at you for not letting me inside." Astarion joked before moving closer to her. He moved a hand over her stomach. "May I? I won't do anything perverse. I promise."

Winnie bit her lip for a moment before nodding. Astarion slid his hand under her shirt and began to rub soothing gentle circles around her lower stomach. Winnie sighed in relief, before leaning against him. Astarion smiled and laid his head on her shoulder, continuing his motions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day Gale looked around searching for one of his wizard tomes he'd forgotten he lent to Winnie just a few days prior. The wizard groaned at the prospect of possibly invoking the moody druid's wrath once more, but that was indeed a very important book! Quickly he made his way over to where he remembered Winnie had set up camp before eventually being met with an empty space.

He turned and retraced his steps before looking over to Astarion's crimson red tent with curiosity.

The wizard stepped over towards the shelter cautiously until the faint sound of soft feminine whimpers hit his ears. Inside the tent Winnie laid back against the bed-roll, pillow pulled over her bright red face as she moaned into it. All the while Astarion had his head buried between her legs, one of her thick thighs slung over his shoulder as he feasted on her.

"Uh....Winnie....D-Do you still have that tome I lent you?" The wizard stammered out, face turning bright red.

Astarion's brows knit together in annoyance before he pulled his tongue out of the druid's cunt.

"She's currently quite occupied, Gale. Now do piss off!" The vampire hissed out before returning to ravishing the human female. Winnie herself wasn't able to form any coherent sentences while the pale elf had her in his clutches, but eventually later on she returned Gale's book to him and eventually apologized for the scene she caused yesterday.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Note from TheChaoticDruid: Hope you enjoyed! I admit this is a completely self indulgent fic that was kinda a spur of the moment thing. I've seen a lot of period comfort fics that more so focus on the pain and mess than the emotional aspects of it so I wanted to put a bit of focus on that, cause honestly when it happens to me I have a tendency to be rather mean. Of course this is a little exaggerated for laughs in the beginning, but sometimes when it happens you feel like everyone is out to get ya and you wanna tear people's heads off over the littlest of things. I was a little afraid I might have made Astarion a little too soft, but given it's close to his act 2 confession I think it can maybe work.

~Druid

[mangomonk]

to feel warm in cold love

↳ summary: in his attempt to make tav touch-starved for him, astarion realizes he's lost his own game. (alternatively, astarion is dreadfully cold and touch-starved, and tav is dreadfully warm and respects boundaries.) ↳ content: mentions of blood and battle, named tav, astarion is a little mean and very emotionally repressed, act 1 and 2 plot mentioned ↳ a/n: inspired by astarion's "don't touch me" dialogue and that one post that basically calls him a loser lol. title is from "cold love" by rainbow kitten surprise! also i'm a little confused by tagging convention — is tav alright to tag if they're an OC and not 'reader?' cross posted on ao3

The first time he fed on her, she sat perfectly still, her legs criss-crossed and posture straight as she swept her hair to the side. The perfect image of a monk. He would’ve teased her for it, had he not been distracted by the gleaming skin of her neck and the ache of hunger with his fangs. He couldn’t believe his luck.

How perfectly foolish to trust a vampire, he thought dimly to himself as he crouched over her, eager to take the opportunity — no matter how ridiculous it was — before she changed her mind. His fingers slipped into her hair to cradle the back of her neck as he tilted her head back carefully for better access. He moved with perfect precision — though he had never fed on a person before, he had imagined it in the darker moments of his hunger, even more so after he had met Xuan as he had begun scheming of ways to earn her favor. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to say that he had been dreaming of it.

The moment his fangs pierced her skin, all previous notions of what he had dreamt of before melted away and all he knew was the rich taste of her blood. He didn’t notice her shuddering in his hands or her slowly going limp against him as he swallowed gulp after gulp. He nearly forgot all restraint too, until she pushed at his shoulder hard enough for him to draw back. 

He felt warmth spreading through him, his hunger satiated, and then, shame roiling deep in his gut. A trickle of her blood dribbled from the corner of his lips. She was pale-faced, a dazed expression on her face as she stared up with him. Astarion, swept by this newfound satiation and familiar shame of his hunger, was at a loss for words. “This is a gift, and—” he began, just as she seemed to snap out of her daze.

“Sorry,” the monk said, “I didn’t mean to touch you but you didn’t seem to hear me.”

Astarion stopped short to stare at her in disbelief, reeling a little. Had her blood been drugged with hallucinogens? Why was she apologizing? He stared at her for a beat longer, but she seemed to be entirely sincere.

“Oh,” he said ungracefully as he recovered, straightening and letting his expression fall into one of familiar charm. “Oh, darling, you can touch me however you want if it means I have a little snack as sweet as you.”

She frowned at him, but Astarion was too distracted by the bead of blood forming on her skin where his fangs had been to notice.

— — — — —

The next time he fed on her, Astarion was less controlled by his hunger, though the same thrill of anticipation ran through him as he crouched next to her. She insisted again on sitting, and though the position was awkward for the both of them, he wasn’t going to bite the hand that was feeding him. Not metaphorically, anyways. And not the hand, at least.

This time, he noticed her hands clasped tightly in her lap as if she was anticipating the sting of his fangs. He paused, hovering over the nape of her neck. “My sweet thing,” he murmured, amused. He noted the goosebumps that formed along the pretty curve of her neck where his breath ghosted across his skin. He noted the way she shivered in his hands. He noted that she smelled wondrously sweet beneath the smell of soap. “You can hold on to me if you’d like to.”

“Do you want me to?” She asked.

Astarion blinked, grateful that she couldn’t see his surprised expression from her angle. “Whatever you want,” he said after a beat. When she kept her hands clasped carefully in her lap, Astarion shrugged to himself and dove in.

— — — — —

The third time, he perhaps had gone too far because when he withdrew, she swayed for a moment and slumped forward, her forehead falling against his collarbone. For a moment, panic flared within him as he caught her, before she mumbled something into his shoulder. “Sorry, got dizzy for a moment there.” Another apology — he thought he’d get used to them by now, but each one left him equally bewildered and baffled. “I didn’t mean to touch you.”

In his arms, he felt her try to withdraw weakly. Instead though, he held her firmly, supporting her boneless weight against him. “Let’s stay like this for a moment,” he hummed, tucking his chin carefully over the crown of her head and letting his fingers splay against her back. She was always so unfamiliarly warm. It felt like he was being scorched alive. “Would hate for my favorite traveling companion to crack her skull open. Our other companions would immediately have a stake through my heart, I suspect.”

To his pleasure, she didn’t protest, instead going even more limp against him. “Thank you,” she said into his shirt.

Astarion felt a warmth, similar to the one that she was radiating, flare deep in his stomach. It must have been because he had just fed. “My pleasure,” he said simply, meaning it.

— — — — —

Strangely enough, Xuan seemed to have no qualms with touching their other companions, Astarion began to notice. She linked arms with Shadowheart occasionally when they were walking — Astarion noted that Shadowheart never complained. She leaned on Karlach whenever they were standing close, despite the tiefling’s obvious warmth. Even Gale, the wizard who hadn’t touched a mortal being in years, she greeted with a fond hug.

Astarion though, she never touched.

It wouldn’t have bothered him if she didn’t make such a show of giving him a wide berth or nearly jumping out of her skin whenever he brushed by within an arm's reach.

It definitely wasn’t because he watched Wyll’s arm loop over her shoulder affectionately one night as they sat around the campfire. In the name of keeping warm from the cold, Wyll had teased. Cold? What did Wyll know about being cold? Astarion was always so miserably cold, but in that moment he felt something like angry heat flare up within him as he watched her lean against The Blade.

That was definitely not why it bothered him. Though Wyll flirted with Xuan in fleeting, light-hearted comments, it was Astarion who was putting honey in every word he shared with her. And he had made his advances even more than clear, quite literally spelling out his propositions for her. He knew she was interested in him with the way she flushed or the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t looking at her. So why was it that they never touched, not unless he had his fangs buried in her neck?

Soon, Astarion came up with a new scheme. And he thought himself clever for his plan too as he followed the sure-footed monk closely across the goblin camp, docking and releasing arrows efficiently the moment he spotted a goblin. He was feeling impatient. At the end of each battle, it seemed ritual for her to give the nearest companion a crushing sort of hug of relief and triumphant. So the faster this battle was over, the faster he’d—

“You’re fired up today,” she remarked to him as she clubbed another goblin with her staff. She didn’t even have to shout at him across the sounds of the battle because he had stayed within an arm's reach of her the entire fight.

Astarion preened a little, flashing her a devilish smile. He opened his mouth to smarm when Karlach bellowed across the courtyard. “I think that’s the last of them.” He watched Xuan’s face break into a triumphant grin as he took a step closer to her. The others were mostly across the courtyard, though Lae’zel was a few yards away.

“We did it!” She beamed, whirling around. Astarion now was only two steps away from her, his arms already preemptively outstretched when she stepped past him, throwing her arms around… the Githyanki warrior.

Astarion blinked once. Then twice. Then he turned, incredulous, to see Lae’zel pat the monk on her back awkwardly.

“The customs of this plane never fail to baffle me,” the Githyanki warrior said stiffly.

“You did brilliant today!” Xuan said brightly, practically glowing.

Astarion stared at the two, still slack-jawed. “And what about me?” He spluttered now, entirely undignified, but he couldn’t help it. Not when she was being so obviously stingy in her affections!

Xuan drew back from Lae’zel. Astarion couldn’t help the sick anticipation growing in his stomach as she took a step towards him. His hands twitched at his side, but he forced himself not to raise them. 

“You were brilliant too,” she beamed. “Your aim for the one in the tower was so precise—”

Astarion’s anticipation fell flat as she stopped several feet away from him, still prattling on about his fighting.

“Spare me the praise,” he snapped irritably, turning on heel swiftly to stalk back to camp.

— — — — —

He spent the rest of the evening brooding in his tent as the others celebrated their success with a hearty stew that Gale cooked and some cheap wine they had looted from a cellar in the Blighted Village. 

Was it possible that she wasn’t interested in him? He had made his advances perfectly clear, and though they had often rolled off of her like water, or she had just smiled embarrassedly down at her feet, she had never rejected him. 200 years of perfecting the art of seduction, and he couldn’t even get within a foot of a naive monk? The thought hurt his pride. And then another thought, one much worse, that spurred him to his feet and out his tent to seek out the target of his thoughts.

Was she disgusted with him? So much so that she couldn’t bear even touching him?

“Darling, are you decent?” He asked from outside the tent, letting his normal drawl tinge his voice as he added, “Though I wouldn’t mind if you weren’t decent.”

“Astarion?” She asked from inside. “Come in.”

He lifted the flap of her tent and stepped in. She was standing in the center of her tent, a crude, wooden comb in her hand — he recognized it a little bitterly as the one that Halsin had whittled for her. She must have just come from the nearby stream, because her hair was still damp and hanging in tangled tendrils, a sharp contrast to the dreadful braid she normally kept it in.

“Are you hungry?” She asked, blinking up at him owlishly. Astarion ignored the bubble of irritation in his gut. He couldn’t seek her out unless he was hungry? Though to be fair, which Astarion was not, the only times he did were when he was hungry.

“No, no,” he lied dismissively, waving his hand airily. Now to disprove his theory. “Darling, I can take care of that for you,” he offered, closing the distance between them and reaching for the comb.

To his dismay, she shied away from him swiftly with a nervous laugh, putting that cursed two feet of space between them again and nearly stumbling over her own bedroll in the process. “No, I got it, but thank you—”

“I don’t bite, you know,” Astarion blurted, half-irritatedly, half-miserably. She shot him a raised brow and quickly, he waved his hand dismissively. “Okay, fair point, I do bite, but you already know what it’s like, so there’s really no reason for you to jump out of your skin the moment I’m in an arm’s distance from you.”

“Well,” she said, not quite able to look him in the eye as she inched back imperceptibly. Astarion huffed under his breath at the sight. “I didn’t think you liked being touched.”

Astarion stared at her for a moment, expression slack. “Darling, what in your sweet mind has you thinking that?” He dropped his voice in a well-rehearsed manner. “Haven’t I been clear with you in my propositions that I’d like to be more than touched by you?”

A pained expression flitted across her face, but it disappeared tactfully. He only caught it because he was studying her carefully, quick to pick up any changes. She bit the inside of her cheek. “You told everyone not to touch you.”

Oh. Oh. He did have a vague memory of sneering, “Don’t touch me,” at the start of their travels. But he hadn’t expected anyone to respect it, let alone remember it. He felt like she had just clubbed him over the head and sent him reeling.

“If it’s you, it’s fine,” Astarion said quickly. He found himself surprised to know that he meant it.

“Oh,” she blurted, mouth opening and then closing. She looked equally dumbfounded.

Perfect. This was the perfect moment he had been building towards, when her guard was down just enough for him to sink his teeth in. Metaphorically, of course.

Astarion took a step closer to her. And then another. She looked like she was ready to flee, but out of pure stubbornness, stood very still. They were so close now that he could feel her body heat rolling off her in waves. He held back a shiver.

Astarion skillfully let his posture slouch in an attempt to not tower over her, tilting his head to catch her gaze again. He had a plan. Proposition her, offer her his services so she could enjoy his range of touch. He’d say it coquettishly, perhaps brush her hair to the side. Maybe drag the tip of his finger down the angle of her jaw. Something that would make her cave, that would make her so starved for his touch that she would devote herself to him. That was the plan, he reminded himself, and this was the perfect moment—

 “Well, maybe if you said please once in a while,” she huffed mulishly, clearly just to regain face, though her gaze darted away from him in clear embarrassment as a dark flush began to bloom rapidly across her cheeks.

Astarion was clubbed over the head with the sudden, newfound realization that she looked wonderful when she was flustered. His fingers twitched — he wanted to cup her cheeks and confirm that her skin was as warm as it looked. He stared at her, entirely distracted by this line of thought, any previous thought melting away as he watched the blush spread to the tip of her ears. He was so entirely distracted by this new image of the monk, that without much thought or resistance—

“Please,” Astarion murmured in a soft sigh, the yearning in his voice an unfamiliar ache even to his own ears.

She swallowed thickly, her throat bobbing. Astarion’s vision would have normally pigeon-holed to her neck at the motion, but he couldn’t quite tear his gaze away from her hand as it raised slowly, palm up between them. And then she stopped, her hand hovering between them, her gaze intent on his, brows raised in almost a challenge. Astarion found himself moving by himself, his hand moving to rest uncertainly over hers.

Her hand was wondrously warm. 

“Is this okay?” She asked softly, as if not to spook a wild animal.

Astarion swallowed. How could he tell her that this was more than okay? That it felt like she was lighting him on fire with just a mere touch? That he would happily burn? That he was warmer than he had been in the past 200 years? “Yes,” he managed instead, voice tight. “This is nice.”

Encouraged, she covered his hand with her other one, the callouses on her fingers brushing against his skin. Gods. She was devastatingly warm. 

— — — — —

When Ketheric Thorm finally fell to Dame Aylin’s blade, Astarion breathed out a long sigh of relief, undocking his arrow as he surveyed the mess and rubble. From his higher vantage point, he did a quick headcount. Shadowheart and Aylin seemed to be in a private conversation, the latter handing the cleric Selune’s Spear of Night. Gale was putting his spellbook away, looking haggard, but otherwise in one piece.

Astarion frowned, scanning the tower again swiftly. He always had a mental tab on where the monk was in battle given that most of his arrows went into picking off enemies that he deemed too close to her — most of them, if he was being entirely honest. He could’ve sworn she had been by Ketheric Thorm when he fell, but he still couldn’t spot her. Swallowing back his growing panic, he turned to hurry down from the little cliff he had used as a vantage point.

“Astarion.” His alarm melted away instantly at the sight of his monk straightening from where she had hauled herself up. The thought that she had sought him out after the battle sent a pleased thrill through him. “I never understand how you get to these places,” she huffed, brushing her bloodied hands against her tattered robes. He really wished she wore armor.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, reaching out to cradle her wrists and inspect her fists. He really wished she used her staff more. His stubborn monk. “As much as I love blood, this is quite a lot.”

“Not mine,” she said with a tired, but triumphant grin. Astarion thought he couldn’t tire of seeing her post-battle, breathless and beaming, even if she was covered in blood and grime. They stood staring and grinning at each other perhaps foolishly for a moment longer. “I can’t believe we did it,” she said finally, eyes still bright.

“I can,” he huffed as he rubbed his thumbs over her wrists, marveling at the warmth of her hands. “With a monk as stubborn as you are, I wouldn’t be surprised if you found a way to punch mindflayers back to their original form until your hands are just nubs. You really ought to stay out of the front lines,” he chided half-heartedly.

“But I have these hands watching after me,” she said, twisting her hands in his so that she could grasp his hands. Astarion stilled instantly, fighting the urge to close his eyes to immerse himself in the warmth of her hands. “Thank you for picking off the Necrolites.” Before he could respond with a shrug or a huff, she brought his hand towards her.

Astarion’s brain, for lack of better words, short-circuited as he watched and felt her lips press gently against his palm. Gods, the post battle adrenaline made her bold.

Inwardly, Astarion hoped for more battles to come in their near future. 

“Oh,” he blurted inelegantly, dead heart jumping back to life in his chest. “Do that again.” A pause. “Please.”

He could feel her lips curve into a smile against his palm. She pressed a firmer kiss against it again before brushing a ghost of a kiss against his fingertips and then one more against his wrist, as if she was feeling for a heartbeat. Astarion sighed, curling his fingers around her jaw.

“Oh,” she hummed, her eyes tracking over his face carefully. He felt entirely wrong-footed, as if he was losing a battle he didn’t know he was in. “You’re blushing.”

He jolted, scowling. “I don’t blush,” he retorted, before correcting himself. “I can’t blush.” In a poor attempt to distract her, he glared down at her a little impatiently. A little shamelessly. “Anyways, aren’t you here for your victory hug?”

Xuan arched her brow as she stepped closer. Astarion fought the urges to flee and close the gap between them and instead stood very still as she stepped even closer until there was only a hair's width between them. And then she paused, as she always did, a question in her stillness. Is this okay? 

To answer, Astarion closed the gap between them, looping his arm around her to place his hand against the small of her back. In all honesty, he was still getting used to it, his actions clumsy and stiff at times. But she never pushed him, instead always letting him take the next step in closing their distance. Once he did, she shifted a little in his arms to wriggle her arms around his waist. 

“You’re getting blood on me,” he huffed softly, though he made no move to shift away from her. Instead, he dropped his head to rest his forehead in the junction of her neck. He let his eyes flutter close as he marveled at how warm she was.

“I thought you liked that,” she said. He could almost hear the coy smile in her voice. 

Astarion sighed in defeat, smiling against her skin. “Only if it’s you.”

— — — — —

my masterlist

a/n: if u liked this, i would love to read ur thoughts tee hee it's always honestly a giant encouragement to write more when i read everyone's comments + i can't tell if i'm writing him ooc!

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Come Back to Me pt. 1

Pairing: Astarionxf!Tav

Rating: M

Warnings: Hurt/angst, comfort, trauma, fluff, trauma, soft jealous Astarion

Summary: After an attack in the Shadow Cursed Lands, Tavriel is exposed to the toxins of fear inducing mushroom spores, causing her already weakened mind to relive the traumatic horrors of her past. Astarion and Halsin are forced to work quickly to cure her mind of the spores before the effects remain with her permanently.

Also read on AO3! Check there for more frequent updates because I sometimes forget to also post them here.

I also recommend reading my previous fic for some backstory on my Tav! Not totally necessary, but if you’d like some backstory you can find it here!

Masterlist

Come Back to Me Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The fireplace crackled softly in the small room, the light flickering across the walls and ceiling offered the only illumination. Astarion laid in bed with one arm under his head; his eyes closed but not fully sleeping. Since being in the Shadow Cursed Lands, he’d had trouble resting, the constant darkness was a harsh reminder of his life under Cazador and he wanted nothing more than to leave the horrid place. He missed the sun and the warmth it brought. He wasn’t sure how long he had in the sun and he detested any unnecessary second he had to spend in darkness. However, making their way through the Shadow Curse was the only way to continue their journey to rid themselves of the tadpole swimming in his brain, so he reluctantly agreed to the journey.

A whimper in his ear caused his eyes to open and his head to turn towards the companion sleeping rather unsoundly next to him. Tavriel whimpered again, her eyes clenched together tightly as the nightmare in her mind began to grow and swirl. She was asleep on her side while nestled closely under Astarion’s free arm, her head tucked against his neck with one arm draped over his torso and one of her legs tangled within his. He could feel her breathing against his neck. Short, quick bursts of her warm breath washed over him while her hand latched to his side, desperately trying to bring him closer. 

While the darkness and shadows of the Shadow Cursed Lands had a negative impact on everyone in the party, particularly Astarion, it seemed to be weighing more heavily on Tavriel. She had spent a lifetime of torture and pain in a cold, dark dungeon at the hands of her old master and being back in the unyielding darkness was taking its toll. She hadn’t been sleeping well, nightmares and vile memories were coming to her more and more frequently the longer they stayed, and her mood had taken a sharp turn. 

Tavriel was prone to nightmares while above ground, given her history, but they were not frequent and never severe enough to rouse others. However, everyone knew when she had the first one under the Shadow Curse. A guttural scream had pierced the silence of the Last Light Inn that night, waking every resident in the building, and continued until the source was found. Tavriel’s companions had rushed into her room, expecting to see her being attacked by an enemy, but were instead surprised to find her alone. She was in bed, writhing and clawing at her head and back as another scream escaped her lips. She was lost in a nightmare, her breath coming in rapid pants and she was unable to be stirred from her sleep. A quick, firm shake of her shoulders from Karlach had finally snapped her trance and she struggled for a moment, trying to gather her senses while also get her breathing under control. Karlach still had her by the shoulders as Tavriel finally came to.

“Are you alright, soldier?” Karlach had asked. Tavriel had said nothing, still panting lightly as her eyes scanned the room. She felt the fear once again rise in her chest as she realized she had not only disturbed the tiefling, but every one else in her group. They stood in her room and in the threshold, concern and confusion etched on their faces as they watched their seemingly strong leader simply crumble to her own mind. Tavriel had managed to utter a quick apology and asked that everyone return to bed before wiggling her way from Karlach’s grasp. Without another word, she had pushed passed her companions and out of her room, heading downstairs in the inn to clear her mind. The lower level of the inn was thankfully quiet and she was able to find a dark corner she could use to compose herself before facing her friends once again. 

In her small corner, Tavriel paced and tried her best to keep herself moving, trying to ease her frazzled mind. Keeping still would only allow the memories to flood back in and regain their firm grip on her heart. Her fingers raked through her hair, over and over, tugging at the roots with each new pull, desperately trying to have her focus on anything else. With a final turn, she ended up bumping into something solid. Astarion had followed her down once she left her rooms, allowing her to self soothe until it was apparent her own methods were no longer working. He had gripped her shoulders tightly when she collided with him and pulled her to him, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around her until she could be consoled.

Astarion insisted from that night on that they share a bed. Tavriel was hesitant at first, not wanting to disturb his own rest with her issues, but she eventually agreed and had slept beside him ever since. He wanted nothing sexual from the sleeping arrangement, but wanted to be there when she needed waking from her dreams. And tonight was no different. Tavriel was once again slipping into the depths of her nightmares, beginning to thrash against his side as everything became more vivid in her mind.

“Easy now, darling,” he whispered into her ear, his grip tightening around her, “you’re safe. No harm will come to you here.” His words did not ease her troubled mind. She started pushing against him, doing anything she could to escape; her eyes still sewn shut and her face twisted into a look of agony. Her whimpers of fear quickly grew louder, dancing on the verge of becoming screams. Astarion swiftly sat up, still partially reclining but no longer flat on his back, as he secured his arm around her back and the other previously occupied arm hooked under her knee. With a grunt of effort, he pulled Tavriel on top of him, using his arms to clutch her close to his chest so she couldn’t worm her way off the bed and onto the floor. He pressed his cheek to hers, speaking into her ear.

“Tavriel,” he said firmly, “Tavriel, wake up. It’s a dream. Come back to me, my love.” His words seemed to finally break through to the elf and she began to settle, readjusting a bit to find a comfortable position atop the vampire.

“There we go,” he cooed as her breathing slowed to a normal rate, “that's it, darling.” Astarion pulled her hair to the side, giving him better access to her back. Slowly, he ran his hand along her spine, hoping his ministrations could coax her back to sleep before she had to be up for the day. Her muscles were tight under his fingers, but began to loosen the more he touched her.

“I’m sorry,” Tavriel said softly, her voice beginning to crack, “I’m disturbing you, aren’t I?” She felt terrible knowing her nightly terrors would often result in Astarion lying awake for most of the night, but did find comfort and solace with his company. He understood more than anyone how darkness could corrupt the mind, so she felt safe knowing she could be vulnerable around him without fear of mockery or cruelty. 

“Nonsense, love.” He continued to stroke her back as he spoke, “Now rest. They’ll be calling for you soon enough.” As nice as idea of falling back into a peaceful slumber sounded, Tavriel couldn’t bring herself to close her eyes, afraid of the nightmares that might claw their way back inside her mind. She kept her gaze transfixed on the fire on the other side of the room, desperate to cling to any light she could find. Gods, how she hated the darkness, hated the shadows lurking all around until they seeped into her dreams. As much as she wanted to run as far away from this place as she could, she was bound to the promise she had made to Halsin to lift the curse from the lands, not wanting to back down from her word. She silently cursed her innate desire to help those in need, but ultimately knew she was making the right call, even if her own welfare was declining.

“If you won’t sleep,” Astarion’s soft voice broke her concentration, “do you want to talk about it?” Tavriel would often tell Astarion about her night terrors, finding that talking through them offered some comfort, but there were times that she would keep them to herself. She felt that there were some that were too heaven to burden him with and this was one of those moments. 

“No, not this time,” her voice was low, “although I do appreciate the offer.” She offered him a half hearted smile before nuzzling her head back against his chest. They continued to lay in silence, neither wanting to disturb the peace between them. Astarion’s fingers found their way to her head, softly scratching at her scalp as Tavriel’s breathing began to slow and her eyes began to droop.

Astarion smiled as he felt her heart beat against his chest, the sensation almost mimicking his own heart pounding. Of course, with Tavriel, his heart had resumed beating, metaphorically speaking. Everything about her seemed to thaw his icy heart. He loved the feeling that would wash over him if he could squeeze a smile and laugh out of her with a quick remark. Her hands, despite always being ready for battle, were always gentle with him and never strayed in an attempt for something sexual. By the gods, it was getting harder and harder for him to deny the feelings for her that had rooted deep in his soul. He was in love with her.

“Soldier!” Karlach’s voice broke through the silence with a pound at the door, “Are you in there? Halsin’s been looking for you!” With a heavy sigh, Tavriel reluctantly opened her eyes.

“I’m almost ready!” She called as she pushed herself off Astarion’s chest. She swung her leg over his body, rolling to her side before sliding off the bed. Tavriel stood, arching her back and stretching her arms above her head with a groan as she tried to shake the sleep from her body. She had delayed as long as she could, now dreading the fact she would have to venture deep into the forest of the Shadow Curse after her promise to go scouting with Halsin.

Astarion sat up fully, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, but remained seated as he watched Tavriel ready herself. She had already removed her tunic and tossed it across the room by the time he sat up, leaving her back exposed to him as she rummaged through her belongings to find a relatively clean alternative. His eyes scanned along her backside, noting the different marks that adorned her back. Like himself, her body was littered with scars given to her by her former master, but he had never asked how she got them, almost feeling like he would be prying if he did. Although he was certain she would explain them to him if he ever were to ask, he still hesitated, not wanting to have her relive the making of the scars. They were deep in her skin, no doubt to have been painful, and some even appeared to be fresh. His trance was broken as Tavriel pulled a wrinkled shirt over her head, once again hiding the evidence of her torture to the world.

“You know you don’t have to go,” he mused while leaning back on his hands, “You could always ask someone else to go and you can go back to bed. You look dreadful, dear.” Astarion wasn’t wrong. Lack of sleep and barely eating since being in the Shadow Cursed Lands had certainly taken a toll on Tavriel. She had perpetually dark circles under her eyes and she seemed to be getting weaker. Tavriel was by no means the strongest on the team, but Astarion had noticed that even simple tasks were almost too much for her now. He was concerned with how much life was being sapped from his beloved.

“Hells, I’ll even go in your place if that means you stay here and rest.” He watched as Tavriel fumbled with her hair, hastily trying to braid the mess, but failing miserably. Astarion stood and made his way to Tavriel, taking the haphazardly made braid from her hands and redoing it himself.

“You’re sweet,” she hummed, thankful for him taking over, “but I promised Halsin that I would be the one to go. I can’t offer people much other than my word these days so I need to keep my promises.”

Astarion hissed at the name. Gods, how he loathed that man. Halsin wasn’t inherently bad, in fact he was almost utter perfection. Because of this, Astarion couldn’t help but feel jealousy towards the druid. And deep down, he was afraid that Halsin could provide Tavriel everything he couldn’t, everything she could ever want from a partner. Truthfully, it was only a matter of time until Tavriel came to her senses and left him for the better man. Halsin was everything Astarion wasn’t. He was strong, level headed, warm, alive…

Not to mention that he and Tavriel seemingly had more in common than she did with Astarion. Both were wood-elves with an innate love of nature and the outdoors, while Astarion would much rather spend his time reading a book in luxury. Coupled with the fact that Tavriel had been separated from nature for so long, Astarion could easily see Halsin stepping in and offering to show her everything she had missed out on. Taking her on walks in the forest, swimming in lakes, bonding with any furry creature that crossed their paths, and offer her the warmth and love she so desperately wanted and deserved. Years of torment under Cazador had left Astarion bitter and jaded, more than happy to find whatever benefitted himself and leaving others to themselves. Even though he had developed a soft spot for Tavriel, he didn’t always agree with her willingness to help everyone. Halsin, on the other hand, was the opposite. Always willing to rescue those that needed saving, even at his own peril. The more Astarion thought about just how similar Tavriel and Halsin were, the more he realized that Tavriel would be stupid to stay with him.

“This isn’t your problem, you know.” He seethed while continuing to braid her hair, “The druid seems more than capable of solving his own issues without dragging us into it. We have our own problems to deal with. Or have you forgotten about the tadpoles we have swimming around in our brains? Why must you insist on helping every lost soul or injured little beastie we come across?”

“Because no one came for me,” Tavriel said quietly, “I’ve spent almost my entire life locked away in a cage, abused and neglected, because no one would help me. No one could be bothered to come looking for me, not even my own parents. I help others because I can’t stomach the idea of walking past someone who needs help. I can only see myself in them, when I was at my lowest, begging only for death because I was so miserable.” Astarion sighed, placing a soft kiss to the crown of her head.

“You know I absolutely adore you, but your generosity is going to be your downfall one day.” Astarion said as he twirled the completed braid into a bun at the base of Tav’s head, pinning it in place, “I just want to see you safe.” His voice had softened, not intending to start an argument. “You and I both have experienced more than our fair share of torment and yet we turned out so differently. One of us turned out cold and vindictive while the other would willingly lay down their life for another. I do sometimes think you are too good for me, darling.”

“We’re cut from the same cloth, Astarion,” Tavriel said as she hoisted her armor onto her shoulders, “we just happened to respond to a lifetime of absolute shit differently. That doesn’t make either of us better than the other. We coped the best we could in both situations.”

“Oh, good heavens not at all, dear,” Astarion chuckled while helping Tavriel with the laces to her outfit, “two sides of the same coin, perhaps, but not the same cloth. I was cut from the finest Baldurian silk one could buy whereas you are more like…burlap.” 

“Burlap?!” she turned quickly to face him, a smile wide on her face as she indulged his teasing.

“Ah, but only the finest burlap, I will say.” He tapped with tip of her nose with his finger, “Honestly, love, you can’t possibly imagine anything other than burlap when you look at that scraggly bush that adorns your pretty little head. I had a hard enough time simply trying to pin it in place.”

“Well, do forgive me, darling. I’ve not been too terribly concerned with the state of my hair while in the shadows.” She teased as she approached him, her fingers toying with the tassels on the front of his tunic.

“I wouldn’t expect you to, but that’s where I come in,” Astarion’s hands travelled down her sides and landed on her hips, pulling Tavriel flush to his chest, “Once you get back from your little waltz in the shadows, we’ll get you cleaned up with a nice bath and see what wonders I can do for that hair of yours. I can’t say I can work an absolute miracle, I am a vampire spawn and not a wizard, after all, but I do have my talents.”

“If that’s the case, if you manage to turn my burlap into silk rivaling yours, then you will be greatly rewarded.” Her voice lowered with her final words before softly placing a single kiss on the underside of his jaw. Astarion felt a gentle warmth spread to his cheeks as her lips departed from his skin. Tavriel’s kisses were few and far between, not from a lack of caring on her part, but she was admittedly emotionally stunted. Showing affections was something she struggled with after being abused for so long, but she was learning in her own time; they both were. 

Although Astarion had already confessed to Tavriel that he wanted their relationship to be more than just face value and they were officially a bonded pair, they had mutually decided to remove sex from relationship for the time being. Both the vampire and the elf needed time to be comfortable with the idea of more aggressive intimacy in order to make anything work, not that they minded, of course. They were happy to be in each others company, either in silence or spending the night talk with each other, but that didn’t stop them from playful flirting and a stolen kiss every now and again. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Tavriel sighed as she pulled away, “I’m sure I’ve kept Halsin waiting long enough.” Before she could fully leave Astarion’s grasp, he pulled her back to him.

“Before you go, I do have one small favor to ask you,” his voice dropped as he spoke, showing a rare side of seriousness, “Since you’re making promises to any old person you come across, will you make one to me?” Astarion’s hands returned to her hips, squeezing them lightly.

“Of course.” She said softly, “What can I do for you?” 

“Just come back,” he pressed his forehead to hers as he spoke, “come back to me.” Tavriel cupped her hands to his face, softly stroking the hollows of his cheeks as she leaned into his embrace. She could sense there was something else behind his request, but wasn’t well rested enough to look too far into it.

“I promise,” Tavriel said as she pressed her forehead further onto his, “I’ll come back to you. Right here. Just like this.” She lingered for a moment more before finally pulling away, reluctantly removing her hands from his cheeks. Without another word, she slipped out of their shared room and headed down stairs. Astarion stood silently in the center of the room, the light from the fire beginning to fade as he was left with his thoughts. Tavriel was fully capable of surviving the shadow curse, she had survived possible centuries of worse treatment, and with Halsin by her side she would surely be fine. But, despite these facts, Astarion couldn’t shake the sense of unease that was settling in his chest. The Shadow Cursed Lands did not abide by traditional rules, they mercilessly took what they wanted and left nothing untouched. Astarion could only hope that Tavriel would be left untouched by the corruption.

[tired0artist]

What if Astarion was married before getting killed? And what if his spouse was Tav?

Like Tav could be a high elf or at the very least a half high elf. So by the time of the game, they would be 230 something, which would still make them appear younger. (Late 20s, early 30s maybe? Elves live up to a 1000 so they would still be young)

Add an amnesiac vampire spawn, to a spouse that never got over their lover, and you have a beautiful and depressing story on your hands.

I might write this when I’m done with other things 👀 (I already have some scenes written down)

I would just love to explore this dynamic of Astarion just being frustrated and denying even being Tav’s husband, and Tav just being patient but not buying into any of his bullshit.

Also Spawn Astarion and Past Astarion would be almost completely different people. So Tav would have to navigate through years of trauma and very different experiences that Spawn Astarion went through. But still find pieces of their husband among them.

I’d love to have them just fall in love all over again, and find their happiness again.

[imgeekgirlfan]

I Will Follow You Into The Dark

Pairings:  Astarion x Original Female Character(Named Tav)  [From Baldur's Gate 3]

Tag/Warnings : Canon Compliant, Post-Endgame, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Tragedy, Mentions of past abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, References to Depression, Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Synopsis : Astarion returned to the city of Baldur's Gate, following the final request of his beloved, who asked him to bury her next to his grave. As dawn approached, Astarion held the lifeless body of his love, reminiscing about the countless memories they shared together.

A/N : The story started when I came across this tweet: 'do you guys think your tavs/durges stayed with their love interest long term or not?'

I got the idea to tell the story of my Tav and her love interest, Astarion. What would happen to them after the end of Baldur's Gate 3? I've been thinking about it a lot and it's quite heartbreaking.

From these little headcanons, I developed this one-shot about them.

My Tav is a human bard with a noble background. So, I imagined her as the daughter of a noble Baldurian,which contrasts with Astarion's background. Their initial relationship was more of a adversaries before blossoming into love in the end.

Listening to the song "I Will Follow You into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie gave me a lot of inspiration for this couple. (At first, I wanted to use the song "Take Me To Church" as the title, but it's too popular. I thought a song that many might not have heard of would be fitting for this tale.)

Read in Ao3 : here

"Jones," Astarion whispered, calling his beloved, but she didn't respond. 

Her eyes closed tightly, her body growing colder with each passing moment. 

Astarion pulled her closer, hoping his slight warmth might warm her. He knew it wouldn't help, and she would never wake to look into his eyes again.

Human lives are fleeting, from young maiden to old crone, from crone to spirit. 

Her entire life was a blink of an eye compared to his cursed immortality. 

Once, Astarion had both disdain and curiosity about this human. A race so fragile and feeble, never wielding a sword to harm anyone, raised in a noble family, spending half a comfortable lifetime in a grand mansion in Baldur’s Gate, surrounded by obedient servants bowing to her every whim.

He couldn't make sense of her. For a vampire like him who had struggled to survive amidst enemies and a cruel world for centuries. He was nothing but a bloodthirsty creature, a servant under a master's foot who got treated worse than a common slave, struggling to sustain his life with the taste of filthy rat blood that almost made him vomit.

Astarion envies her for an ideal life in the gilded cage he could only dream of. envied the short-lived human existence. While he had no right to die willingly if his evil master didn't want him to die,

And he wondered why she had fled her high-life in the capital city of Baldur’s Gate to suffer with them. why someone so inept at fighting would risk her life battling monsters, from goblins and evil undead to even gods, to aid them and help everyone unrelated to her.

He thought Jones was foolish, and he didn't like fools.

Ironically, eighty years later, he found himself shedding tears at her death.

"I wish to be buried beside your grave, Star." That was one of her last wishes before she breathed her last in his embrace. This led Astarion to make the singular decision to step out of the Underdark and return to Baldur’s Gate, the city where he once hated heavily, to fulfill the last wish of his beloved.

The black sky began to turn deep blue. Astarion knew he should hurry to bury Jones properly before the sunrise. As he contemplated, his eyes caught withered flowers left on the ground near his own grave marker. For a brief moment, Astarion reminisced about the memories he shared with her. He had once brought Jones to his own grave, recounting his life before turning into a vampire. and then visualizing a future where he wished to live with her,as his past had died over two centuries ago and she was the only future he desired.

Astarion remembered his overwhelming fear that Jones might refuse him. She was the highborn daughter of Baldur’s Gate's noble families. Why would she choose to endure the hardships of life with an elf vampire like him?

Yet his fear vanished instantly when he saw the soft smile on her smooth face. She placed flowers on his grave and embraced him, accepting his love wholeheartedly. 

That night was the night he died and was reborn in her embrace. Not as the enslaved Astarion, not as the villainous Astarion, but as Astarion the redeemed, never to be alone again because he would have her by his side forever.

But the words 'forever' don't really exist, especially for humans and vampires.

Still, Astarion couldn't help but secretly hope.

Sometimes, darker thoughts overshadow his mind, eclipsing all the goodness he has left. Astarion often secretly pondered that if he chose the path of power, performed an ancient ritual to sacrifice seven thousand souls to a devil, and transformed himself into a vampire ascendant, he would have enough strength to walk in the sunlight with her and enough power to turn her into a vampire like him. Then they could live together forever without the fear of death taking her away.

But it was Jones who restrained him then. She persuaded Astarion to see that these powers offered him nothing but the dark legacy of the Vampire Master, an inheritance of wickedness that would never end. She told him he could be better than Cazador, his former master, and he didn't have to continue killing others to sustain his existence anymore.

Astarion trusted her, though he couldn't deny feeling deeply regretful. And Jones sensed his feelings. She gently grasped his cold hands and earnestly vowed, "Star, I will find a way to cure you of vampirism, so you can walk under the sunlight with me again."

And she kept her promise. After successfully helping Baldur’s Gate city fend off the threats of the Mind Flayers and Nether Brain, she and him began a new adventure together. They journeyed across the entire continent of Faerûn, from Waterdeep to Athkatla, Neverwinter, Luskan, and even the mysterious realm of Feywild, all in pursuit of finding a cure for him.

Those times were special, building strong bonds and beautiful memories between them. They laughed together, danced together, fought together, and held each other close under vast skies and twinkling stars as witnesses.

Until Jones began to age and couldn’t continue the journey. That was when they both realized how little time they had left. And no matter how much time and effort they put in, there was no way to find a cure for him anymore.

Facing the harsh reality was incredibly difficult. Astarion had to hide his deep sorrow while he tried to persuade her to stop the adventure and live out her remaining days in the Underdark, the dark and sunless realm, the only place where he could be with her.

He knew what the near future held. Nothing would hurt as much as watching his beloved age continuously, waiting for her time to pass while he remained unchanged.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you as I promised. Please forgive me," she said during their time in Underdark. Her bright blue eyes, the very eyes he fell in love with, overflowed with guilt.

Astarion wanted her to know that he could never be angry or hate her.

The shovel still lay untouched on the ground, with no sign of being used anytime soon. While the vampire elf sat silently in front of his own grave marker, letting old memories flow through his mind once more,. Both his arms cradled her lifeless body as if she were still alive.

"My beloved Star, please continue to live on for me. I wish to see you happy for a long time," another of her last requests echoed in his mind. The gentle touch of her frail hand on his cheek still lingers in his heart to this day.

"Jones." Astarion whispers her name again. Tears, which he had not shed for a long time, now streamed down his pale face. "I can't do it," he murmured to her lifeless body. "How can I find happiness without you?"

A golden beam slowly crept in, chasing away the darkness from the vast sky. Yet Astarion's body remained unmoving, just like the eyes of the vampire, which refused to leave the withered face of his beloved for a second. He memorized every detail of her, keeping it in his memory as best as he could. She still looked as beautiful as ever in his eyes—always and forever.

"I wish the next life was real. I hope we'll meet again, live together, and build a family," Astarion whispered softly, planting a tender kiss on the edge of her lips. "Wait for me, darling. I'll follow you soon, no matter where you choose to go."

Finally, he tore his gaze away from her, looking up at the sky once more. For the first time in centuries, he had the chance to gaze at the nearing dawn with full eyes. As the sun peeked over the horizon, followed by the warm rays starting to seep through his skin, cracks began to form, turning his skin into tiny specks of dust.

Before his final consciousness faded, Astarion's thoughts remained vivid. 

This was the most beautiful dawn he had ever witnessed.

[bloodsuckingfiends]

Of Stars & Blood Masterlist

AO3

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

TBA

[scampdoodle]

Halsin and my Druid Sable in their wild shapes

[spacebarbarianweird]

Deep Reverie

Meanwhile I am writing a bday fic for @asterordinary, here is another dadstarion piece!

And there is also a snippet into the distant future just in case you want to see Astarion's granddaughter

Summary: Astarion has a very uncomfortable reverie only to be woken up by his 2-year-old daughter.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, dadstarion, snippet of the future

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion falls on the floor. The pieces of the rat he was forced to eat are stuck between his teeth but he doesn’t bother to take them out.

A night of “passion”. An innocent young woman, only eighteen years old. She didn’t want to sleep on their first date, but he persuaded her.

And ended her life by bringing her to Cazador.

As a reward, he was offered a choice. A filthy rat or a razor. For some reason, Astarion decided to fight back. Refused to devour the rat. Besides, the girl was so pure and pretty, didn’t he deserve a treat once in a while?

For that, his skin was flayed.

Long strings of flash were falling to the floor and the wounds immediately healed only to be cut open again.

And again.

And again.

Astarion begged. Cried. He was ready to eat the rat only to be spared from another series of tortures. 

The master was in a good mood.

He allowed him to correct his mistake.

Now, Astarion lies in the corner on the stone floor. It’s cold. The dungeon is cold, and the autumn winds wander the mansion. The walls are covered in mold. His own body is dead and he has no warmth to preserve.

Astarion weeps mourning his own fate.

It will never end, he knows that.

Something touches his bare shoulder. Small fingers – and Astarion thinks it’s his gnome brother who came to him. 

No, it's much smaller.

And warmer.

Astarion turns around and sees no one. But the touches become more intense – small hands shake his shoulder to make him pay attention.

And they are outworldly. They don't belong to this dungeon, to this mansion. They are on another plane of reality.

Astarion sits up. He is still in a dungeon, a cold and damp place. Godey follows his every movement. Someone screams from upstairs – one of his siblings is violently beaten.

Or assaulted.

Probably both.

Another touch, now more like a slap, but the hand is too small, it doesn't cause any unpleasant sensation.

Is he in a reverie?

Most of the time Astarion is aware that what he sees is a memory.  But sometimes it’s such a deep reverie he is sure it’s real.

Astarion tries to concentrate on his body and feels like he is floating. Yes, yes! It was a reverie! A memory! A woman pleading for help, beatings, the dead rat. Everything.

But if it’s reverie, what is real?

Is he going to wake up in the same place? In the same dungeons?

Is he…

Astarion’s reverie ends.

He blinks.

His memories are an absolute mess and he tries to re-arrange his thoughts.

First of all, he is on the floor, but instead of cold stones, it’s a wooden floor. 

Second, the place is unbelievably warm. He lies in front of the fireplace and the pleasant flame casts orange light on his face.

Third, he isn't naked. He wears soft fabric – a shirt, trousers, fur socks. 

His head lies on a pillow.

And he doesn’t feel this horrible hunger. Well, he wouldn't mind blood, but he definitely can feel fine without it.

He notices a half-open book beside him.

Small feet echo through the room. 

A two-year-old girl enters the room carrying a blankie. She approaches Astarion and then puts the blanket on his shoulders. The fabric is warm but very small and covers only the upper half of his torso.

He feels tears pricking his eyes.

Alethaine.

His baby daughter.

“Daddy sleep,” she pronounces, showing her fangs.

“I am not, princess," he answers. I am not. He sits up still holding the piece of fabric to himself. 

Suddenly Alethaine’s lower lip quivers and the dhampir starts crying. She presses her tiny palms against his chest, helplessly pushing him back to the floor.

Astarion is confused for a few seconds and then laughs wholeheartedly.

“Whatever you say, princess,” Astarion lies back, adjusting his head on the pillow.

Alethaine sniffs and then lies beside him pressing her nose to his shoulder.

Her body warmth is a bit lower than it is supposed to be. She also doesn’t breathe, but her heart beats, she grows, and she has warm blood, though for Astarion it has a bitter smell and he knows even a drop of it would make him sick.

The girl in his reverie had silver hair too.

He doesn't remember her exact race or facial features but she was young, very young. And once she was a baby just like Alethaine. Maybe she insisted that her father sleep under a kid’s blankets, too.

And then Astarion found her. Seduced her. Dragged to bed even though she was clearly uncomofortable with sleeping on the first date.

He ruined her. And then Cazador destroyed her.

Astarion gives himself a promise that Alethaine will be able to protect herself. If a handsome stranger approaches her with sweet words she needs to stab him in the eye. She needs to bear her fangs and threaten to call her vampire father for help. Or murder them herself.

At least she is a dhampir. Her blood makes vampires sick. Even if a spawn makes a mistake, a vampire lord won’t dare to touch a dhampir.

For they are their parents’ demise.

Tiriel often mentions that sometimes, when her mind is sleepy, she is scared that there is a monster in her bed. Nothing changes the fact that Astarion is a vampire. Nothing.

Astarion sometimes has this chilly feeling that there is something dangerous in the house. Something that can end him. Something faster, something deadlier.

A two-year-old toddler with two pointy fangs who demands to be held by either of her parents and gets very upset if they are busy.

She is probably the only one in the house who isn’t afraid of no one. Her mortal mother. Her vampire father. The dhampir wants them both and loves them both. 

Trusts.

“Oh, what a sight,” he hears Tiriel’s voice. “Alethaine, it’s time for a bath!” The half-elf leans into them, kisses Astarion, and then takes Alethaine.

“I wouldn’t mind a bath either,” he chuckles. “As long as you are present.”

“We can go there once she is asleep. I will gladly let you wash my hair,” Tiriel smiles softly and leaves the room.

Astarion finally makes himself get up and follows Tiriel to the bathroom. She’s already undressed Alethaine and put her in the small wooden tub. The girl splashes the water and giggles.

In the dim light it’s clear Alethaine has very pale skin.

Tiril splashes water on her long hair and starts washing it.

“Tiriel.”

“Hm?”

“Can I? Please?” 

“Of course but I thought, you…”

“Tiriel. She is growing up. Look at her, she is two! How much time do we have to see her like that? To take care of her like that? It will be three years, four at best, and it will be inappropriate for me to see her undressed, to see her like that. You will have more years, of course, but soon she won't let you do all this. I have less time, but neither of us has much.”

“I see,” she kisses Astarion’s cheek. “Do it. You know, you are better at this anyway.”

“Am I?” Astarion chuckles, using soap to wash the girl’s hair.

“You are more tender. I sometimes make rough movements, she doesn’t like it.”

Astarion can’t imagine Tiril being rough or rude to their child but nods. 

Suddenly Alethaine looks up and her ears twitch. “It’s night,” she declares. Then she makes a clicking sound with her teeth as if to bite something invisible.

Astarion concentrates on his vampiric senses and realizes that, yes, it’s already sunset.

And he can go outside.

“Yes, princess, it’s already night,” he smiles.

“I want to go outside.”

“Kitten, you can’t go outside after a bath. You will catch a cold,” Tiriel finds a toothbrush and kneels beside the small tub.

“I want outside. It’s night!” Alethaine insists. Astarion feels her muscles tense. She protrudes her jaw a bit.

Like the predator she is.

“We can go later,” Astarion splashes more water on her, washing the soap away. 

“I want now! It’s calling me!”

Astarion sees terror in Tiriel’s eyes. Well, a little child insisting that something outside is calling for her is definitely creepy.

“And it can wait.”

“What is she talking about?” Tiriel asks, brushing Alethaine’s fangs.

“We are predators, darling. Night predators. It calls for the hunt. She feels it and wants to go.”

“Is it only about blood?” Tiriel asks.

“Maybe not,” Astarion gives his daughter a glass of water. “Alethaine, princess, what exactly do you want to do outside if we go out?”

“I want… I want … I want to go to the woods! To walk!”

“We can do it,” Astarion smiles. “But a bit later, all right, baby?”

“I want mum to go, too!” Alethaine casts a glance at Tiriel. “We go to the woods!”

Tiriel brings a towel, takes the girl from the bathtub, and wraps the fabric around her. “Alright, kitten, we all go together to see the night. But only once you are fully dry!”

Thanks to their dark vision, the little family sees everything perfectly. Tiriel sits on the grass, holding Astarion’s hand as if not to let him fall into the abyss of his own thoughts.

He is grateful for that. He is grateful for many things Tiriel has done for him, so natural for others, so distant for a creature like him. 

Alethaine happily runs around. 

“Will she remember that? This… night?” Tiriel asks.

“I don't know. Even if she learns how to reverie, such early years are beyond her reach.”

Suddenly Alethaine stands still and then jumps on something in the grass.

The next moment she shows her parents a scared-to-death mouse.

The mouse fights back for dear life, sensing the presence of two undead creatures.

“Princess, let it go,” Astarion says.

“I want it!” Alethakne insists on trying to hold the mouse still.

“Kitten, it’s scared,” Tiriel says.

“It is not!”

Astarion takes Alethaine’s tiny hand.

“Please, Alethaine. No one wants to be held against their will. It is bad.”

“Why?”

Astarion hesitates. It is difficult to explain to the child why imprisoning creatures are bad.

“Because it has a family that is waiting for it”, Tiriel says. “Imagine a giant catching you and dragging you to its lair. And how much we will miss you.”

Alethaine sits on the grass and lets the animal go.

“I would kill the giant," she suddenly says. “I am stronger.” 

“And that's also not a good reason to kill anyone.”

“Unless they want to hurt you, then you are free to do anything," Astarion adds.

Alethaine sits between them, and Astarion brushes his fingers along her hair. 

“I will remember that,” Astarion murmurs.

**

A little elf wanders through the clearance. She is only two and barely understands what is going on in the world around her. She knows that her mother calls her Little Fire because the toddler’s hair is the color of a flame. She also knows that her real name is Tiri and she is named after her grandmother who died centuries ago.

The world fascinates her and even though it’s dark she perfectly sees the tall grass flowers that grow abundant on the elven island which is her home. The toddler sees stars up in the skies and hears dozens of sounds with her pointy ears.

“Little Fire, don’t wander too far,” she hears a soft but stern voice.

Her mother stands a few feet away. Her long silver hair waves in the wind and her dress is as dark as night. Tiri is young, but she already understands her mother is different from other elves. 

There is something different about her – she never goes to the druidic groves and often spends days in her dungeons where she performs something that Tiri’s father calls “necromancy”.  She also has fangs she bares when she is angry.

And she can walk on ceilings. 

Tiri returns to her mother and stretches her arms demanding to be taken in arms. Alethaine lifts Tiri up.

Her mother’s skin is cold but comfortable. Tiri’s vocabulary is still very small but she knows that her mother is a dhampir. But what exactly this word means, she doesn’t yet apprehend.

“You know, Little Fire,” she suddenly says. Tiri leans closer – her mother’s voice is soothing and something is enchanting about it. “I remember walking like that through the night clearance. I caught a tiny mouse, but your grandpa told me to let it go.”

“Mouse,” Tiri repeats.

“Yes, I caught a mouse. It was scared – and I was told to let it go. Weird, I am not supposed to remember such things, but I still do. You know, Tiri, my mum had the same freckles on her face. She would have loved you.”

Tiri senses sadness and buries her nose in her mother’s chest. 

“Are you tired, Little Fire?” Alethaine asks, rubbing her daughter’s ear. The little elf nods and yawns. “Then, let’s you to bed.”

By the time they leave the clearance, Tiri is already fast asleep. 

Alethaine hears her steady heartbeat and soft breath. Her baby is so alive she can’t believe Tiri came out of her half-dead body.

Did her father feel something similar when he was lulling Alethaine to sleep? Holding something that was part of him but much more alive and normal?

She was born with one foot in the grave her father had crawled from. 

And what about her own mother, Tiriel? Tiriel died 170 years ago, her face is something Alethaine desperately tries to grasp, but it fades away. It’s a blurry image from the distant past when the dhampir was young and much more stubborn than she is now. 

What did the half-elf feel when she held her dhampir child? The child who didn’t need to breathe and was cold as dead? Who tried to run away from her up to the ceiling and also had a pair of fangs?

Was she ever afraid? Did she ever feel sorry she married a vampire?

Alethaine knows the answer is “no”.

Her parents loved each other. Her father’s undead heart was shattered in pieces when Tiriel died and, even though he’s lived his undead life fully, they both know some things can’t be compensated.

Tiriel was never afraid. She wasn’t afraid of her husband, she wasn’t afraid of her daughter. She loved her with all the passion and warmth she was capable of. 

Alethaine looks back.

The night calls to her like it has been doing for three centuries, ever since Alethaine was born. It sings, making the dhampir’s body stir and her fangs itch.

“I will come back,” Alethaine whispers into the dark. “But first I need to put my Little Fire to bed.”

--

Tag list @tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @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-eyes @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids @ednaaa-04 @dajeong @herdarkestnightelegance

[kudzuoath]

Needful Things

With the reappearance of symptoms foretelling of his arcane hunger, Gale seeks out the party’s paladin to plead his case. He needs help. Hopefully Odette is the kind of person he believes her to be. 

Or, Gale and Odette experience mutual attraction and care. Neither one of them acknowledges it.

—

The party’s paladin was taciturn, and brutal on the field of battle. Not someone he typically would have felt drawn to. But then he watched the way Odette interacted with the tiefling children at the grove. Kindly. With a soft voice and a reassuring hand.

Or in the case of the little helion Mol, with a grin and a witty rejoinder that came to her lips as if it were second nature.

There were other things, too. The way she threw herself headlong into danger, flaming greatsword first, the moment she spotted someone in need. How she treated each battle like a game of lanceboard – or the way she carefully handled and collected the books they came across in their travels.

That last bit was the first thing he’d noticed actually – only someone who loved them the way he did would handle them with such care. Even the copies she set back down. It’s not what he expected from a warrior – though perhaps he was letting his biases get the better of him with that.

There was something about her. Under the blood and the bared teeth and the black tattoos covering her neck and forearms. A cleverness. A curiosity. And tying it all together, a surprising kindness.

So one evening in camp he approached her. She was sitting close to the fire, hunched over a tome they’d found in the ruined temple of Jergal.

“That looks like a fascinating read,” he said, unable to help himself.

Odette startled. She nearly took his leg out with her tail when it whipped back and forth. “What?”

“The book?”

“Oh – oh. Yes.” With a faint frown, she closed it and gave him her full attention. Her mismatched eyes were curious – but wary. Not unusual for her, he’d noticed. Though he had also just managed to sneak up on her.

“Did – you need something, Gale?”

“Well, all this travel and adventure has made it somewhat difficult to find my moment, but there’s something rather important I need to speak with you about – if you would be inclined to listen to me this fine evening.”

“Isn’t everything these days?” She gestured at the log she’d perched on, the faintest of half smiles breaking through her stoicism. “Have a seat. Unspool your woes. You won't be the first.”

He itched to ask more about the book. But that wasn’t what he was here for. “How shall I begin… ah! Yes! The beginning. You see, since you freed me from that stone I found myself trapped in I have seen you demonstrate remarkable guile and courage –”

Her smile dropped for some reason. And – was her gaze a little frosty all of the sudden? Did she not believe him?

“ – The way you diffused the tension between Aradin and Zevlor! How you convinced Kagha to release the girl. Or charged in to save that boy from those harpies. And you’ve demonstrated a fair amount of temperance as well – many a paladin would have run that fellow at the bottom of Jergal’s temple through, even though he’d shown no will to harm us! In short, I’ve grown to trust you, Odette.”

Silence. For several seconds that, by the third one, were starting to send prickles of unease down his spine. My but didn’t this woman have a stare on her that could freeze fire! The thing was, he couldn’t see what he’d done to invite it.

Though… perhaps it was just her face? It wasn’t the first time. She only really seemed to gentle around the very young, or very vulnerable. Perhaps it took conscious effort to do so.

“I see.” Another pause. “You’re being genuine, aren’t you?”

He balked. “Of course I am! I am many things, but I’ve never been accused of lying about my feelings towards others.”

That faint smile returned, and she let out a soft little laugh under her breath. She shook her head and ran a hand through her short raven curls with a sigh. “No, you wouldn’t would you? You have my apologies, Gale. I’m not particularly used to people being so complimentary.”

“With how often you save people?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Gratitude and… flattery are different things, I think. Or… compliments, isn’t it? That’s what they are when they’re genuine…” This last bit was to herself.

He might have been offended if not for how clearly baffled she was. Personally, he didn’t know what to make of her reaction. It was… odd. And it made him wonder what she’d been doing before the Nautiloid captured them. What roads had their Paladin walked? And what Oath now kept her?

“Well, nevertheless,” he said, pushing forward. “The reason I make a point of saying this is that I’ve grown confident enough to tell you something I’ve yet to tell another living soul. Except for my cat.”

She turned to face him fully now. The only hint of emotion he could glean from her face was in the tilt of her head, and the slight furrow beginning to form between her brows. His heart leapt into his throat as the moment came to bear down on him. This was it. He may well find himself a wizard alone. And he was no Elminster – particularly not now, between the tadpole and the orb.

“You see I have this… condition. Very different from the parasite we share. And just as deadly.”

“Can it be cured?” she asked. Immediate, serious. She was sitting at attention and leaning in, examining him with fresh eyes and real, visible concern. He noted the moment she spotted the darkened veins around his eye, and began to follow them down to where they vanished under his shirt. Surely not the first time they’d been noticed. But the first they might hold her any significance.

The way she looked at him. Ready to leap to his aid. It made his throat feel a little tight. And brought to mind his befeathered and bewhiskered friend back in Waterdeep.

“No, it cannot be cured,” he said softly. Swallowing around a lump in his throat. He cleared it and sat up straighter himself. “And I can assure you I left no page unturned in reaching that conclusion.”

Odette seemed to draw back slightly as he said this, eyes shuttered. Something he couldn’t blame her for, given he’d all but told her his days were numbered. Woe betide them all should she learn of exactly how numbered all of their days might be, purely by virtue of his company.

Though that revelation… that one he’d keep close to the chest a while longer. If he were very lucky – lucky enough to survive the tadpole, and find his way back to his tower – she need never know the extent of the threat he posed.

“I can keep this condition under control, as indeed I've done for a significant amount of time! But that was under different circumstances altogether. Home, in Waterdeep.”

“Gale… stop blowing hot air and tell me what you need.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and her hands were fists in her trousers.

“What it comes down to is this,” he said, holding up a finger. He was patently unable to give up his habit of lecturing. Particularly with his nerves strung tight enough to snap and his heart a throbbing drum trying to choke him. He trusted her. He could only hope she proved worthy of it. He thought she would. Hoped.

“Every so often, I need to get my hands on a powerful magical item and absorb the Weave inside.”

There.

“...Are you telling me you’re addicted to magic?” Odette said. Her voice was flat, toneless. But her hands were no longer fists.

“What? No – no. It’s nothing like that. Magic isn’t some – some narcotic to me. It’s literally a lifesaver.”

She stared at him. “It’s not that I doubt you – only that I’ve seen what can happen to people addicted to drink when they go too long without it.” Her voice darkened. “What they can do to people. And how, ultimately, the lack of it can kill them.”

The unfortunate thing was, she had a point with that comparison. Even if it didn't apply here.

“Were it an addiction, it might provide some other benefit than keeping me alive,” he said. And realized a moment after doing so that technically, it did. In that it was also keeping everyone and everything else in his vicinity alive and intact. But – no. Not that. Not now. “It is more a salve for a burn, medicine for an infection – though it wont cure what ails me.”

A new tension in her shoulders drained away. “I see.”

“I would not burden anyone other than myself with this were the stakes not so high, and the means of obtaining such artifacts challenging for a humble wizard to face alone.” He leaned forward. Fear sawed at him now. He hadn’t expected her to agree outright of course – he still didn’t. But he had to absorb something, and soon. Elsewise all might well be lost, tadpole be damned. “It’s been a tenday at least since I last consumed an artifact – since before we were abducted. It’s only a matter of time before my craving returns.”

In truth, he could feel it already. An unpleasant tingling numbness deep in his chest. One that made his heart beat just slightly out of tune. That froze his lungs. It was only a bit of morning frost at the moment. But all too soon he would be reduced to gasping on his back, hands pressed to his chest as if that might hold the snarling demon within at bay.

“That is why I turn to you, I need you to help me find magic items to consume,” he said. Intense. Unable to help himself even though he’d planned the rational facade. His hand was pressed over his hammering heart, fingers clawed in his shirt. The memory of what was soon to come biting under his palm. “It is vital. Dare I say it, critical.”

There weren’t words to describe the danger. His panic at perhaps being rejected. He would turn to petty thievery if he must. Not for his own sake, but for the sake of every living being around them, should it come to that. He would need them, if only to clear enough ground so as to minimize the hells he would unleash in his death.

Odette was watching him with a new wariness. His intensity had perhaps been… a little much. But once he’d noticed that creeping hunger in his chest… the panic had taken root in his tongue. Though it might prove needful. And may well have served to illustrate his genuine need better than if he’d managed to remain collected.

“Where are we going to find these items?” she said.

That wasn’t a no.

“We’ve already done the finding – in fact you have one in your possession as we speak.” He gestured to where her greatsword lay. It glowed like a dying ember, even sheathed. “You know for yourself how hardwon such an item was and it will be no easier when even more are required to assuage my hunger.”

As he’d said before – he was no liar. He wouldn’t pretend this would be easy. The least of what he owed her was that honesty.

“There will be danger involved. Or great cost.”

Odette’s eyes had remained on her sword as he spoke. He’d heard the tale of how she’d gotten it. On the Nautiloid. From a devil. His understanding was that it had been a difficult battle, barely won and only undertaken out of sheer desperation with the temporary alliance of her illithid captors. Giving her allies the time they needed to reach the alien transponder that had ultimately dumped them all into this wilderness.

She let out a long sigh, and unsheathed the weapon. Flames danced up and down the blade, merrily viscous. Its sudden heat made the night air steam slightly around them. Very carefully, she offered him the hilt, and met his gaze.

“Take it."

Gale’s mouth didn’t quite fall open, but it was near thing. He stared at the sword instead.

And then his panic melted away like so much snow falling on a wildfire. He’d expected… well. He hadn’t known what to expect. But Odette disarming herself was not among them. He’d been right. As he typically was of course. Right to trust her. Right to tell her. Like his panic, his tension drained too. And all at once the symptoms of his hunger felt far less pressing.

For indeed, they were less pressing. It was the fear. There was still time. And to feed it too soon… it might upset the balance. Might increase its need to consume. He would have a hard enough time keeping up with it as things were. No need to tempt fate.

“I knew I could count on you!” he said. “And – and utterly pleased as I am by your enthusiasm, there is still time. I did not leave things quite until the last moment. I’m a good deal cleverer than that! Keep your weapon for now. Perhaps we shall find something less dear to be parted with. Faerun overflows with magically infused treasure after all!”

Odette considered him for a moment, but re-sheathed her sword.

Then, in a move that made his heartbeat stutter she set her hands on his shoulders and squeezed lightly.

“Thank you. For asking for help, Gale. I know… it’s not an easy thing.”

Her gaze was as true as her heart was. And he found himself wondering how he’d written her off, no matter how briefly. A wizard she was not. But perhaps she was something just as good. A truly, deeply, decent soul. No matter her viciousness in a fight.

“Nor your promise to sacrifice these items, Odette,” he said, his voice dropping with softness unfeigned. “I know what I am asking –”

“There’ll always be magic daggers and enchanted rings,” she said, cutting him off. “You’re the only Wizard of Waterdeep I know, though. Don’t…” she swallowed. He caught a glimpse of an old pain on her face. One that made those eyes – one brown and one purple – look so lightless he might have been frightened had the emotion not been so clearly one of hurt. Her grip tightened slightly on his shoulders and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. When she finished her thought, it was in a whisper soft voice. “Don’t kill yourself with your silence.

He lifted his hands to cover hers. “Believe me, I shan’t be quiet should my need arise.”

“Good.”

For a moment, they watched each other. And Gale couldn’t help but think of how long it had been since mortal hands – or the hands of anyone at all – had touched him. There had only been Tara. His heart beat stuttered as he looked at the planes of her face, illuminated by the firelight. It was a beautiful sight. He found himself wishing to stroke his thumb over the black flame tattooed on her forehead for some odd reason. Or better, to follow the curved pattern of dark flames along her jaw with his fingertips.

Odette was smiling back at him, and there was a softness there. But then she seemed to notice their closeness. She let go of him abruptly and pulled back. Put distance between them as she busied herself with setting aside her sword, with repacking the book.

He was all at once given the impression of many doors closing and locking one after another. By the time she turned back to look at him, her face was settled back into its normal vaguely intimidating neutrality.

“I should try to get some sleep,” she said. “And so should you. We need to find where those bloody goblins have holed up with the Druid. Interesting as that ruin turned out, our new friend is not the cure we’ve been looking for.”

“Indeed not,” he agreed, standing. He recognized a dismissal, no matter how kindly given. He made a dramatic gesture and half bowed. “Dear lady, may you sleep the sleep your kindness so richly deserves!”

She let out a surprised laugh, that mask breaking again. “And may you rest your eternally wagging tongue, dear wizard.”

A dig, but she said it with a fondness he found gratifying. He wasn’t unaware of his talkative nature, when he’d been given half the chance to chatter. Good that she seemed to like it.

“I shall do my very best to oblige.”

Gale returned to his tent with a lightness in his heart most unfamiliar, and a smile he would have been hard pressed to extinguish.

[chopper-witch]

Post game Circle of Spores druid (kind of resistant this is my headcanon i can do what I want*) durge Tav (Amanita) and unascended Astarion move into Cazador’s old place.

Astarion acts like a cat bringing his prey back as a prize (dead or dying humanoids) so Amanita can use them to create her own little fungi garden and controlled myconids. He does it willingly because he gets some amazing blood and she gets a new body for her collection. They host way too many extravagant parties that always have the best bordering on or definitely illicit substances which people beg them to be able to sell or create. They aren’t giving away their secrets any time soon, but they do let people explore the fungi garden, which quickly exploded from the initial set up for it to covering most of the mansion.

Astarion loves the cover the fungi provide from the sun, though he does have many complaints about colors clashing and the occasional piece of furniture or painting being overtaken (“that is a one of kind armoire from Cormyr! Why are there torchstalks all over it?” “Guess they like the wood. Must be well suited for moisture retention”).

Amanita is just happy to have a place where it isn’t the death that is the focus, but what can come of it.

*in this hc durge lets Orin stay as chosen and Bhaal just sort of lets her do her own thing because she is definitely still committing murders without him prompting her to do so. She just vibes.