#reincarnation tav

[bg-brainrot]

This last chapter with reincarnation!Tav took a bit longer than it usually takes me and I think it's because of this scene in particular. As someone who projects some (a lot) onto Astarion, I knew I would need to address his grief over past!Tav in a way that felt real to me*, while still being distinctly him. I got there eventually, and now I'm pleased to be a bit proud of the scene c':

*Disclaimer: everyone processes grief differently, everyone wants different things in their healing process.

“Ever so helpful, aren’t you?” he snaps. Then, realizing what he’s said, wipes a hand over his face and looks up at you. His eyes are conflicted. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I suppose I just didn’t realize that my company was that disagreeable. It’s a rather uncomfortable thing to come to terms with.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, closing the door behind you and stepping in now. You set down your spoils and turn toward Astarion. His entire demeanor, his body, looks to be on edge, like something has been chipping away at him.

Astarion closes the book in his lap, and you note that the cover is upside down. “It’s just this damned tavern. I know I can’t eat, but I guess I got used to sharing meals with, erm, you. Them.” He drops his head and mumbles, almost too quiet to hear, “I don’t even know anymore.”

He’d mentioned before how difficult it had been for him, trying to reconcile who you are, who you were, but he’d recused himself every time it got to be too much. Here, sharing a room in the Elfsong, neither of you could run away from the roiling storm of his emotions.

Faced with his hanging head and the hunch of his shoulders, you haven’t a clue how to approach the man you can only call a friend. You almost wish this was a memory, if only for your emotions to come through clearly, your next course of action to be predetermined. But, of course, you are the only one capable of dealing with the consequences of your own actions.

You approach him slowly, cautiously, and call out his name. “Astarion?”

The man lifts his head up to you, and you find torment twisting his fair features. His breathing seems shallow and rushed. The lines around his mouth deepen as he reads your expression and he only replies, “Please don’t.”

“Don’t?” you ask, stopping just short of his bed.

“Don’t look at me like that– With that infernal pity. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look fine, and you don’t feel pity. It’s hard to parse out your emotions, but you mostly feel bad. The idea that he’d been suffering alone, that he had harbored this turmoil, all without letting you in… it hurts. Whether or not he loves you, he said he cared about you. He claims to be your friend and friends don’t shut each other out like this.

“I know you don’t want to get more attached to me,” you say, taking another step. “But I promise I am only doing this as a friend.”

You don’t give him time to react, to protest your presence, before your arms reach down and envelop his form. It’s an awkward angle, with his body hunched, curled on his bed, yours draping over him like an unwelcome cloak– he stiffens under you at first.

Then his tension melts.

His hands come up, grasping at your elbows and holding you in place. His soft, silver hair tickles your neck as his head leans into your chest. His whole body angles toward yours, as if seeking your warmth desperately.

You cling back, tilting your head into his. Your hands grip his sides tightly. Your presence is firm, your warmth his to take.

You hold him like that for a time, neither of you wanting to pull away from the simple, beautiful feeling of holding one another. Initially, you’d held him for his sake, but you find that the longer you stand there, the more your own soul settles. If a soul could crave, this is what mine would yearn for.

If you want to read the full chapter, chapter 18 is here!

[cheesy-cryptid]

“ have we met before ? “

Goodness i dont know what to call this au 😭 Maybe it’s hundreds of years in to the future? Maybe Astarion meets Tav again after so much time has passed

[dekariosclan]

Yes hello, is everyone aware that Gale’s ‘Carried Away’ kiss at the morphic pool with a halfling, gnome, or dwarf Tav is hot as hell? Because uhhhhhhh—

Gale really said ‘bad knees be damned, I need to shove my tongue entire soul into Tav’s mouth' 🥵

[frantic-fiction]

I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone. 

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart. 

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes. 

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity. 

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion. 

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines. 

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression. 

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room. 

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

*

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense. 

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

*

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.” 

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering. 

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

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

Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Tav: I know you’re deflecting by making jokes about how hot you are.

Astarion: *crying* It’s not a joke! I’m a legit snack.

[comatosebunny09]

Inspired by @sserpente’s The Sunwalker’s Gift.

Imagine being a shopkeeper, selling heirlooms and antiques in a quaint mom-and-pop shop.

Business is incredibly slow. You find yourself flipping through the worn, deckled pages of a book, your chin cradled in your palm. There is nary a customer in sight. Not since that new, mainstream jewelry store popped up down the street.

You’re about to close up shop early to enjoy what’s left of the day—it’s lovely outside. Too pretty to be tucked between these browning walls. But the jangle of the store’s bell lures your attention to the door.

Finally.

You look up as you prepare to greet the store’s newest occupant. But you forget how to talk—forget how to breathe—rooted to the floor like a basilisk has petrified you.

He’s ethereal amid the sunbeams pouring into your tiny store. All wintry-skinned, thin, and tall, dark lenses perched on his sharp nose. Rounded cheeks, petal-pink lips, and foxlike features.

His hair is what entrances you. Swaying like snowflakes in the breeze, and you wonder if it’s as soft as the snow it resembles. Vaguely, you register it sifting through your fingers, smell it exuding the faintest hints of rosemary and firewood.

The stranger surveys your shop, one hand tucked in his pants pocket, the other holding onto an oversized coat. Even his stance is princely. Nothing captures his attention for too long as he peruses through your wares, feigning interest in your rickety things.

You suddenly feel insecure; small—he strikes a picturesque figure amid the dusty antiques lining your shelves. The store across the way would probably suit someone so devastatingly beautiful better.

Nevertheless, you remember how to speak. Square your shoulders, plastering on your most welcoming grin despite your nerves exploding like solar flares beneath your skin.

After smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire, you offer the customer a warm, rehearsed “Welcome!”

He perks up at the sound of your voice. Lips twitch into a half smile, silver brows lifting slightly. Your heart hiccups at the sight.

The stranger saunters towards the counter, carrying with him the scent of bergamot and brushed sage. It’s a homely scent. Somehow nostalgic as he leans towards you, tilting his shades down to ingest you with eyes the color of smoldering coals.

“Good afternoon, love,” he drawls, his accent thick with regality. The purr of it causes your body to flood with warmth. It’s almost dizzying, the ground shifting beneath your feet.

You swallow, your throat thickening with your voice. “What brings you in today?”

“Actually.” He looks thoughtful, a long finger tapping his chin. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers like all the world’s secrets bare themselves to him. “Maybe you can help me with something.”

You watch with bated breath whilst the stranger retrieves something from his coat pocket. It catches in the sunlight. Glints a pretty ruby red as he places it on the display counter with a resounding clack.

“I’ve been trying to part ways with the damned thing for ages. Yet somehow, it always finds its way back to me.” His gaze is far off for the barest of seconds before he replaces it with a nonchalant shrug, waggling his hand dismissively. “It’s long since served its purpose. An antique, if you will. I wondered how much it would go for if it still holds any value.”

He speaks of it so contemptuously. As if it’s been a burden to carry all this time. But it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Tarnished gold, carved with intricate runes you can’t quite decipher. It houses a gorgeous crimson stone that seems to hum and swirl with energy—with power. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light or your nerves causing you to hallucinate.

You’re delicate as you hold it against the sun’s rays, further studying its design. In your peripheral, you capture the stranger’s eyes, regarding you with something you can’t quite place. Disdain? Curiosity? Fondness? Whatever it is, it unnerves you. Makes your mouth fill with sand as you clutch the ring in your palm, intending to scrutinize it some more in the back. It radiates against your flesh despite it being so frigid.

“I’ll have to take a more thorough look at it,” you conclude, masking your shakiness. You muster another smile. “Would you like some tea in the meantime? It may take a while to appraise it properly.”

“No thank you, darling,” replies the fair-skinned stranger, leaning against your counter in an easy slouch. His smirk is back, boasting what you mistake for a fang, peeking through the plushness of his lips. “Never had a taste for the stuff.”

“Coffee your thing?”

“Gods no.”

“Water?”

He waves you off with a quiet scoff, venturing away to prod and examine the other little trinkets in your shop.

“Take all the time you need, love. I’ve nothing but time to spare. And, by the looks of it, so do you.” He eyes you over his shoulder with mirth gracing his countenance. A flash of affection colors his gaze before he busies himself again.

You huff a laugh at his peculiar mannerisms, disappearing behind the curtain of the back room to fetch your jewelers loupe. All the while, your mind swims with wistfulness.

You can't help but feel like the handsome stranger who’d fatefully wandered into your shop is watching you, burrowing deep into your soul, even through the thick veil of your curtain.

masterlist

[fl3shm4id3n]

ₜₕₑ Fₐcₑ ᵢ ₗₒᵥₑd ₘₒₛₜ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐨, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 '𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞' 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ��𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀɪᴏɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇɪɴᴄᴀʀɴᴀᴛᴇᴅ! ᴛᴀᴠ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Tw: Star-crossed lovers concept, unhealthy obsession, mentions of passed abused, reality confusion/ Dream-reality, she/her refer to reader's past life self, slow burn?, a bit of angst and comfort. Not edited.

A/N: I hope ya'll like this second part, any feed back is appreciated.

Masterlist

He couldn't believe it, the myths about reincarnation were true. You, who was once his Lady, his once Lover, of Her. You were right here, except you were a totally different person. But with the face he once loved most. The face he couldn't ever forget. As much as he wanted to be happy to meet you again. He felt a huge amount of guilt. That he couldn't protect his Lady. That if he were to be in the quarters sooner, then he would have prevented Cazador from killing you. It would eat him up so much, he just began to ignore that guilt, even thought he didn't want to.

Astarion was very observant about you, he would pay attention to every small detail of you. How kind you were despite the tadpole in your head. He also noticed the love you had for music and embroidery. Yes, you were just like her. You shared her same traits. Not only that, but you were just beautiful, you shared her same beauty. Both inside and out. He couldn't keep his eyes off you. Astarion had the idea to always have his eyes on you. He didn't want anything to happen to you, even though you knew how to defend yourself. Just the thought of you getting killed gets to him. He didn't take it to an extreme, but he just wanted to keep his guard up.

Whenever he'd have a chance to be alone with you, he'd take it. Always making the time for it, as if he didn't want to be away from you. Ever. He was there when you were given a lute after you helped a lady with her music. He loved to watch you play the instrument. He wouldn't mind listening you for hours, playing that lovely music. When he'd watch you play, you looked just like her when she did. You seemed much more relaxed when playing, your hands weren't shaking as if you were being forced with fear, your fingers bleeding and nails broken. You looked absolutely stunning, she looked absolutely beautiful.

Not only that, but he'd watch you sew. When there was not much to do. You'd sew in your free time. You had some materials in your stuff. Astarion would lurk by and watch you do your handy work. It was beautiful, you were as talented as she was. He remembers when you had found a black velvet coat that would fit him perfectly, so you decided to embryoid him some gold colored peacocks and other kinds of designs on the coat. He loved it. He swore that he'd cherish the garment for the rest of his life. The smile on your face made him happy, specially since you had her same smile.

Another thing that he had caught on. The mark on your left side of the neck. It was two little dark spots, right where the bite would have been. He always wanted to get a better look at it. He knew that she hated that scar, because it was a form of branding by Him. But now it was a birthmark of yours. Proving that you were really her. His one and only love.

It was no secret to you that Astarion was basically following you around like a lost puppy. At first you thought it was harmless, but the more you thought of it, the more you realized that this was becoming something than just a man trying to be friends with you. Did he want to be more than friends? You have noticed his strange behavior towards you, as if, you reminded him of someone he used to know. As weird as it seemed, you didn't want to be seen as rude towards him, but you also knew that there was more than just him following you around.

"Astarion? Can I talk to you?" you asked the male who was busy looking at himself in a mirror, which was odd of him to do. "Sure, what is it darling." He gave you his full attention. You grabbed his hand and took him away from the camp and into the woods. He had a goofy grin on his face, as if we were about to do more than just talk. When you were in the woods, face to face with him. "What's been on your mind lightly?" you asked him, in which he gave you a confused look. "What are you talking about? I'm completely fine." He said, now getting nervous of what you were about to say.

You sighed. "There is something that is wrong, ever since we met, you've just been tagging along with me. I don't mind at all, but I know that there is something going on." You explained, Astarion felt frozen, you've caught on. Now he'll have to confess to you why he's been acting the way that he has. He didn't know how to break it to you, how to tell you that you're the reincarnation of his once love of his life. Will you hate him? Will you drive a wooden stake into his heart? What would you do? "Astarion? Please tell me what's wrong, I'm willing to listen to you" You encouraged him, now getting worried.

He couldn't hide it anymore, he had to confess to you. Astarion let out a loud sigh as he rubbed his face with both hands. Then he looked at you. "This is going to be weird, but... You, you used to be the woman I fell in love with centuries ago." He confessed, making you raise your brows at him in surprised. You watched how he took out a small piece of paper from his shirt, then he handed it to you. You took the small parchment paper, it was old, but still remained together. Opening the paper, you saw the picture of a woman. Except this woman looks just like you. But she was dressed like a noble woman. Her hair was up adorned with flowers and other hairpins. Earrings and with a slight hint of what you assumed was makeup. She looked beautiful, it was almost as if you were staring at a picture of yourself.

"That woman, she was you in past." He added, you heard the sadness in his voice. You looked at him, seen the sad look in his eyes. You only nodded, looking back at the picture of your past life. "I understand now. Why you've grown some interest in me and why you're always so protective." You said while looking at the drawing. "I knew I should have done something, I wished I was there sooner that you wouldn't of died." Astarion whimpered out. In the verge of tears. You got close to him, putting the picture back in his shirt and you placed your hands on his cheeks. "It's okay, it's not your fault." You tried to explained to him. "But it was, you got killed and I wasn't there." He cried out, tears rolling down his cheeks.

You cleaned his tears with your thumbs, as he began to sob in sadness. "Astarion, Its not your fault." You said comfortingly. All Astarion could do was cry. "It's not your fault." You explained to him, then he fell to his knees, still in tears. "It's not your fault." You repeated as you hugged him close to your stomach as his arms wrapped his arms around your waist. "It's not your fault." You said again, stroking his soft hair. All he could do was cry, this guilt has been eating him up for days. He felt as if he was dying. He finally got to be able to express his feelings. As much as he didn't want to be seen like this, he just couldn't help it.

"I'm sure that she would've understood. She knows that you would have done anything to protect her." You tried to reason with him, but he was still in denial. "I would have done anything to save you. To make sure that you were safe from him." He said, as he continued to sob. As much as you didn't want to disappoint him, you just had to. For his sake. "I'm not her." You said to him, this made him look up at you. His eyes were red swollen red and filled in tears. You gave him a sadden look. "You're not her?" H asked, almost confused. "I'm not her." You told him more sternly. The more he looked at you, the more of her appearance began to fade. He began to see less of her and more of you. Yeah you might have shared the same face, but you had your own features.

Your small facial scars were more visible, the shape of your nose was way more different than hers, as well as the shape of your face, and hair. But what didn't really change were your age, except the color of them. They were alive then they were did. The more he looked at you, the more changes he saw of you. You were right, you weren't her, anymore. You were you. Astarion got up from the dirt floor, still looking at you in the eyes, with tears still remaining in his eyes. "I see now, you're not her. At least not anymore." He told you. He sighed, wiping his tears away. "I need some time to think." He said, giving you a small smile. You gave him a small smile in return. Then he turned away, leaving deeper into the woods.

Once alone, Astarion was sitting near a riverbank, thinking about what just happened. He was too blind to see, he was asphyxiated of the thought of you being her. You were, once, but now you weren't. You were a completely different person and it took him forever to realize that. It felt refreshing. He no longer felt that huge amount of guilt he had build up, but that wasn't it. He needed to do something else to completely be free from the guilt.

Back at the camp, everyone was asleep, except for you and him. You were both standing in front of the bonfire. "Are you sure you'll do it? You don't have to if you don't want to." You told him. Astarion was holding the old picture. "No, I have to. Or else I'll never truly be free from this guilt." He said, as if a lump grew in his throat. You only nodded. Then without thinking twice, he threw the small paper at the fire. Slowly burning away, the once parchment paper had now become ashes. You saw the look of hurt in his eyes, but you knew that he was doing what was best for himself, for once.

Days had passed since that night, Astarion felt all kinds of relief. He no longer felt a heavy weight on his shoulders. He felt much more lighter than most days. He also felt new emotions. More much happier and relaxed. He hasn't felt like in centuries. He felt happy despite Cazador being after him. He thought back of that night where he got a reality check from you. He felt grateful that you had helped him with this. Not only that, but he began to see you. He no longer saw her face, he saw your face. As if it were bran new face he's never seen in his life. That was a good sign. He didn't completely forget of her, but he knew that she would have wanted for him to move on and be happy with someone else.

He had stopped comparing you to her. That meant that he no longer felt the guilt that he had been feeling for decades. Everything that you did, felt new, as if he had never seen someone do the things you did for years. He saw you in a bran new light. Everything about you had began to fascinate him more than ever. But what caught his attention the most was the way you treated those around you, how you were willing to help those in need of helping. But he also saw how kindness wasn't always the answer, and violence would often had to play a role in some situations. You were just an incredible human being. The only person who had somewhat stored his faith in humanity.

Astarion had fallen in love with you, again, but instead of your past life. He was falling for you, and hard. It no longer felt like an obsession as before, but real love. The problem was, that he had no idea what to do with his new found feelings. He had forgot how that feeling felt like many years ago. But he was willing to learn again.

"Do you have a moment dear? I'd like to speak with you" Astarion got your attention, you nodded and looked right back at him. "What is it?" You asked him, seen the small blush on his cheeks. "I know we didn't have a good start, but. Since that night, I began to grow these new feelings towards you." He explained. "Now I see you, for you. I no longer see her, but you. You're.... you're incredible. You deserve a lot, well at least to me. I would like for something... for us to start something new, something real. But I understand that you wouldn't want to be with me, after what happened in the past." He admitted.

You couldn't help but give him a small smile. "I do want something with you. I've liked you for the last couple months we were together, but I just didn't want our relationship to start with an unhealthy obsession. Because who knows what might have happened if it started that way." You explained. You saw the look of guilt her had, but he quickly added to the sentence. "But I've changed, I've realized that I fell in love with you. And I again, apologize for that, I really am." He said, you could hear the sound of his voice, how he was actually sorry and felt guilty for that. "I know you did. I trust you." You said, then you took his hand into yours. Feeling his cold skin against your warmth.

Astarion couldn't help but smile, taking both your hands into his. Feeling your warm embrace. "I... like this." He said, with an almost shy smile. "But, I honestly don't know what we're doing." He said with a small chuckle. "I know where we could start." You said with a smile. "Oh? And what would that be?" he asked with a grin. Then you got close to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. Astarion's arms were spread. Not sure on how to react, but he followed your lead. Also hugging you back, pulling you as close as possible to him. It felt good, being able to move from the guilt, to fall in love again.

ₚᵣₑᵥᵢₒᵤₛ ₚₐᵣₜ, ₙₑₓₜ ₚₐᵣₜ?

[hexed-padlock]

Hi. As requested by a few people, here’s a fic of my AU/Headcanon where Tav killed Strahd but keeps it a secret from the party. I’m planning a few different scenarios of the reveal, but here’s the first (and most serious). Next ones are gonna embody the original premise more. Couldn’t get this scene out of my head though. Also a bit of Astarion x Tav here.

Takes place as you meet Cazador, where he starts mocking Astarion.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Do the cattle not know you?”

They were below the Palace, facing Cazador as he readies the ritual for his Ascension. 200 years of torment and this is where it all ends. Here and now.

Astarion tenses, seconds from lunging. This was his tormentor, the bastard who robbed him of his freedom, the monster who destroyed thousands of lives. A vampire hundreds have tried and failed to kill.

The room grows colder as Cazador continues to humiliate, to mock, to belittle.

Astarion’s jaw clenches and-

Tav laughs, loud and mocking. They’ve barely reacted thus far, and the sudden noise catches everyone off guard. Their eyes glint, one natural and the other burning with fiery, infernal magic.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t take you seriously anymore. You truly are pathetic.” Tav taunts, head tilting as a lazy smirk crawls onto their face.

Cazador’s own mocking grin turns down into a sharp frown as he finally turns his attention to Tav. “Just what makes you think you can speak to me that way? You’re nothing more than a lamb led to slaughter. Cattle to be consumed. An animal at best.”

“Are all vampires this delusional?” Tav voices the question to no one in particular. Cazador seethes, and the party tenses.

What was Tav doing? Were they insane?!

Astarion moves to grab Tav as they take a couple steps forward, but misses as they smoothly sidestep away from his grasp.

Tav pulls out a sword hilt from the pouch on their hip, testing it’s weight in their hand absentmindedly. The party never understood the significance of this old sword hilt. Sure, it was beautiful, made of an elegant platinum, but it has long since lost it’s blade. Dammon once offered to forge it a new blade but Tav politely declined.

“I’ve met another vampire before you. He was always prattling on and on about being all powerful, lord of the night… something something.” Tav pauses to shift the sword hilt to their left hand. Slowly, deliberately, Tav locks eyes with Cazador (pointedly ignoring their party). “He’s dead now, of course.”

For a moment, Cazador pauses, before the same mocking grin returns. “A spawn is hardly considered a vampire. Though perhaps to you, worm, you see no difference.” Cazador then begins speaking slowly, as if communicating with a child or an animal. The mocking grin grows. “Allow me to enlighten you-“

“I never said ‘spawn’,” Tav cuts off Cazador. “Maybe your old age is finally getting to you, leech.”

Tav shifts the sword hilt back to their dominant hand, subtly maneuvering the hilt into a proper grip. “Maybe you’ve heard of him. His name eludes me. Forgive me, but it’s been a few years. I think it starts with an S.”

All the while, the party is flabbergasted. Sure, they’ve seen Tav do some questionable things over the past few months such as walk straight into a goblin camp, lick some spider meat, and even taunt Mizora—but this is a new level of insane.

Astarion tries to get their partner to stop, because for the love of everything, shut up. He’s never seen Cazador this mad before. Sure, they’ve survived some pretty dangerous situations before, but taunting a vampire lord is madness. However, each time he tries to move or speak, his voice dies in his throat. He’s terrified, he’s rooted on the spot. He’s afraid of Cazador yes, but he’s even more afraid for Tav. The brilliant, shining light of his life. The one person who showed him kindness, love. He’s afraid of Cazador, but he’s more scared of losing them.

Before Astarion could try to intervene again, he feels Tav send a wave of reassurance through the tadpole. They glance back at him for a moment, narrowed eyes softening, before turning once more to face Cazador.

Tav hums for a couple seconds as they pause to think. “Samael? No. Maybe it was Seraph?” They huff for a bit as they make a show of wracking their mind for the name. “Aha! I remember now.”

They brace for combat and the Sunsword answers its wielders call.

Tav’s smirk turns into a cold sneer. Their eyes glow as the hilt in their hand erupts in a fiery plume, a blade of radiant light now burning in the darkness. “It was Strahd.”

————————

Idk… if anyone wants to be notified of a new fic in this AU/series you can let me know?

Anyway, next these will all be independent of each other. Each will be an alternate take on the reveal.

I haven’t written anything besides D&D backstories in literal years so please forgive me if this is rather rough. Always open to constructive criticism.

[a-jynx]

living lies

hello, darlings! this is the official pt 2. of buried promise! please remember this is reincarnated!Astarion, so, there's only a bit of likeliness! <3

so, i saw some comments about reincarnation for elves! of course, i went to my DM friend for research, and let's just say the info he gave me... is Too much power!

without further ado, i hope you enjoy living lies!

No one tells you about the world before you’re casted into it - screaming, crying, and fighting for your little life. Believing that what you are fighting for was the safety being ripped away from your shaking, bloodied hands. 

No one warns you about the agony when you remember your past. The world you came from before. 

They never explain just how… Scary, this world could be for someone new. But you’re not new, are you?

"Again," you grumbled, wiping at the blood weeping from your brow. "Let me try again." Your sword shook in your grasp as your mentor rolled his eyes, his lips in a tight frown.

"I've drawn blood." He stated, matter-of-factly. "I've won, you've lost. We'll continue our lesson tomorrow morning." You grit your teeth, tightening your grip around the handle, digging your foot into the earth before rushing him. Swinging the blade down and to the side, he easily evaded before grasping the steel with a stern grip. Your eyes bugged, curling your lips together as you pulled and yanked, but the steel just bit into his skin. Tearing and oozing his blood.

"Now, we both bleed, we've both lost-"

"If we were truly fighting- battling - you would be dead before even touching the dirt beneath my boot." He hissed, yanking your weapon away before throwing it to the side. You swallowed thickly, watching as his blood pooled by his boots. The dirt absorbed it, swallowing the blood and becoming a thick puddle. Your eyes shot to the mangled cut dancing across his calloused palm, the stream of blood dribbled and dripped down his clenched fist. Your eyes drew up his arm, following the flowing tunic sleeve that had been decorated by the small splatter of crimson.

"Aster, I-"

"Shut it. I warned you about your anger during this type of things," he sighed, flexing his battered palm before a gentle blue haze sizzled through his blood and torn flesh, smoothed together and left a hint of a scar across his calloused skin. "It'll get you killed." His hazel eyes darkened while meeting your glazed over eyes. Inhaling deeply, you savored the last droplets of his blood being soiled by the dirt below. It mocked you for not guzzling his blood like a drunk man on ale.

"Control yourself, darling," he rolled his eyes, moving past you and grabbing the abandoned sword. "Bloodthirst only looks good on you in battle." He turned back to you, tossing the stained sword towards you as you cleared your throat, catching it against the blade. Piercing your lips, you tossed the sword up and stared at the dried blood. His scent lingered on the metal, your eyes fluttered before looking to Aster through your lashes, a hint of a smile on your lips.

"I happen to think it looks good on me all the time, day or night-" you clicked your tongue, following close to him. His dark hair shined with the sunlight, tussled around from your training. His amber eyes glittered from the gentle rays, softer than usual. "Maybe so, but it'll get you killed if you cannot control it." He licked his lips, settling into his tent as you followed in.

"I've controlled it thus far,"

"With midnight frolicking with blood staining your hands and lips like some form of... Delicacy." Aster's voice grumbled low as you rolled your eyes, falling into the plush pillows of his tent. You frowned, staring at the elf in front of you. His form relaxed as he grazed over the books in hand. He always had a knack for reading...

"Depending on who I've slaughtered," you paused, sucking at your teeth in sweet remembrance of the taste that used to dance on your tongue. It could've resembled that of tart cherry wine... "Sometimes their screams were sweeter." You flashed a vision smile as Aster rolled his eyes, licking at his thumb before turning to the next page. You tilted your head, rereading the title - Past of the Death Lord, Bhaal - your God. Your blood. Your father.

"Why must you take such an interest in him," you whispered, crawling towards the distracted elf. Worming your way into his lap, fingers caressing the books' spine with a small smile. "He's considered that of a messy God."

Aster peered at you over the books' edge, his brow quirked at you before sighing, closing the book with a grunt. His nimble fingers carded through your hair, scratching at your scalp as you released an almost purr like sound. You had found each other lost within the walls of Baulder's Gate. The streets had grown, more people have moved in and called the kingdom their home. You fall amongst them.

Fresh Bhaal spawn. Hands shaking with greed to dirty them with some pitiful man's blood - to write Bhaal's name in their crimson ink. You used to control your hunger - your need for their blood to be spilled in your father's name, but now within these gates, you believed anyone would fall by your hand. Until you met Aster. Working to heal those around your non-official home, those who were lost amongst the streets of Baulder's Gate. He had seen you as a challenge - an adventure - that begged to be had. Aster saw the bloodlust in your eyes and the shake in your hands, he had to make you something... Better. He already knew of the illness that wrapped around your neck, threatening to hang you.

"Hello, darling," his voice teetered between sultry and warmth. You turned to him, caution rolled over you as your eyes ghosted over his figure, studying him. "You seem to be lost... Little Bhaal." Your eyes widen a bit, but you couldn't stop the grin that split your lips.

"I cannot decide if you're stupid or brave," your words seemed to curl around his throat, licking at his stampeding pulse. "Either way, you're thickskulled to speak of Bhaal so... Little like." You bit, moving closer and pressing your hand against his chest with a cheeky smile. Flashing your sharpened teeth. "You test waters that are rarely tested."

"I'm always looking for... New challenges." Aster spoke into the space you shared. Your breaths mingled as you inhaled, eyes fluttering at the scent of blood filtering through his skin. "You really are thick for wanting to challenge a," your voice lowered, pressing up until your noses bumped one another. "Little Bhaal."

Aster couldn't fight back his smile, his hands rested against your ribs, it felt.. Right to hold you. Caress your flesh, and kiss away your last breathe. You had just met, but it felt like you had known each other for another lifetime...

Your feet dragged across the dirt whilst the sun beat against your sweaty skin. Aster had you travelling to find some rare artifact - a ring? You couldn't be bothered to remember. Looking around you felt a twist in your chest, pulling you to the left as Aster stared at the map in hand. "Aster, come," you waved him, his eyes filtered to you with creased brows, yet he moved towards you. "There's something this way." You snatched his hand and tugged him behind you. Knocking down branches and tugging out your sword to cut away the ever-growing vines. A spell.. A concealment spell. A powerful one at that.

"You swore no magic," you hissed as Aster stepped forward, frowning at the thick vines that wrapped around one another, reconnecting before solidifying once more. "Well, pardon me for believing this would be a non-magical quest." Aster rolled his eyes, reaching into his pack and pulling out the small journal he had... Borrowed.

Only those who carry the Ancunin Lover's embrace may enter their well-loved domain.

Ancunin Lover's embrace..? Was that a different artifact altogether? Was that their only key to gain the Sunlight Walker's ring?

"Shit," Aster's voice grumbled as you moved closer to him, wrapping an arm around his bicep as you peered at the journal before you. "This doesn't make any sense." He hissed, dragging his nails across the words as if the pressure would cause them to jump and quiver.

"Ancunin Lover's? Was that who protected this place?" You quipped, gently taking the journal as Aster stared at the wall ahead, frowning. "They were the lovers' that lived here - hints to why it says those who have their embrace may enter. Astarion and Tav Ancunin,"

"The heroes of Baulder's Gate..?" Your eyes grazed over the pages, their names jumped at you from the pages. Your winced at the sharp pain that shot through your mind, causing you to drop the book in fear. Aster turned to you, rushing to your side as you dropped to the dirt below. "Darling, what's wrong?" His voice became warped, filtering in a new voice. You withered in his grasp, your eyes shot open and stared at the elf above you but... His dark chestnut hair became a bright white. His amber-colored eyes now bright, ruby-colored. And his... Fangs peeked out as he stared down at you.

"My love, breathe, tell me what's wrong-"

"Hurts." Your voice was not your own. Your body pressed further into his, cringing at the pain rattling your head. He leaned forward, pressing gentle kisses across your throat, traveling up to your cheek and knocking his forehead against yours.

"Shhh," his voice lulled, your eyes fluttered at the gentle noise. "It'll pass, my darling-"

"Darling wake up!" Your eyes snapped open, meeting the amber eyes you've grown fond of over the years. His arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders, carding through your hair. He shook against your figure. "By the Nine Hells, I thought you were dead!" He leaned back, staring into your eyes as you stared at him, agape.

"I saw him,"

"Saw who? Bhaal? Is your hunger becoming more-"

"No... No, I saw an elf? A vampiric elf? I'm not sure." Your voice stilled as Aster stared at you, his hands still tight around your shoulders. His brows creased as you slowly pushed up from the ground, his hands grabbing ahold of your outstretched hand and hip, his thumb brushing against your showing flesh. You walked together towards the wall of vines, some still squirming around and tightening as you approached. Your palm shook as it raised to the vines, Aster's palm resting on the back of your hand.

"Aeterna Amantes," the words left your lips before you knew what they meant. The vines halted and slowly peeled away, revealing an abandoned home. You sighed out a laugh as you walked in, tugging a bewildered Aster behind you.

The home creaked and groaned, shimmering vines curled and swayed across the old wood. Trees and wildflowers blew against the soft breeze, other than the vegetation taking control... The home looks intact. Taking your free hand, you brushed it against the soft wildflowers and tall grass, your bloodthirst seemed to dwindle... To burn away.

"Little Bhaal?" Aster murmured from behind you, one of his hands reached up, intertwining your fingers. Your eyes were glazed over, looking over the boards and cracks across the humble abode. Your heart clenched at the sight while your bottom lip trembled.

"Why... Why do I remember loving you?" Your voice shook, turning towards Aster as he frowned whilst shaking his head. "What?"

You face him, still holding each other close before swallowing thickly around the lump forming in your throat. Inhaling deeply, you looked back to the home with a look of sorrow. Pain. "This... Home. I remember it like we built this home yesterday. I remember building it alongside you, being in... In love. I was growing sick,"

"Darling, I... I don't know-"

"You have to feel it." You tightened your hand around his, your eyes watered as he stared into your eyes. His scarred palm reaching up and caressing your tear-stained cheek, his thumb rubbed the tears into your skin. You sighed into his skin, clenching your eyes shut as you saw another vision.

You see the white-haired elf, who you've marked up to be Astarion, laid out on a bed of silk. His fingertips grazing across your showing skin. Your own hands pet through his soft, white curls and tugs gently at the knots within his hair. Rain gently pelted the windows as you both breathed in one another's company. Astarion turned to face you, his eyes soft and glazed over. His fangs peaked out from his lips, showing a soft smile. "What is it, my Star?" Your voice whispered as he reached up, grabbing your hand that had messed with his hair. Pressing his lips against your knuckles, climbing further up your arm and brushing his lips against every inch of skin he could catch. Your giggles echoed, as he climbed up your body, pressing harder kisses against your throat, sucking gently.

"Star," your voice trembled with a moan as he smirked against your flesh, nipping gently at your scars. His bite mark. "Please." Your pleas fell to deaf ears as he sucked deeper hickeys against your skin before he loomed over you, caging you between his arms and the soft bed. Your heart pounded against your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, your fingers tangled into the hair at the base of his nape.

You jumped back to Aster, your body tossed to the ground as he held you close, cradling you into his chest. Sitting up, you pressed your hands to his chest, feeling heat roll into your cheeks as you stared at his widened eyes. "Astarion... Tav... Their memories, I can see them." You laughed with a shake, rolling off of his lap and quickly standing before running towards the house. Pressing your palm against the rotted wood, gasping as another vision shot across your mind.

Astarion crossed the yard with you held tight in his arms, tears were cascading down his cheeks while he walked. Darkness had swallowed you as you followed behind him, keeping close as you watched him stop by a cliff. Two holes dug; two gravestones prepared... No...

Falling back into your mind, you turned to Aster as he stood beside you, watching as you blinked with a smile. Grabbing his wrist, you tugged the Rogue behind you, running towards the cliff. Your feet slammed into the ground below, dirt kicking up as you ran. Sliding to a stop, you glanced around, more wildflowers bloomed around the cliffside.

"It's nearby, I know it is." You hissed, dropping his wrist as Aster stared as if you had grown two heads - perhaps three. "I can feel it, Aster!"

"What in the Hells are you talking about? You keep falling into these... Memories, as you call them, and come back with new ideas where we need to go! It's... Maddening to watch, to say the least." Aster scoffed, running a hand through his thick, chestnut-colored curls. His eyes shimmered, making you take a step closer. His amber-color glowed a soft... Red?

You reached up, grabbing his cheeks as he jumped, his cheeks and the tips of his ears heating up at the sudden touch. Dragging him closer, you tilted your head each way, studying his eyes as they shined in a soft ruby glow. Two colors seemed to dance in his irises. One for the present, one for the past. Licking your lips, you leaned close as your lips fell apart, barely touching his as a shaking breath left him.

"May I..?"

Aster swallowed thickly, another sigh leaving his parted lips. "Please." You pressed your rough lips against his. They moved in depth against one another, tasting each other. Lights swirled around the two of you as you wrapped your arms around his neck, his hands slithered down your hips, squeezing at the flesh there as you deeply groaned. You only pulled away at the burning in your lungs begged for air, your eyes fluttered open as Aster was already looking around. His eyes grew wide at the sight of Astarion sitting by the gravesite before you. He was grieving...

You pressed a finger to his lips as you both turned back to Astarion, watching as the sun rose and he removed his rings, shoving one into the dirt below and the other fell to the ground as his body became dust. Ashes.

You both gasped, falling away from each other, chests' heaving as Aster scrambled to his feet before his hand dove down, tugging you up with him. You both shoved through the tree limbs and vines hanging around the burial site. Skidding to a stop, you both leaned into each other, eyes wide and small smiles on your lips. The graves were still in... Prestine condition. No weathering, no tussled soil, no chips nor cracks within the homemade headstones.

"He... He buried Tav here, and then he-"

"Then, he died for them..." Aster's voice trembled, his fingers slowly inched towards yours, wrapping them together. "He had the Sunwalker's ring, and he gave up everything for them."

"They loved each other, Aster, I... And with the visions I saw, they treasured one another. I mean, he looked at them as if they had put the stars in the sky." You couldn't help but smile, slowly moving towards the graves. Settling beside the site, your fingers cradle the soft soil. Aster followed you, sitting beside where Astarion once stood.. The rings glistened in the soft sunlight. Aster sighed, his fingers gently tugging the Sunwalker's ring from the soil.

"Would... Would it be right for us to even take this?" He mumbled, studying the jewelry. The red gem glittered whilst the gold band shimmered with the incantation bestowed upon it. His skin shined from the small glow, you glanced towards him, a small smile on your lips. Aster looked at peace... Soft in the gentle sunlight. He himself looked gentle.

"Do you want it..? Or do we really need it?" Your voice was careful, glancing towards him as Aster sighed, rolling the ring between his slender fingers, before flicking it off of his thumb and catching it onto his other hand. He inhaled deeply, grabbing the ring again and pushing it into the earth, joining the other ring they had watched Astarion bury before them.

"We don't need it... And maybe, if we stay here," Aster's voice murmured, his eyes catching yours as you stared at one another. Breathing in the clear air, watching as Aster stood, holding out his hand to you. Curling your hands into his palm, you carefully stood, glancing to the burials below you. With a small smile, you reached down and plucked the wedding ring from Astarion's grave, holding it out to Aster.

"We could stay here... To protect the ring of course." You grinned as he smirked, nodding before reaching out, grasping the ring and carefully slipping it onto his ring finger. "Of course, we'll need to... Renovate the house though." He murmured, reaching up and tucking hair behind your pointed ear, grinning as he cupped your jaw.

"In a way... We're living lies, y'know?" You whisper, pressing your lips to his as he sighed, deepening the kiss easily. Your hands embedded themselves into his dark curls whilst his own hands rested against your hips, his thumbs rubbing against the showing skin. Your skin hummed as you replayed Astarion's movements from before.

"Maybe, but... I think we're living as their lies. We'll be living our truth." He whispered against your skin, pressing another sharp kiss to your jawline, his teeth nipping at your pulse. You meowled at the sensation, tilting your head back allowing his teeth to nip and his tongue to push against your pulse.

Aster and you chose to live through Astarion and Tav's lives. Using their last home, and memories to relive and help those who still needed it. You might've been living lies, but you were going to keep their buried promise.

[aluneposting]

except from a fic i might not finish

Gortash’s grip is tight around your wrist. Even as you try to escape, he pulls you back to into chest, back into his overwhelming embrace. The champagne in your glass spills onto the grass of the orangery. People are staring, and you flush with anger. ‘Let me go,’ you say, tugging on your arm. Gortash smiles at you with a knowing, fond grin. ‘Come now, we have so much history,’ he murmurs, leaning forward until you’re almost nose to nose. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.’ But then someone is sliding an arm around your waist as if they heard your silent prayers. They pull you away from Gortash and he only releases your arm to not cause more trouble. You look up, startled, and see the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen before. An angel of vengeance. Pale hair, sharp eyes  —  and a dangerous grin. He tucks you against his side, and you stumble behind him slightly, your cheek pressing to his shoulder. You hold your drink to your chest defensively. ‘There you are, my dear,’ Astarion says smoothly. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

[mathyna]

Yeah, so.. No comment 🤡🤡

[bg-brainrot]

"When He’s all but Forgotten How to Love Again" - Astarion x GN!Reader - Series Masterlist

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav for plot reasons)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, cw: blood, cw: Astarion's entire backstory, cw: sex, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Eventual Fluff, Grief, Mourning, Developing Relationship

Series WC: 113k words and ongoing, 21/?? chapters

Summary: An Elf-Tav reincarnation story where Reincarnated!Tav dreams about Astarion in their nightly reveries and eventually seeks him out once they reach maturity. Things definitely totally go well.

Author’s Notes: I'm bringing over some of my multi-chapter fics from AO3, so if you've already read this, ty!! I love you and appreciate you so much! I will continue to add chapters as I format them, but the full fic is available on AO3 here if you're feeling like a binge.

Heads up-- while there will be explicit moments, this is first and foremost focused on romantic tension and yearning, asking the question: 'Would you still love me if I was someone completely different?’ Explicit scenes will be few and far between and very much focused on their feelings. It’s essentially an established relationship slow burn?

This has unascended Astarion, “good” choices are made in the original timeline, Tav needs to be an elf for this to work, but otherwise no specifics on past Tav. Present day Tav is a magic-user.

Chapters:

Chapter 1: Knifes and Nightmares

At 12 years old, you first dream of the Pale Elf. The encounter scares you and sets you on your path forward.

Chapter 2: The Second Encounter with the Pale Elf

Nearly 19, you think you have a handle of your past lives. However, not all of your past lives are created equal.

Chapter 3: What it Means to Love

Now 29, you're still trying to piece together parts of your past. In particular, what exactly was your relationship with Astarion?

Chapter 4: In this Lifetime

Now 99-years-old, you've managed to ignore your worst impulses to run off to Baldur's Gate. One night's reverie finally breaks you.

Chapter 5: Guidance from a Druid

After finally setting off to find Astarion, you receive a confounding memory from your past life. Ignoring what it might mean, you focus on your task and visiting Halsin, one of your past-self's friends.

Chapter 6: The Man of your Dreams

You make your way toward Astarion, trying your best to prepare for the encounter to come.

Chapter 7: Just One Night

You plead your case to the vampire.

Chapter 8: Who You Have Become

You try to learn more of who Astarion's become, while also trying to convince him of who you were.

Chapter 9: Ghosts of You

After he storms off, you try to track Astarion down only to find yourself on a trip down memory lane. Once you do catch his trail, you’re surprised to see where he’s gone.

Chapter 10: Overheard in the Underdark

You traverse a new landscape, looking for Astarion. What you find might be more than you bargain for, and what you hear might be too much to handle.

Chapter 11: An Interrogation

You spend the night in vampire prison and have a difficult conversation.

Chapter 12: The Source of his Pain

As you aim to leave and never look back, Astarion realizes that perhaps *he's* the one that made the mistake.

Chapter 13: And They Were Roommates

You and Astarion try to find a common ground between you. Things are awkward and tentative, and progress is anything but linear.

Chapter 14: A Blossoming Friendship

Now in your second week of living together, you and Astarion have to get past some of the hurdles your first week introduced, all while getting a bit closer along the way.

Chapter 15: More than Friends Pt. 1

Push finally comes to shove. As fun as living in the present is, Astarion forgets that present dangers are still very, very real. Afterward, emotions run high, and you find yourself in a familiar predicament.

Chapter 16: More than Friends Pt. 2

After talking through the previous night's tryst, emotions are confused, pasts are divulged, and everything comes to a head when your heart and soul want different things.

Chapter 17: What We are Now

When you’re left to your own devices, you find yourself knee-deep in mystery. Despite all of this, Astarion never leaves your mind. And perhaps you never leave his.

Chapter 18: Traveling with a Friend

You and Astarion travel together to Waterdeep. Emotions run high as you reconnect and reestablish your boundaries.

Chapter 19: The Wizard’s Tower

After traveling through Waterdeep, you and Astarion finally arrive at Gale's tower. Introductions are made, tours are had, and the relationship between yourself and Astarion continues to remain complicated.

Chapter 20: Sweets and Shopping

After receiving some advice from Gale, you and Astarion spend the day shopping and talking through your friendship.

Chapter 21: Dansarra’s Delights

Your wizard friend gives you a nigh impossible task, and you spend the day trying to find your opening to complete it.

Chapter 22 - TBA

...

[ghost-proofbaby]

“If you get caught, I’ll let you rot in that cell. I swear it.”  “I don’t think you would,” he chirps confidently, finally dropping her hand and wrestling his own out of her grip, “I think you’d miss me too much, dear.” “Thinking isn’t a good look on you, Astarion.” She probably would. Miss him, that is. 

summary: aruna finally figures out what her class is - a wild magic sorcerer. now, if only she had a spell to make babysitting astarion easier.

wc: 4k+

warnings: continued memory loss, but beyond that, no real warnings. just astarion being a menace per usual <3

a/n: this chapter is boring but necessary okay i swear it's crucial. I SWEAR.

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

“This is useless.”

“You’re being impatient.”

“No, I’m being realistic.” 

Stubborn, more like it. But Aruna would sooner bite her own tongue off than admit that to Gale as he hovers over her. 

She’s spent the first precious hours of morning annoying him, in all fairness. The moment she knew he was awake as well, she’d practically ambushed him, inquiring about those books he kept going on about. She was about to call him a liar, seemingly forcing his hand to admit that the whole bag of holding charade was pure bullshit, when he’d just motioned for her to take a seat on one of the plush cushions on the porch of his tent.

And then he’d brought up a stack of books that sparked a headache in Aruna like no other.

The punishment fits the crime. She’d asked for this. 

“How far have you gotten?” Gale is reading his own book, sitting in a far more comfortable chair across from her. The others are still sleeping – well, the others minus Astarion. He’d been missing from the only other bedroll still situated by the long-dead fire when she’d awoken, and neither her nor Gale had witnessed his arrival due to their noses being stuck in these damned books, “You’re allowed to skim, you know. I don’t recommend it, but…”

“If I have to read another word about wizards, I might paint the ground with my brains,” she flatly notes, turning the open pages she’d been glancing over his way. 

It was a book about wizards. Her complaint is fairly mute when all things are considered. She knows it – she won’t admit it.

He entertains her by leaning forward to squint at the text, clearly not reading it properly as he dismisses it far too quickly. He probably already has the book memorized, the bastard. “I’m fairly certain you’re not a wizard, so you can move on.” 

She’s ready to whack him over the head with the book in her hands. 

No one would stop her. Astarion was back in camp, sitting not far off and glancing in their direction with a permanent expression of amusement, and she knows he wouldn’t stop her. 

“If I’m not a wizard, what am I?”

“Keep reading. Figure it out.”

“Gale. I swear, with the tadpoles as my witness, I’ll chuck this book at your head,” Astarion’s snort is hard to miss as she whispers the threat, “And I don’t need magic to do that.” 

Gale’s eyes widen as though he fully believes her, and he’s finally processing the fact that the only witness to the violence would be the one person in camp who staunchly prefers Aruna to him. “We do not need to resort to violence, my friend. You were the one who woke me up-”

“I didn’t wake you up.”

“-Demanding the books so you could figure out what you are,” Gale finishes as though Aruna never interrupted him, finally standing and walking over to her, “Would you like my expert opinion, though?” 

“Expert?” she scoffs, “My Gods, I’ve chosen the largest ego in camp to educate me. I’m a fool.”

“You are,” Astarion adds from several feet away, “Although we didn’t need your first questionable decision of the day to know that, my dear.” 

She finally turns her body fully to face the elf, “I have more than one book, don’t forget that.” 

He smiles the widest she had witnessed yet, and her attention catches on those glinting teeth. She’d never noticed just how sharp his canines were. 

But he’s quick to sheath them with his lips, offering her no more than a fleeting glance. 

“Based on what I’ve seen in combat, your aim leaves something to be desired.” 

She wishes someone else was awake. Someone like Shadowheart, who might more directly take her side and even the playing field. 

“Maybe with the books,” she narrows her eyes, “But I’m not above resorting to magic against you.” 

He’s about to chirp something back. She can see the playful look, the exhilaration he gets every time she indulges him. Whether it be in conversations about death, or just his teases – he seems to thrive under her attention. But Gale interrupts them both, snatching the book on wizards out of her hand before replacing it with a different one. Something just as hefty and painfully thick, the leather bound cover smooth in her palms. 

“Read that, you might find it of interest,” Gale tells her, smiling differently from Astarion. Whereas Astarion seemingly enjoys existing solely to annoy her, Gale is trying to be genuinely helpful. He has endless patience for her, even as she’s lashing out. 

“What is it-”

“Just read it,” Gale begs, still holding more composure than her, “Trust me. I beg of you.” 

Her mouth snaps shut, and the animal inside of her is quick to cozy up to the idea.

Trusting him. And trusting Astarion. The thing inside of her is quick to gleam at the idea, no hesitation as it purrs at her to do so. She hates the contentment that resides beneath her irritated surface at this moment – the way she’s warm all over again, simply by lounging about the camp with these two strangers. It feels normal; it feels like home. 

The camp hadn’t felt very homely to her the first night, but it’s starting to now. Even as she shoots another warning glare in Astarion’s direction when he breathes out in a way too similar to covering up a laugh. 

“I think Astarion should join us. Make himself of use rather than just being a spectator.”

Her words wipe the smile right off his face, a look of disbelief replacing it. 

“Oh, no – no, no, no,” he’s the most serious she’s seen him yet, vigorously shaking his head, “Absolutely not. I have absolutely no desire to go through our friendly wizard’s library, thank you very much.”

“You say that now, Astarion,” Gale raises a finger, waggling it kindly in Astarion’s direction, “But I’m sure a day will come where you change your mind.”

“And I can assure you, you will wither away awaiting that day.” 

Now, it’s Aruna’s turn to snort. 

The banter between the three of them is coming easily. Flow of jokes and snide remarks are easier than breathing, and Aruna wonders if a quick tongue was an attribute from her life before all this or simply the two men bringing out the worst in her. 

They quiet down long enough for Aruna to finally begin to properly read the book presented to her. It’s just as wordy as the book on wizards, just as dreadfully boring, but she soon gathers the subject for the literature: sorcerers. 

When Astarion had jokingly called her a bard, even without any knowledge of what being a bard had entailed, it had fit her all wrong. A baggy hand-me-down that she couldn’t situate comfortably over her skin. Too many gaps in what she had experienced in their adventures and her experiments with her powers, and too much restriction on all that she didn’t know of herself. But sorcerer? The more she learns, the more the title sinks in against her bones and fits every curve of who she is as it compliments the magic beneath her skin in a calming fashion, the more she understands why Gale had handed her the book. 

It fits. It fits very, very well. 

No one chooses sorcery; the power chooses the sorcerer.

She reads over the line several times. Her eyes pass over it once, and then jump back to the beginning of the sentence, as if reading a fourth and fifth time might make the words hold any less importance.

It fits. 

Her magic doesn’t feel like something she handpicked for herself; not in her journey since the beach and possibly not even in her lifetime before all of these troubles. It’s as if it’s always existed. It’s almost comforting, a lingering relic of who she is but can’t remember that she feels the urge to cling to. 

“You think I’m a sorcerer.”

She means to phrase it as a question, but there’s a finality to her tone as she looks up to Gale. His proud smile says it all. 

Astarion can’t seem to help himself, finally wandering over to them properly, “A sorcerer? I never thought I’d live to see the day a wizard would openly accept the company of one. What a little miracle our small trope is becoming.” 

Gale fully ignores him, “It fits. Especially with your outburst of magic in front of the grove – you seem to specifically be a wild magic sorcerer. I could be wrong, of course, but… well…”

“It fits,” she repeats his words, her thoughts, “Is it… Is it something I was born with?” 

Her callous exterior, the shields of all her jabs and taunts, has melted away. Curiosity has its grip on her as she places the book down into her lap, choosing to stare down at her palms instead with fascination.

Palms that have conjured magic. Palms that had sent off missiles and flames alike with little effort. Her magic was a part of her – not a gift, not a skill. Just her. 

“Usually, yes,” Gale shrugs, “You can certainly keep the book and read more on it, if you’d like. Most are born with it, few encounter forces which thrust it upon them. It’s hard to tell given your… condition.”

Her memory loss. The reason she’s so clueless, sitting on the ground outside of Gale’s tent, a spine of a book pressing into her crossed ankles as she sits criss-cross. 

“Just to be clear – the condition you’re referring to is the mysterious lack of memories our dear sorcerer has? Not the tadpole?” Astarion takes a seat on the log not far off, keeping his distance but still finding a way to wiggle his way into the moment.

She can’t even be mad. She’s still looking down at her palms, focusing on that hum that comes from within.  

“The tadpole wouldn’t give her these powers,” Gale asserts sternly. 

She’s not even listening. 

She understands it now – Gale’s hungry mind. The heavy book in her lap is no longer a source of inconvenience, but a way to learn about herself. Even if they’re wrong, she aches to know more. She wants to understand the world, to learn as much as she can. Her companions have been firm in their optimism that her memory loss isn’t permanent, but they can’t guarantee it. For all Aruna knows, this is her one chance to begin to catch up to everyone else’s knowledge. 

“What else do you have books on?” she asks suddenly, looking up between the two men before her eyes dart to the large stack of books, “Do you have any more I can borrow?”

“About sorcerers?” 

“About anything.” 

Something clicks into place. Softly, silently. Aruna doesn’t understand how she got into this mess, but knows she must not have had a choice based on the recounts from her fellow companions. Not regarding the tadpole, not regarding her presence on that ship, not regarding the gaps in all her memories. 

But she has a choice now. She can sit and be idle, or she can do something. Learn, educate, chase away the shadows of cluelessness until she’s filled in all the gaps in her knowledge. 

Astarion’s scowl at her eagerness is a small price to pay for the promise of that. 

—

“Tch,” Gods, Aruna is quickly growing tired of that sound, “We need to focus on finding this Zorru. We need to learn all that we can regarding the nearest creche.” 

“Lae’zel, I promise you, we are looking for Zorru,” Aruna scans the bustling grove, far more full of moving bodies than it had been the afternoon prior, “But they’re not exactly wearing name tags.”

Aruna is nearly overwhelmed by it all. She’d gathered up her party this morning with a goal in mind; they needed to keep chasing after any and all trails that would lead to a healer. 

Besides, she had Astarion by her side now. As long as she kept him well and alive, she considered that mysterious letter and its confusing instructions satiated, no longer a distraction from what she needed to accomplish. Once she rids them of the tadpole, she’ll press further into the issue of just why some random stranger has insisted she save the thorn in her side. 

“Perhaps we make the suggestion to their leader you’ve been avoiding,” Astarion says in a bored tone, hand reaching out for a crate of fruit off to the side of the entrance they’ve stalled in, “It certainly would make our lives easier.”

She’s quick to reach out her own hand, slapping him on the wrist to prevent whatever thievery he thought he was about to stealthily get away with. He looks at her in shock that quickly morphs to narrowed eyes and a set scowl. 

She doesn’t care. She has one job beyond all this – keep him alive. It’ll be hard to do that if he’s locked away in some prison cell. 

“I’ll talk to Zevlor later,” she promises to no one in particular. She was avoiding the tiefling leader, only showing enough interest in him this morning to catch his name through eavesdropping. It had been easy enough with how loudly some of these tieflings spoke. 

Gale is the only one trying to be remotely helpful, standing with his hands on his hips as he surveys the area with her, “Maybe we should ask around? Someone surely knows this Zorru. It’ll save us quite a bit of heartache, not to mention time.” 

Time. The one thing that didn’t seem to be on their side, emphasized by the wiggling she feels within her skull. The sooner they found Zorru, the sooner they would find this creche, and the closer they’d be to one of their few options for ridding themselves of their most impending of problems. 

“Indeed we should,” Lae’zel agrees fairly easily, which shocks Aruna until she realizes that the gith has taken the suggestion as a showing of slack on her leash, quickly choosing to stride in the direction of a few nearby tieflings. 

Aruna almost takes a step after her, but Gale is quicker. He follows without hesitation, shooting a glance over his shoulder that was somewhere between reassurance and worry. 

The message is loud and clear, regardless: he’ll watch over Lae’zel, as long as Aruna keeps an eye on Astarion. 

“You two have no need to babysit us, you know,” Astarion is still scowling, and she’s beginning to realize just how strong of a grudge he can hold when he doesn’t get his way. 

“No?” she questions, quickly honing in on his once-again wandering hand. She steps forward and wraps her finger around his wrist, bringing it up into the space between them in a scolding manner, “Then stop trying to commit crimes, Astarion. I don’t have enough gold in my pack to bribe or bail you out should you get caught.” 

“We need supplies for camp.”

“We can worry about supplies before we head back.” 

“Why are you so worried about me getting caught?” he suddenly asks, a soft smile beginning to spread.

And- no. It’s not a soft smile. It’s downright mischievous, as though he’s accomplished something-

She looks down at the hand she isn’t holding. Timed just perfectly enough to see him stowing away a damn apple into his pocket. 

“Astarion,” she hisses, reaching out to take the contraband. 

He stops her with ease. The hand that had just skillfully grabbed the fruit without getting caught by any bystanders grabs her wrist in a similar fashion to how she holds his right hand, tilting his head mockingly, “No need to cause a scene. That’s a sure way to get caught.” 

He’s downright insufferable. She wonders if there would be any consequences to doing the exact opposite of saving him. He’s already indulged her that he admires decapitation, but perhaps he’ll rethink his choices when she takes an axe to him. 

And if the warm thrum igniting in her chest as a reaction to his touch is anything to go off of, there probably would be internal consequences, and she’d probably regret it instantly.

“If you get caught, I’ll let you rot in that cell. I swear it.” 

“I don’t think you would,” he chirps confidently, finally dropping her hand and wrestling his own out of her grip, “I think you’d miss me too much, dear.”

“Thinking isn’t a good look on you, Astarion.”

She probably would. Miss him, that is. 

He’s a pest, but he’s quickly become her pest. For some unknown reason, he’s taken to clinging to her side, and his consistent words meant to get a rise out of her are like a blanket of comfort. Of normalcy. 

They have uninvited visitors in their minds, not a single one of them particularly familiar with this terrain, and Aruna doesn’t have a single memory of herself. But she has Astarion – she has his petty commentary and twitchy hands. She hasn’t had to doubt that once in the days she’s known him. 

She doesn’t even have to glance over her shoulder when she walks away; she knows that he’s following her, her own personal shadow as she finally begins to walk deeper into the Grove. Gale and Lae’zel are somewhere, hopefully making more progress than these two, but Aruna can’t spot them as she takes a new path. She takes a right rather than left and completely surpasses all of the small stalls they had perused the day before. 

“Am I crazy, or is that ox’s eyes following us?” 

She doesn’t give Astarion’s words much thought as they walk past the animals, tossing over her shoulder without hesitation, “You’re crazy.”

“I’m being serious,” he insists, face crumpled in between annoyance and weariness as he glares at the ox at the very end of the fence. “It’s- It’s looking at me as if it knows something.” 

She sighs as she turns to him, walking to where he’s planted himself. His arms are crossed, and it’s almost comical – he’s clearly threatened under some animal’s gaze.

“I really don’t think-” 

And then she makes eye contact with the animal. 

Oh. Oh, Gods, Astarion is right. Whereas the other oxen are looking about mindlessly, there’s something in this ox’s eyes as it stares at them. A certain intelligence that she can place immediately. 

“What was it you said to me earlier?” he mocks, “Thinking isn’t a good look on you, was it?” 

She’s too preoccupied with the chill running up her spine as she holds eye contact to care about Astarion’s current attitude. She sidesteps to the left, and the ox’s eyes follow. She repeats the action to the right, nearly bumping into Astarion, and they still follow. 

“Would you please watch where you’re-”

“You were right,” she cuts him off as she straightens up to look at him, “You were right, and something about that ox is off.” 

He wears the smug look of a silent told you so. She sort of hates it, but it’s the least of their issues right now. 

When she takes a step back, her hand is already reaching out to grab at the sleeve of Astarion’s shirt, tugging him to follow her. “We should probably just… leave it.” 

And there’s a whole other layer of oddness at play. Because reaching out for Astarion, trying to keep him close, feels like a second nature to her. It’s not something she subconsciously has to make an effort at – she needs no reminder from some letter in order to feel that pull, that need, to drag him away from danger. Her survival instincts didn’t just apply to herself. They applied to him as well. 

“Leave it?” he scoffs in disbelief, “Isn’t our goal today to get some answers about this Nettie and our parasites? What if this ox knows something?” 

She tugs a little harder on his sleeve, stepping back again, “It’s an ox. A strange ox, but still just an animal. We can deal with it later.”

There’s a finality in her tone that makes him finally follow. He lets her tug him away, and he doesn’t even comment when her fingers stay pinched on the end of the fabric of his sleeve. 

The ox can just be added to her to do list. 

Along with the Devil that Wyll has enlisted their help in hunting. Along with reading more of the books Gale has allowed her to borrow. Along with figuring out her tent situation. 

As she walks the narrow trail with Astarion, leading them past a cart of goods that she deliberately puts herself beside rather than him, she almost wants to laugh out loud at the ridiculous list. Not out of joy, but out of terror. It was terrifying, almost comical, just how much responsibility she had taken to shouldering. Mere days before she had woken up entirely clueless on a beach, and now she had somehow managed to be the appointed leader of the oddest group of adventurers that has likely ever graced these lands. 

She understands Astarion’s frustration. And Lae’zel’s. 

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?” she blurts out just as they pass by a small make-shift stand, seemingly being run by a few children. 

He raises an eyebrow, glancing at her as she steps off the main path and closer to the shadows, taking a moment so they could face each other. 

“The creche,” she finally clarifies, subconsciously chewing on the inside of her cheek, “Do you think having this creche that Lae’zel talked about as our backup plan is a bad idea?” 

“I think it’s certainly an idea,” he looks a bit confused, as if he’s attempting to unravel her motivations string by string only to come up empty handed, “Why do you care what I think?” 

It’s her turn to look baffled, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Letter aside, strange and ominous instructions to save him aside, she’d still want his opinion. He’s a part of the group, same as Gale or Shadowheart. She wants to hear his opinion on the matters just as much as she does theirs. 

He seems to be a bit speechless at that, mouth opening and closing a few times before his brows furrow.

“I… You’re right,” and just as quickly as the slight insecurity had shone through, it evaporates, “My opinion is quite valuable. I think that having the creche as a backup plan is smart. But I do appreciate that we’re seeking out help from this Nettie first. That entire purification ordeal that the gith has been rattling on about doesn’t sound very pleasant.” 

His approval is the oddest of salves on her worrying self-doubts. She shouldn’t need to know that he agrees with her decisions in order to feel secure in them. 

It’s still nice. 

“It really doesn’t,” her eyes wander from his intense gaze, narrowing in on the children behind the table not far off. There’s two of them, bickering quietly over something, “But if this entire plot with Nettie doesn’t work out…”

She trails off, but they seem to continue to be on the same wavelength as he finishes the thought, “Then it’s our only choice.” 

All she can do is nod. Exactly. 

A commotion sounds nearby, down a set of stone steps that they’d yet to make their way down. A group of people, both tieflings and others that were just hidden by a large stone arch, are full on bickering. 

This feeling of deja vu is less foreign and not nearly as scary. It feels like the fight between Zevlor and the human boy all over again. 

She opens her mouth, but Astarion is already sighing, “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could possibly dissuade you from going down there, is there?” 

Her mouth closes, head rolling so she can sheepishly smile at him. She awaits the disapproval, the attitude, the fighting. 

She receives none of it.

Only another defeated sigh, a quick shake of his head as he succumbs, “Right.” 

His hand swings out between them, motioning down the steps. When she hesitates, he waves it a second time, impatience seeping into the motion. She’s still frozen in disbelief that he caved so easily, accepting what she’s about to do without a single curse or angry mumble of a bleeding heart.

“Well? Lead on. We haven’t got all day.” 

She takes the first step, and her shadow follows.

TAGLIST: @emmaisgonnacry @writinginthetwilight @moonmunson

[wyrmsgatebait]

Astarion’s reaction to Tav suggesting he might be aging has been rattling around in my head, and it’s got me thinking angsty little thoughts about how cruelly he might’ve been to a human lover in the past. Relationships between elves and shorter lived races require so much compassion and maturity and Astarion...doesn’t have any of that. He was the sort to become smitten with a beautiful young human and let the relationship drag on for far far too long. Oh he would say sweet things in their  ear during party’s and spend a small fortune on jewels that would compliment their skin and the season, but the doting was purely selfish. Astarion wanted a blushing beauty on his arm the same way he wanted an ermine coat. It was nice to own but it was even nicer to drink up the envy of everyone who did not.

And he drank deep for as long as he could, but his human’s beauty withered away little by little. They poured decades worth of their heart into him only to see Astarion’s lips curl in disgust when the lines around their eyes crinkle. To the human he was their whole world, but a few decades is hardly a fling to a high elf. Really he was a saint staying with them until their 40th nameday...or just about...but it was well past time for a change. He wouldn’t keep roses in his foyer after they’d begun to rot so why would he use less discernment with his choice in bedfellows. There were tears, of course, accompanying insults and accusations of being a heartless curr. It might’ve moved him if the face those tears sprang from wasn’t so unpleasant, but instead he just shooed them from the estate and busied himself with preparations to meet his next potential paramour later that evening.  ... He never made it.  Cazador practically had to scrape him off the cobblestone to force the blood down his throat. Afterwards, the idea of being loved...of being looked at with kindness becomes laughable. Now his lot in life is doing his master’s bidding and hoping he’ll be allowed to suck rotten ichor from vermin. Through all the torment his face remains untouched by the centuries. 

[tulip-simp-artist]

Tav Reincarnation Idea with Astarion

TW(s): Character death and suicide

Okay, so while I think the idea of Astarion basically stepping into the sun after Tav's death is sweet in the typical angst way. I do prefer the path of him choosing to live at least a little while longer after Tav. And this goes down that path.

So say Tav dies of, well you can choose, and they never cured non-ascended Astarion of his vampirism. They did, however, find and gift him the ring that let's him walk in the sun. Astarion eventually continues on traveling through the Sword Coast. If you headcanon, he and Tav did settle down at one point, I think in this case, he uses the travel to stay away from the house they shared together. And I think for some Tavs, that's what they asked him to do. To travel and explore and not join them in an afterlife.

Eventually, a few decades after Tav's death, Astarion has a very awkward meeting with a monster hunter. Now, he has been very careful not to let anyone know he is a vampire or have the ring to walk in sunlight. So, meeting this hunter gives him a bit of a fright and flashback to the past. But they apologize and explain that he really was in the wrong place wrong time. They were hunting some other beast... though mention some hints to vampire, well not sightings, "tracks". They do believe one to be in the area currently and warn him. They invite him to get a drink with them as another apology. And something about... well, everything about them pulls at Astarion to say yes.

He is just now taking a moment to realize this monster hunter looks familiar, feels familiar, and acts familiar. It's something in their eyes when they get him that drink later, that he recognizes Tav. That's the familiarity. They're just like Tav, his Tav. For a second, he thinks this person is related to them, but no, that doesn't feel right. So the thought of reincarnation crosses his mind and Astarion almost breaks down right there. He excuses himself at this person worry and retires early for the night...

Now, he has to figure out what he's going to do. This person is most certainly his Tav, slightly different body sure, but he can recognize that they now have the same soul of Tav. Does he let them go? They are a monster hunter, and who knows what they'd think if he told him all this. Or does he get to know them, again, and see where that leads?

[jzargo]

Correct me if i'm wrong, but I thought I remembered seeing a screenshot of Wyll's stats in the epilogue (Blade of Avernus ending) where it said he was a level 22 ranger? Regardless of the logistics of going past level 20 in a DnD setting, but if that's true - if Wyll could go from having NO levels in Ranger to becoming a level 22 one in the 6 months between the end of the game and the epilogue, there is nothing to say that Tav/the PC couldn't similarly level up in that time (provided they are also adventuring about and grinding XP).

Which means if they're a spellcaster, they almost certainly have access to level 9 spells. And if they're the correct spellcasting class, they could have access to spells such as True Polymorph, True Resurrection, and Wish. All three of which could offer solutions to both Karlach's engine and an illithid!Tav.

EDIT: found out it was a mod that raises the level cap! but the point still stands!!! if you can get to level 12 in the few weeks that the game takes place over, getting to level 17 (the min level you need to start casting 9th level spells) in the span of 6 months while fighting your way through Avernus isn't that far-fetched a leap to make!